Page 17 of Dead Man's List

Wilhelmina sighed. “Then it’s a good thing I haven’t unpacked yet.”

“I’ll show them the garage,” Rafferty said with a huff. “Then I’ll find a place for us to stay, Miz Wil.”

“Thank you, Raffie.”

Chapter Two

San Diego PD, San Diego, California

Saturday, January 7, 9:05 p.m.

Kit rubbed her eyes. They’d gone through only a fraction of the papers they’d taken from Munro’s home office, and her head ached. She was hungry and over-caffeinated.

She turned to the whiteboard, where she and Connor had started compiling names of suspects. They’d both agreed that Wilhelmina Munro would remain on the list for the time being. She might have an alibi for the time of her husband’s death, but murder for hire was still a possibility.

Kit pointed to the folders stacked on the table. “We’ve got two dozen unhappy contractors who claim that he cheated them and at least three unhappy husbands who believed their wives were cheating with him. Plus, constituents who hated him for various reasons.”

Munro had kept printed copies of the threatening emails he’d received. A few were highly detailed about what the senderwould do to Munro. Kit wondered what kind of threats he’d received over the phone or in person if these were the kinds of threats people had felt comfortable enough to put in writing.

Connor nodded. “We’ve also got anyone who wanted him to influence the justice system on their behalf—like he tried to do with Sam—but who got sentenced to jail anyway. So far it’s only Ronald Tasker, but I figure there have to be others.”

At the moment, Tasker was at the top of their list of suspects, given the way he’d sliced up his wife after killing her. He was in prison, but again, he was rich enough to have hired it out.

Kit tapped the articles they’d found on the local newspaper’s website. “Plus the guy he beat in the last election, whose life was ruined after Munro spread the rumor that he was a pedophile.”

“Why is it always a pedo? That’s the rumor people trot out whenever they want to make someone look bad.”

“Because it’s one of the worst things we as a society can think of,” she said quietly.

Connor glanced at her sharply. “Kit. Did you…?” He shook his head. “Never mind. None of my business. I’m sorry I asked. Forget it.”

She knew what he was asking. “No, not me. Almost happened once, in one of the foster homes before McKittrick House, but no.”

Connor’s jaw tightened. “How did you stop them?”

Kit smirked. “I stabbed him with his own letter opener. I was only eleven, so I didn’t stab him very hard, but I drew blood.”

“Good.” The word was filled with dark satisfaction.

Kit hadn’t liked Connor when they’d first met, but she’d grown fond of him over the nine months they’d been partners. He was a frat boy with a heart of gold.

“He claimed I’d stabbed him for no good reason, but it wasin his groin, so it was tough explaining why he was alone in my room with his pants down.” She sighed. “But I was still labeled a violent troublemaker because I’d stolen the letter opener from his desk and had hidden it under my pillow.”

“Unbelievable.”

“But true. I got moved to another home that was worse. But that’s where I met Wren, so it was worth it.” It had been nearly seventeen years since Wren’s murder, but not a day went by that Kit didn’t miss her sister. Not a day went by that she didn’t renew her promise to find whoever had killed Wren and tossed her body into a dumpster. “That foster father liked girls who looked like Wren, and she was terrified. I wasn’t going to let her get hurt, so we ran away.”

Of course, there had been much more to it than simply running away, but Kit wasn’t going to tell Connor that she’d nearly killed the foster father the night they’d fled. She’d been only twelve and hadn’t known how many of his wife’s sleeping pills to put in his evening whiskey.

The McKittricks knew. She’d finally shared it with them when she was sixteen years old, expecting them to turn her away, but they hadn’t. They’d loved her anyway. They’d adopted her anyway.

“Where did you run to?”

“A barn,” Kit said with a smile. “It was cold out and we snuck in there to get warm. We took a blanket from one of the horses and huddled under it. And then this big man came into the barn and caught us. I was so scared. But…that night changed my life.”

“Harlan McKittrick,” Connor murmured.

Kit nodded. “My origin story. Harlan and Betsy McKittrick saved my life.” She realized she’d reached into her pocket for thesmall carving she never went anywhere without—the cat with a bird sitting on its head. A gift from Harlan, made with his own hands. Kit was the cat and Wren was the bird. It had become her good-luck charm.

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