Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [127]
“This is Mary Douglas,” the reporter was saying as he displayed a picture of a white-haired woman in her early sixties.
Mara watched in fascination as he held up a second photograph of another woman years younger, with dark hair and an olive complexion, and said, “And this is Mary Douglas. What do these two women have in common besides their names?”
The reporter paused for effect, then faced the camera squarely, both photographs held in one hand, the microphone in the other.
“Both of these women lived in Lyndon. Both women were killed in their homes in that small community, in exactly the same manner, exactly one week apart. The body of the second victim was found earlier this afternoon. Local police have admitted that they are baffled as to motive.”
Spike ran to the door and barked when he heard Annie’s heels on the walk, but Mara’s attention remained fixed on the television.
Video played of a prerecorded press conference. “Without divulging the manner in which the women were murdered, we’re investigating the possibility that the first killing was an error. That the second victim may have been the intended target.”
The police spokesman paused to listen to a question from the floor, then repeated the question for those who had not heard. “Do we feel it was a contract killing, was the question. I can only say at this point that anything is possible. It has been suggested that perhaps the killer had known only the name of his victim—no description, no address—and that after killing the first victim and perhaps seeing some news coverage or reading the obituary in the newspaper, he realized that he hadn’t killed the right woman. According to friends and family of both victims, neither Mary Douglas had an enemy in the world. Both women were well liked, both lived somewhat quiet lives. So with no apparent motive, we can’t rule out any scenario yet.”
“Mara?” Annie called from the doorway.
The police spokesman’s face was taut with concentration as he spoke of the murders. “Yes, we think he sought out the second Mary Douglas and killed her, though we do not know why either of these women would have been targeted, for that matter. . . .”
“Mara?”
“This is bizarre.” Mara shook her head.
“What is?” Annie set the bag she carried on the coffee table.
“This news report . . .” She was still shaking her head slowly, side to side. “Two women named Mary Douglas were murdered one week apart. Killed in the same way, but the police aren’t saying how they were killed.”
Annie frowned.
“It’s a little creepy—Mary Douglas—Mara Douglas,” Mara admitted, “and what makes it worse is that there’s a woman who works in the D.A.’s office named Mary Douglas.”
“But she wasn’t . . .” Annie pointed at the television.
“No, thank God. I was holding my breath there for a minute, though. She’s such a nice person—a real ray-of-sunshine type. Friendly and a good sport. Not a day goes by when we don’t get at least one piece of mail meant for the other.”
“You don’t work in the D.A.’s office.”
“Yeah, but very often the mail room will mistake Mary for Mara or vice versa, and we get each other’s mail. And if something is addressed to ‘M. Douglas,’ it’s anyone’s guess whose mailbox it ends up in.” Mara watched the rest of the segment, then turned off the television. “I feel sorry for the families of the two victims, but I can’t help but be relieved that the Mary Douglas I know wasn’t one of them.”
“Odd thing, though,” Annie murmured as she pulled off her short-sleeved cardigan and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “Two victims with the same name. That can’t be a coincidence. . . .”
“Intrigued?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Itching to know more?”
“What do you think?” Annie carried the fragrant bags of egg foo young and chicken lo mein into the kitchen.
“Maybe you’ll get a call.”
“Well, it’s early yet. Only two victims. Have they given out any personal information about them?”
“The first victim was a retired school librarian. Sixty-one years old, lived alone. No relatives. By all