Mimi, Andrew’s wife before Morgan, had committed suicide.
So had his son Kirk, just last November.
She almost smiled with bitter irony …
Did I just try to continue the family tradition?
She stepped back to get a better look at herself.
All this blood …
But she didn’t seem to be wounded anywhere.
So where had the blood come from?
She turned and saw that the door leading into Andrew’s bedroom was wide open.
Is he in there? she wondered.
Had he slept through whatever had happened?
She breathed a little easier at the possibility. If he was sleeping that soundly, maybe she could get away without him noticing that she’d been here.
But then she stifled a groan as she realized it wasn’t going to be that easy. There was still all this blood to deal with.
If Andrew came into his bathroom and found this terrible mess, of course he’d know that she was somehow to blame.
She was always to blame for everything as far as he was concerned.
Her panic rising, she began to wipe the counter with the towel. But that was no good. All she was doing was smearing the blood all over the place. She needed water to clean things up.
She almost turned on the faucet in the sink when she realized the sound of running water would surely wake Andrew up. She thought maybe she could softly close the bathroom door and run the water as quietly as she could.
She crept on tiptoe across the enormous bathroom toward the door. When she got there, she cautiously peeked out into the bedroom.
She gasped aloud at what she saw.
The lights were turned low, but there was no mistaking Andrew lying there in bed.
He was covered with blood. The sheets were covered in blood. There was even blood on the carpeted floor.
Morgan rushed over to the bed.
Her husband’s eyes were wide open in an expression of frozen terror.
He’s dead, she realized. She hadn’t died, but Andrew had.
Had he committed suicide?
No, that was impossible. Andrew had nothing but contempt for people who took their own lives—including his wife and son.
“Not serious people,” he’d often said about them.
And Andrew had always prided himself on being a serious person.
And he’d always raised that issue with Morgan …
“Are you a serious person?”
As she looked more carefully, she could see that Andrew had bled from many different wounds all over his body. And nestled among the blood-soaked sheets beside his body she saw a large kitchen knife.
Who could have done this? Morgan wondered.
Then a weird, euphoric calm fell over her as she realized …
I finally did it.
I killed him.
She’d done it in her dreams many times.
And now, at long last, she’d done it for real.
She smiled and said aloud to the corpse …
“Who’s a serious person now?”
But she knew better than to bask in this warm and pleasant feeling. Murder was murder, and she knew that she had to accept the consequences.
But instead of fear or guilt, she felt a deep sense of contentment.
He was a horrible man. And he was dead. Whatever happened now, this was well worth it.
She picked up the phone next to his bed with her sticky hand and almost dialed 911 before she thought …
No.
There’s someone else I want to tell first.
It was a kindly woman who had shown concern about her welfare some time ago.
Before she did anything else, she needed to call that woman and tell her that she needn’t worry about Morgan anymore.
Everything was just fine at last.
CHAPTER ONE
Riley noticed that Jilly was twitching a little in her sleep. The fourteen-year-old was in the adjoining seat, with her head resting on Riley’s shoulder. Their plane had been in the air for about three hours now, and it would be another couple of hours before they would land in Phoenix.
Is she dreaming? Riley wondered.
If so, Riley hoped that the dreams weren’t bad.
Jilly had lived through horrific experiences during her short life, and she still had lots of nightmares. She’d seemed especially anxious since that letter from social services in Phoenix had arrived, informing them that Jilly’s father wanted his daughter back. Now they were flying to Phoenix for a court date that would settle the matter once and for all.
Riley couldn’t help but worry as well. What would become of Jilly if the judge didn’t allow her to stay with Riley?
The social worker had said she didn’t expect that to happen.
But what if she was wrong? Riley wondered.
Jilly’s whole body started twitching more sharply. She began moaning quietly.
Riley shook her gently and said, “Wake up, sweetheart. You’re having a bad dream.”
Jilly sat bolt upright and stared straight ahead for a moment. Then she burst into tears.
Riley put her arm around Jilly and reached into her purse for a tissue.
She asked, “What is it? What were you dreaming about?”
Jilly sobbed wordlessly for a few moments. Then she said, “It was nothing. Don’t worry.”
Riley sighed. She knew that Jilly harbored secrets that she didn’t like to talk about.
She stroked the girl’s dark hair and said, “You can tell me anything, Jilly. You know that.”
Jilly wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
Finally she said, “I was dreaming about something that really happened. A few years ago. My dad was on one of his serious drunks and he was blaming me as usual—for my mother leaving, for his not being able to keep a job. For everything. He told me he wanted me out of his life. He dragged me by the arm to a closet and threw me inside and locked the door and …”
Jilly fell silent and closed her eyes.
“Please tell me,” Riley said.
Jilly shook herself a little and said, “I was afraid to scream at first, because I thought he’d drag me back out and beat me. He just left me in there, like he’d forgotten all about me. And then …”
Jilly choked back a sob.
“I don’t know how many hours passed, but everything got real quiet. I thought maybe he’d just passed out or gone to bed or something. But it was like that for a long, long time, and everything stayed so quiet. Finally I realized that he must have left the house. He did that sometimes. He’d go away for days and I’d never know when he was coming back, or if he was coming back.”
Riley shuddered as she tried to imagine the poor girl’s horror.
Jilly continued, “Finally I started screaming and banging on the door, but of course nobody could hear me, and I couldn’t get out. I was alone in that closet for … I still don’t know