Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [133]
“You’re home?”
“I’m on my way.”
“What time will you be here?”
“Thirty minutes, give or take. I’m just leaving the airport. If you call in a take-out order at that little place on Dover Drive, I’ll swing past and pick it up.”
“Perfect. What do you want?”
“Surprise me.”
“Done. I’ll see you soon.”
Pleased with the unexpected prospect of Annie’s company, Mara found herself whistling while she hunted up the menu. She called in the order, then set about clearing the kitchen table of all the mail that had accumulated over the past several weeks while Mara had worked on the Feehan case. That case having been heard just that morning, Mara could pack up the materials she’d reviewed and return them to the courthouse in the morning. She wondered where Kelly Feehan had gone that night to drown her sorrows, her parental rights having been severed by Judge McKettrick until such time as Kelly successfully completed a rehabilitation program and obtained legitimate employment, at which time she could file for visitation rights. The odds that Kelly would follow through were slim to none, but the option was there. It had been the best the judge could do for all involved.
While the decision was clearly in the best interests of the children, it still gave Mara pause to have played a part, however small, in another mother being separated from her babies, even though she knew full well that Kelly had brought her troubles upon herself. She’d wanted to shake the young mother, shake her good and hard, for having put herself and her children in such a situation.
You had a choice, Mara had wanted to shout at the sobbing woman as her children left the court room with their grandparents. We don’t all get a choice. . . .
Mara scooped dry dog food into Spike’s new Scooby Doo dish, then gave the dog fresh water. She turned up the volume on the television, hoping to catch the weather forecast for the morning. She’d been looking forward to her early morning twice-weekly run with several friends and was hoping that the earlier prediction of rain had been revised.
“. . . and in other news, we have a somewhat bizarre story of two women who have the same name, who lived in the same town, and who met with the same fate exactly one week apart.” The anchorman spoke directly into the camera. “Jason Wrigley is standing by at the Avon County courthouse with the story. . . .”
Headlights flashing through the living room window announced Annie’s arrival. Mara had just begun to open the front door when a face appeared on the screen.
“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 and said, “And this is Mary Douglas. What do these two woman 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 died in their homes in that small community, in exactly the same manner, exactly one week apart, the body of the second victim having been found earlier this afternoon. Local police have admitted that they are clearly baffled as to motive.”
Video played of a prerecorded press conference.
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.
“. . . without divulging the manner in which the women were killed, 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 contracted killing, was the question. I can only say at this point that anything is possible. It has been suggested that perhaps the killer had only known the name of his victim—no description, no address—and that after killing the first victim and perhaps seeing some news coverage or possibly reading the obituary