Page 109 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

Shaken, she walked across the landing to her computer. She flipped on her e-mail in-box and saw several messages from Kelly.

Hey, sleepyhead. What’s the deal? I have to make my own martinis now? I stopped by but you were doing your Rip Van Winkle routine. Call me later. xoxoxo, Kelly.

Kelly had been here? Had she taken her lipstick and Jamie’s bunny? Or . . . or what? She must have. She clicked on the second message.

Forgot to mention I took care of Detective Dick. While you were sleeping.

What? Oh, God. Caitlyn’s gut clenched.

He showed up while you were sleeping and, in so many words, I told him to get lost. I pretended to be you and said I wasn’t going to talk to him or anyone else without my attorney.

No, that couldn’t be right. Caitlyn remembered Detective Reed showing up. She’d asked him to leave. Or had she? She’d been asleep and then . . . and then, oh, no. Panic bells began bonging in her mind.

And before you start lecturing me about pretending to be you, don’t worry. The cop bought it and so did that irritating reporter, Nikki Gillette, the other day.

Caitlyn felt sick inside. Kelly had always loved the overly dramatic, the cloak and dagger, mistaken identity stuff. It was all a game to her.

See ya soon.

xoxoxo,

> Kelly.

Caitlyn clicked off the computer and let her head fall into her hands. Kelly was becoming difficult.

Hasn’t she always been?

Okay, more difficult.

If only Kelly would give up the charade. The pretense. Make amends with the family. Life would be so much easier. But it would never happen. Never. She tried to call her twin and ended up getting the damned machine. This time, Caitlyn didn’t bother leaving a message.

Why would Kelly steal things? Things as personal as her lipstick and Jamie’s favorite stuffed animal. It didn’t make sense unless . . . unless Kelly was somehow trying to confuse her . . . but why?

Because she killed Josh and wants to frame you, to make it look like you’re cracking up and—

“No!” Caitlyn wouldn’t believe it. She hurried down the stairs. In the kitchen she hit the lights. Two empty martini glasses and an open bottle of olives sat on the counter. She froze in the doorway. Her skin crawled. She didn’t remember having drinks with Kelly.

You didn’t. You slept through it.

But she’d talked to the detective. Before or after Kelly? Oh, God. She dropped into a chair in the nook and Oscar, lying on the rug beneath, looked up at her and thumped his tail. “She has to quit this,” Caitlyn said to the dog as she absently reached down and scratched him behind his ears. “She has to.”

But she’ll never do it on her own. She’s having too much fun. She’ll just keep on the way she has been since the accident. Until someone stops her. That someone will have to be you.

“I can’t,” Caitlyn said. “I just can’t !” She had too much to do already, and her life was unraveling strand by strand, faster and faster. It was true. The Montgomery curse, the mental illness, was deep in her genes, in her blood. There was no escape. Panic spurted through her, her heart pounded, her pulse was out of control.

For God’s sake, don’t lose it. Not now!”

The phone rang and she jumped. Damn the reporters!

On her feet in an instant, she snagged the receiver before the second blast. “Hello?” she barked.

“Caitlyn?” Adam’s voice was as near as if he was in the room with her.

Tears sprang to her eyes. Relief washed over her. He was just the balm she needed. So why did she want to break down and cry at the sound of his voice? “Hi,” she managed, fighting tears, but the sound was strangled.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

No! I’m not all right. I never will be. You, of all people should know that! Cradling the phone to her ear, she slid down the cabinets, sinking to the floor. “I heard about your mother,” he was saying. “I’m sorry.”

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