Page 46 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“You know that’s a breach of patient rights.”

“I’ll get a warrant.”

Anne nodded. “And when you do, I’ll hand everything over. As much as I want to help you, Detective Paterno, I have to go by the book on this. It’s a matter of liability.”

He’d expected no better. “We’ll need to notify next of kin.”

“That might be difficult,” she admitted. “Marla Cahill is listed as his closest relative.”

I got away with it!

As she drove into the city, Elyse couldn’t believe her good luck. She glanced at the other drivers, all caught up in their own private worlds, their own little problems, never once knowing that she was beside them—or that the frumpy woman in the nondescript car was a murderess, a genius, damned near infallible.

Elyse was so convinced she needn’t worry that she hadn’t bothered switching license plates after all. It would just be her luck that some anal jerk would be hanging around, watching, wondering what she was doing. The kind that would report the anomaly and send the police screaming her way. No, this time it was safer to keep things status quo.

But, oh God, what a high!

Yanking off the itchy wig, she rolled down the windows, inhaling salty-fresh air mingled with exhaust as she ripped down the freeway.

A part of her, that stubborn egotistical part, considered driving back to tell Marla and crow about her feat, but Elyse decided to wait. Marla was such a downer, and Elyse wanted to celebrate. She’d driven around the south side of the bay and stopped at a minimart where she changed her clothes quickly and tore off the padding around her neck, spitting out the stuffing in her mouth. Now, after wiping off the wig glue, she stripped out of the rest of her hated Mary Smith disguise.

Once again she was Elyse, her alter ego. She gassed up the car and made certain again that she wasn’t being followed as she drove the last few miles to her townhouse, pulling into her garage. Relieved, she plotted out the next steps. She planned to leave pieces of her fat suit in dumpsters all over other parts of the city. She would roll up the wig and glasses, put them in a sack, and toss the bag into a garbage bin behind a restaurant in Oakland. She’d leave the dress and shoes anonymously at a thrift-shop collection site in San Jose. Eventually there would be nothing to link her to the nefarious and murderous Mrs. Smith. She’d even hoist her fake set of rings into the bay for good luck.

Adios, Mary!

Grinning to herself, Elyse hurried upstairs to her bathroom, needing to wash the remnants away. She stepped into the shower and felt the hot needles of water ease the tension from her muscles as it washed the thick makeup from her face. She was thankful that she’d never have to return to Harborside Assisted Living ever again. The place was so depressing. How did the retard stand it?

Besides, she had others who would meet a similar fate as had Rory; others she was more interested in seeing suffer. First and foremost was Cissy, that miserable, spoiled brat. What a loser! Elyse couldn’t wait to confront the bitch and make her understand just how useless and stupid she was.

But tonight she wanted to celebrate, so she would avoid crossing the bay. Seeing Marla would only make her miserable. Tonight, she was going to have a little fun, and she wouldn’t tell Marla about it, not ever. Elyse would meet the man she intended to marry and spend the rest of the night with him. Hot sex after a chilling killing. Oooh, she liked the sound of that.

Licking her lips, she thought about the evening ahead and was already fantasizing. Should she reveal to him what she’d done? Or wait?

She thought it best to keep her secret to herself. He might not understand, and she didn’t want to risk losing him. But it would be hard not to brag about it. She wanted to boast and shout it to the world.

See how smart I am?

How clever?

I’m the one who sprang Marla Cahill.

I’m the one who killed her mother-in-law.

I’m the one who took care of the retard.

And I’m the one who bloody well will reap the rewards.

No matter what Marla thinks.

Detective Paterno stood on the porch outside her front door.

Cissy couldn’t believe her bad luck as she caught a glimpse of him through the window. What now? she thought, bracing herself for another barrage of pointed, privacy-invading questions. The guy just never gave up. His face was long and drawn and reminded her of a bloodhound, but his personality was more like a pit bull with a bone.

Lucky me, she thought.

It was as if she couldn’t get away from the man.

She waited for him to ring the doorbell, and Coco went nuts. Of course the dog had to bark madly, as if Cissy didn’t already know that someone was on the other side of the door panels.

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