Page 64 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

That was it. The entire message. Offend? Since when did Kelly worry about offending anyone? Caitlyn clicked off the computer, set the mouse back in its place and told herself that she was just tired; she’d forgotten where she’d put the damned mouse after the last time she used the computer.

No one had been in her house.

She was almost certain of it.

Almost.

Sixteen

“Caitlyn! Caitlyn Bandeaux!”

Kelly inwardly cringed as she handed the girl behind the counter two bucks and accepted her cup off iced coffee. “Keep the change.” Maybe the woman who had confused her with Caitlyn, whoever she was, would realize her mistake and leave her be.

No such luck.

“Remember me?”

Kelly glanced over her shoulder. The answer was a definite no. “I’m sorry.”

“Nikki Gillette.” The woman, around thirty with wild strawberry-blond hair, sharp features, and confidence oozing from her, extended her hand. “With the Savannah Sentinel. I called you once, remember? Asked for an exclusive. I’d really love to talk to you.”

“You’ve got the wrong person,” Kelly said. She was wearing sunglasses and her hair was pulled away from her face. She didn’t bother to smile but, carrying her coffee, headed for the front door.

“But if I could have just a few moments of your time.” The woman was trailing after her.

“I told you I’m not Caitlyn Bandeaux.” Using her hip, she pushed open the glass door and, from the corner of her eye, caught the look of disbelief on Nikki Gillette’s face.

“You’re not? Wait a minute. But . . .”

“I said, ‘I’m not.’ ”

“You’ve got to be related.” She paused, her eyebrows drawing together as if she was puzzled. “You know, you look enough like her to be her twin.”

Kelly offered a smile that was meant to convey no shit, Sherlock. “You must be an investigative reporter. Look, I am Caitlyn’s sister and she’s going through a really rough time right now, so do everyone a favor and just back off, okay? Maybe when she’s . . . out of mourning or whatever she’s going through, she might talk to you. I wouldn’t, but she might.”

“Listen, I’d love to talk to you or someone in the family.”

Kelly sent her a look that said more clearly than words, drop dead, and kept walking. The pushy reporter started after her, and Kelly ducked around a corner, through a back alley and into the next street. Quickly she slipped into a shop displaying “collectibles,” where she caught a hard, unhappy glare from a salesclerk with blue cotton-candy hair and lips that were painted far beyond their natural line. The woman cleared her throat and glanced at the cup in Kelly’s hands just as she realized drinks weren’t allowed in the store. The persnickety clerk couldn’t do much about Kelly’s breaking one of the store’s golden rules as she was involved with another customer and a discussion of the value of some knock-off of the Bird Girl statue that Kelly figured was worth less than half of what it was marked. Nonetheless, Blue Hair was giving Kelly the eagle eye. As if she might try to shoplift some of this touristy stuff. Great. Just . . . great. With one eye on the front display window where she could view the sidewalk and street, Kelly pretended to show some interest in a faux antique telephone and an Elvis clock complete with swiveling hips. Blue Hair negotiated the deal and was ringing up her sale.

Kelly made her move while the clerk was dealing with the credit card transaction. “Excuse me, do you have a rest room?”

The clerk’s first inclination was to snap a quick, “No.” It was evident in her eyes, but she didn’t want to risk an argument in front of her customer, or to be confused in the middle of the sale. “Just a minute.”

“Don’t bother yourself. I’ll find it,” Kelly said.

“Wait a second. It’s not for public use—”

Kelly had already dashed through a door near the back of the store that led through the storage room. Just to the side of the rest-room door, tucked between shelves loaded with boxes of merchandise, she discovered the back door. In a second she was outside, past a small loading zone and across the square.

This was ridiculous. Running from reporters. Because she looked so damned much like her twin.

As a kid she’d found it fun to play pranks on people who didn’t know them well, pretending to be Caitlyn. As a teenager she’d hated being confused with her identical sister. As an adult it was a just a pain in the butt. A big pain in the butt. Especially since Caitlyn was such a wimp. And a fool. Kelly didn’t know which was worse.

She lit a cigarette and sipped from her drink as she headed back to the car. What the hell was she going to do about Caitlyn? Just wait for her sister to be arrested? Or until Caitie-Did opened her mouth to the police? Because she would. Kelly knew it, could sense that Caitlyn was cracking up again. Oh, sure, she was going through the motions, seeing a shrink, probably even on her way to taking antidepressants, or tranquilizers or some other mind-numbing drug. How about Valium? Or Prozac? Or a frontal lobotomy?

Jesus.

She took a drag on her cigarette and tried to think. She didn’t have time for Caitlyn to fall apart. She had her own life to live. Things to do. Some with her twin, some alone. But first things first. She had to make sure that she wouldn’t run into the damned reporter, or a policeman or an acquaintance of Caitlyn’s who couldn’t tell them apart. She just didn’t want to deal with all of that crap right now.

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