Page 54 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“Doesn’t look like it,” Paterno grumbled. He’d spent two days doing surveillance at the funerals—yesterday Rory Amhurst’s, a small, private affair for the family, and today the larger, grander event held at the Presbyterian church Eugenia had attended, followed by the interment at the cemetery. He’d attended all of the events. Of course, he hadn’t really expected that Marla would show her face, but with that woman, who knew? He wasn’t going to take the chance that she might appear and that he wouldn’t be there to nab her. He scanned each crowd, searching for anyone who resembled her, or the composite sketch of Mary Smith. The artist had interviewed everyone at the Harborside Assisted Living Center and come up with a composite drawing as well as a computer-enhanced picture, but no one who had attended Eugenia’s or Rory’s services looked like the chubby woman in the print dress. Nor had any other Mary Smith who attended the church shown up.

An alias.

A disguise.

But not Marla.

Paterno walked to his desk and tried not to notice that his feet were cold from standing in the rain. He shook the water from his coat, hung it on the peg near his desk, then grabbed a cup of coffee and tried to connect Marla Cahill’s escape to the killings. Who was her accomplice? One of the people he’d seen at the services?

The autopsy report on Eugenia Cahill confirmed that she’d had some Valium in her bloodstream, but she’d also been prescribed the drug.

Valium was also found in Rory Amhurst’s veins, but he hadn’t had a prescription. Traces of Valium were in the soda can left in his room, a soda can that had no fingerprints other than his own. The ME decided he had died from asphyxiation, the result of anaphylactic shock, a reaction to what he’d ingested. An examination of his stomach contents showed chocolate laced with some kind of seafood.

Paterno’s bad stomach acted up just thinking about it. He reached into his drawer for an antacid and frowned. The two murders were different—the old lady pitched to her death, the handicapped man poisoned. But in both cases the killer knew where they would be, was brazen about killing them, had the murder planned. Why not poison Eugenia? he thought, picking up his pencil and tapping the eraser on the desk. Because the murderer had to get in and out fast and didn’t know if she had any allergies that would kill her. Hence, whoever had iced Rory Amhurst had an intimate knowledge of him. Either a nurse or family member. And someone no one at the facility recognized.

He took a swallow of his coffee.

It had to be someone linked to Marla.

But who?

Who the hell was close enough to want to spring her, then help systematically kill people related to her? He thought of her daughter, but as sharp-tongued as Cissy Holt was, she didn’t strike him as a killer.

Who stood to gain from the killings?

Once again Cissy Holt’s name loomed front and center.

He couldn’t scratch her from the list of potential suspects, but he would be surprised if she were the actual murderer.

But Marla Amhurst Cahill…She would be in the money, if she could ever retrieve it. That would prove to be quite a trick, considering she was a fugitive.

No, Cissy would be the more likely candidate. Unless the will and insurance policies weren’t the reason Rory and Eugenia had been killed. Maybe there was another

motive, one he just hadn’t yet uncovered, one so strong it would force someone to help Marla escape and kill the people close to her.

So if Cissy wasn’t the killer, and Marla too hadn’t actually murdered her brother and mother-in-law, then who?

He spread the autopsy reports on the desk with Marla Cahill’s case file. Pictures of Eugenia’s broken body, Rory’s corpse, and Marla’s mug shot stared back at him.

How were they connected?

Eugenia and Rory are connected to each other THROUGH Marla.

So what?

He tapped his fingers and shook his head. He’d scoured Eugenia’s date book, looked into the woman who couldn’t drive her to church the day of her death, Marcia Mantello. Marcia’s story was legit as far as he could tell. He’d also checked through everyone else listed in Eugenia’s book. And he’d gone through the logs at the care facility and interviewed the staff and residents as he had with all of Eugenia’s friends and relatives. So far he’d come up with a great big goose egg. Nada.

His stomach was really roiling now, and he hoped the antacid would kick in soon.

Looking out the window to the building across the street, he tried to figure it all out.

He knew he was missing something. He just didn’t know what.

Cissy finished another glass of wine and told herself she’d probably consumed enough for the day. She was feeling a little light-headed as it was and still needed to keep it together. At least for a little while longer.

The crowd was thinning, and though Lars tried vainly to get each person’s coat as he or she left, people were going up and down the stairs, retrieving their own wraps. She could hear them walking around upstairs. Doors opening and closing. Snooping. Peering into her life. Two women from Cahill House had come down the stairs and declared the baby’s room “adorable,” as if they had a free pass to take a tour of the upstairs.

Soon it would be over.

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