Page 78 of Evidence of Deceit

She figured she had about an hour and a half to two hours to wait. Her research on carbon monoxide poisoning had too many variables. But she wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was Claire.

She walked into the spacious kitchen. In the daylight, it would be filled with light, but even at night, the kitchen was warm and inviting. In fact, it was even nicer than the one she had in her condo in New York City. She ran her hand over the Italian tile counters and floors. She looked at the high-end stainless-steel appliances and huge professional stove. In the corner was a sophisticated coffee bar. Now that was a plus. She envisioned herself getting up in the morning, making her coffee and having it outdoors on the patio overlooking the ocean. Relaxing. Yes indeed, she was going to enjoy living here.

Raiding Claire’s refrigerator, she pulled out some cheese.Found the crackers and a cheese knife and strolled into the airy living room, where more French doors opened to the patio and the ocean beyond. She slid a door open and inhaled the salty air. She couldn’t see the ocean, but she heard the gentle sigh of the waves as they came ashore. Yes! This was the life she was meant to have. She envisioned herself throwing parties here and entertaining the island elite. Oh, it was going to be grand. Finally, she would be popular and enjoy the good life. It would be much better than anything she enjoyed with Keith. She placed her snack on the glass-topped table, settled into the comfy sofa, found the remote and turned on the TV, Claire a distant memory.

Chapter Forty-Four

Claire smelled something funny. She was groggy but didn’t think she had drunk all that much. She tried to move, but her arms were taped to the steering wheel. Whaaat? Was this a dream? A nightmare? And she heard voices. It sounded like Keith’s voice, but he was dead. Wasn’t he? And a woman’s voice that sounded a lot like Hillary’s.

Keith was begging. Begging for what? Oh, dear lord, the EpiPen. He was begging Hillary to give him the shot. Hillary laughed and teased him while Keith moaned. Hillary killed Keith. Oh, God. Now she was trying to kill her.

Claire started coughing. The carbon monoxide wouldn’t take long to immobilize her. The tape holding her wrists to the steering wheel was tight. She wiggled her wrists the best she could. God, it hurt and cut into her wrists, but there was a little movement.

Please, please Hillary, hurry up.

Poor Keith. He didn’t deserve to die like that. What a bitch. She must have had this planned for weeks.

Give me the shot.

She had to get out of the car. But how? She tried to open the door with her elbow. Kept missing. Not strong enough. The carbon dioxide was making her sleepy.

No, don’t do that. I beg you.

The tape was cutting into her wrists. Blood was dripping down the steering wheel. The coppery odor was forcing bile up her throat. But that was the least of her problems. She needed to call for help.

How? Then a nagging memory. Her phone was connected to the car, which was running. If she could just get her wrists free, she could call someone.

Time was running out.

Hilllllry …

Keith’s voice died out.

She struggled with the tape again. Was this anything Sam had covered in her self-defense class? Yes. But that was if you were duct-taped to a chair. Worth a try. She quickly both elbows out, then pulled quickly. Nothing. Damn, that hurt. She tried several more times, moaned. The tape rubbing her skin raw. But it loosened her hands a little. Was it enough to reach the phone button and activate it?

Not quite. Her finger slipped on the blood. One more time, she tried to loosen the bindings. If this didn’t work, Claire knew she was going to die because she was getting weaker.

She worked her fingers down. God, it hurt. The tape cutting into her wrists.

Just a little bit more. She tried again and moaned. It hurt so much. But dying would hurt more. Gathering what little strength she had left, she tried again, barely hearing the scream pulled from her throat.

Yes! It worked.

She moved her thumb down to the call button.

“Call Joe Harkin on mobile.” Her voice was weak. Could it understand her?

“Calling Joe Harkin on mobile. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” A weak yes.

“Say yes or no.”

She cleared her throat. Tried again. “YES.”

The phone rang once, twice.Please, Joe, I don’t have much time.

Three times. Four.

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