Passion to Die For. Marilyn Pappano

      Ellie’s face was hot, her stomach knotted. She wanted to stick her fingers in her ears so she would never have to hear that voice or that laughter again, wanted to scrub her eyes with her knuckles to chase away the sight of that smug, vicious face. But she would never be free of Martha now that the woman had tracked her down, so running was next on her list of desires. She’d even taken a step back when Martha’s gaze shifted past her, and the woman gave a friendly wave.

      “There’s Reverend Fitzgerald’s wife, Kayla. Such a nice girl. We met at the church this morning—I dropped in for a little meditation time—and she invited me to go shopping with her. She needs a birthday gift for her mother-in-law, who’s about my age. Thanks for the advice, Anamaria. And, Ellie—” her blue gaze sharpened “—I’ll be seeing you around.”

      Ellie wondered if Anamaria heard the threat in those last words as clearly as she did. Martha was doing a very good job of insinuating herself into the lives of Ellie’s friends. They were nice people; they’d never suspect her of having an ulterior motive. And once she’d weaseled her way in, how much easier would it be for her to convince them of the truth of her tales about Ellie? She would paint herself the victim, the loving mother who had tried so desperately to help her out-of-control daughter, and people would have no choice but to believe her.

      And she had proof.

      Once Martha exited into the mall, the air inside the shop became easier to breathe. Ellie took a cleansing breath, chasing away the last of the cigarette and booze odor, and found Anamaria studying her somberly, her dark eyes troubled.

      “Who is she, Ellie?”

      Numbly she shook her head, then dug some nonchalance from deep inside. “Just some wacko who seems to have fixated on me. No big deal.”

      “As I recall, the last wacko in town who fixated on someone tried to kill both my brother- and sister-in-law. The Calloway family in general and Russ and Jamie in particular considered it a very big deal.”

      “This woman’s not violent.” Not beyond a slap now and then. The occasional physical violence had been easier to endure than Martha’s relentlessly cold treatment. Bruises healed. Emotional scars didn’t.

      “That’s what they thought about Lys Paxton until she started trying to kill people.”

      Ellie moved past displays of candy, spiders and webs, camouflage face paint and long fake fingernails in deep purple, black and bloodred, and Anamaria followed. “Martha Dempsey is many things,” she said, shooting for a breezy tone, “but she’s not a killer.”

      “What is she to you?”

      “A blast from the past. How’s this?” Stopping in front of a selection of cheap wigs, Ellie picked up one from the top row and clamped it onto her head. The mirror next to the display showed a fringe of brow-brushing bangs and a straight fall of silken strands that ended past her shoulders. The jet-black hue gave her skin a sickly blue tinge.

      “Unless you’re going as a wench of the undead, that is so not your color,” Anamaria teased. “Try this.”

      She handed over another long wig, this one dark copper and curly. The color wasn’t as surprising a contrast as the black wig, but it was different enough to be fun. She pulled it off again and combed her fingers through her own blond hair. “Let me pay for this and the skirt, then let’s get out of here.” She didn’t want to run into Martha again and certainly didn’t want to be reminded how easily the woman was finding welcome in Ellie’s own town.

      She’d checked out and they were walking back through the mall to the entrance when a laugh echoed across the space. She tried to ignore it, but her gaze traveled that direction anyway, to the few occupied tables at the sidewalk café that fronted the fountain. Kayla Fitzgerald sat at one, her smile serene, and Martha sat to her left. At the next table, chairs turned for easier conversation, were Sara Calloway and Jack Greyson, the man she old-fashionedly referred to as her beau.

      A chill swept over Ellie. Kayla was the pastor’s wife; she had to be nice to strangers. But Sara was Anamaria’s mother-in-law. More important, she was the closest thing to a mother Tommy had ever had.

      She’s taunting you, a voice in Ellie’s head whispered. She’s saying, “Look how easily I can get to them, and there’s only one way you can stop me.”

      Only one way to Martha’s way of thinking: give her money and trust her to go away…until the money ran out and she needed more. Ellie could give her everything and still never buy her silence.

      If there was just some way to get rid of her for good…

      Get rid of her. The words echoed across the years, hurtful, yet another betrayal to a girl who’d already experienced too many. They slowed her steps until she was hardly moving.

      Ellie didn’t have a clue how to manipulate and control people, but she knew someone who did. Part of Randolph Aiken’s duties as lawyer to his respectable and influential Old South family had involved persuading people who might prove cause for embarrassment to disappear, to keep their distance from and their silence about the family.

      People like Ellie.

      She didn’t know if Randolph had taken a liking to all the people he threatened on behalf of the Aikens, but his attitude toward her had always been somewhat paternal. He’d given her advice, stayed in touch with her long after she’d expected him to vanish, had helped her move to Charleston and put her life back together. It was his contacts that had gotten her her first job, his assistance that had led to her owning her own restaurant.