Page 130 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“Diedre,” he said softly, his eyes troubled. “Marla’s dead. You know that, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about? She’s hiding out in Berkeley.”

He gasped. Appeared thunderstruck. Shoved his hair from his eyes with both hands. “Haven’t you seen the news?”

“Why? What are they reporting?”

“They found Marla! In the house in Berkeley.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“When was the last time you went to see her?” he asked, and his shock seemed to give way to something else. Fear? Disgust?

“Earlier today…or maybe…yesterday?” She tried to shake the cobwebs from her mind.

“And she was alive?”

“Yes!” she said, but something in his words triggered a memory of a fight, of Marla’s arguments, of her insistence that she couldn’t live cooped up “like a damned convict” again. Isn’t that what she’d said?

Diedre tried to think, but her head was pounding, the images distorted. She remembered parking the car and shuttling Marla inside.

“This is where I’m supposed to stay?” Marla had asked as she’d looked at the small bungalow. She’d shaken her head in dismay. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, really, it’ll be perfect,” Diedre had insisted, unlocking the door and glancing across the street to the house where an old lady was picking her mail out of the box and glancing toward the cottage. “Come inside, I’ll show you.” She’d finally unlatched the door and pushed it open and Marla, dressed in the jeans and sweater Diedre had picked up for her, had walked into the darkened interior. The house had been cold, of course, and dark with the gloom of winter twilight fading. All the blinds were dusty and closed. “You’ll have to stay downstairs for a few days. I’ve got it set up, just until we know no one’s seen you.”

“Downstairs? As in a basement?” Marla grimaced. “Wonderful,” she said sarcastically.

“No, it’s all set for you…I’ll get more furniture for up here, but it’ll take some time.”

“Jesus, this place is awful.” Marla had snapped on a light and seen no beauty in the patina of the old hardwood floors, no charm in the built-in bookcases and fireplace. “Someone will see me here.”

“No, no…we’ll keep the blinds drawn.”

“Great.”

“Only for a little while, until we set the rest of the plan in motion,” Diedre had pointed out. “We just have to get rid of anyone who stands to inherit the money that your father intended for you.”

“My father,” Marla muttered, walking to the fireplace where a mirror was still mounted over the mantel. Her gaze found Diedre’s in the reflection. “My father was an A-number-one chauvinistic bastard. Always concerned about the boys. You know, he wouldn’t have had a thing to do with you. Women were only good for screwing and breeding. Male heirs. That’s why I had to come up with a son…oh, Christ, it’s all ancient history now.” She ran a finger over the mantel. “There’s no furniture.”

“I know, I know…I haven’t had time.”

Marla whirled to face her. “You’ve had all the time in the world. We’ve been planning this for years! The least you could have done was come up with a chair or two. And where the hell am I supposed to sleep?”

Diedre’s hands fisted. This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. “Just give me a little time.”

“For what? A sleeping bag?” Marla snarled.

“Look, Mom, I tried and—”

“Mom?” Marla repeated, facing her. “MOM?”

“You’re my mother.”

“I’m not your mother. I might have given birth to you, but that was it, okay? Remember that.”

Diedre felt a rip in her heart. “I know you had to give me up way back when, but I thought, now that we finally found each other—”

“You found me,” Marla reminded firmly. “I never came looking for you.”

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