Page 75 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Marla’s image was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Cissy was alone.

Trembling, she rubbed her arms, finally noticing the rain that was running down her neck. Had she seen her mother?

Or had her stupid, twisted mind hallucinated, creating an image she secretly wanted to see?

“You’re a basket case,” she said as she climbed into her car. Inside she noticed the scent, the faintest fragrance that she remembered from her childhood, the odor of the perfume that her mother had worn.

“No,” she said and fought tears, denied that she might be losing her mind. “You are not going to haunt me, you bitch, do you hear me? I won’t let you.” Her mother had not been in her car. And the gates to the estate were closed. Locked. Marla hadn’t opened them.

Cissy hit the button on the remote lock and shoved the Acura into reverse, waiting as the gate’s old gears groaned and clicked. But the gate didn’t move. She hit the button again. Heard the same clicks and groan of grinding gears. In the mirror’s reflection, she caught sight of the slightest movement of the massive wrought-iron gate, as if it were trying to open but couldn’t.

“What the hell?” Disgusted, Cissy climbed out of her car and examined the gate. Deep in the latch, crammed into the release mechanism, was a rusted screwdriver.

A tool that hadn’t been there when she arrived, as the gate had swung open easily.

All the blood in Cissy’s body turned to ice.

Her mother’s image had been no ghostly apparition.

The perfume hadn’t been her imagination.

Marla Cahill had returned.

Cherise Favier checked caller ID before answering the phone. When Donald was out of town, as he had been since yesterday’s noon sermon, she was a little more cautious about answering either the phone or the door, or even going outside. It wasn’t that she was scared, not really, it was just that over the years of their marriage she’d ceased being just Cherise. She and Donald were like two halves of a whole. She was used to being with him, a part of something special, bigger than herself.

She liked being married.

She’d always liked being married, and this time, she wasn’t giving up. Third time was the proverbial charm, and she’d move heaven and earth to remain Mrs. Donald Favier forever.

Her life had been in turmoil before she’d found Donald, and she wasn’t going to let him slip away. Now she lived in a large house, supplied by the parish, of course. It was even larger than the last one they’d shared, which only proved how much the parishioners loved her husband.

Nonetheless, sometimes she was lonely, and her children, all three at college, rarely called, hardly ever came home for visits.

So she checked caller ID, saw that Cissy was calling, and almost didn’t answer, not after that hideous scene at her house after the funeral. Good heavens! Cissy had acted as if Cherise were asking for more than was her due! They all knew that was wrong, all realized that her father, and all of his progeny, had been scammed by that vile grandfather of Cissy’s.

She picked up the phone. “Hello?” she said, as if she didn’t know who was on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Cherise, it’s Cissy,” a raspy nasal voice responded, then erupted into a fit of coughing. “Sorry. I guess I strained my voice talking so much or something. Who knows? It’s mainly laryngitis.” Cissy sounded as if even speaking in a whisper was a real strain.

“Oh. I, uh, hope you feel better,” Cherise said. She was slightly mystified. Cissy never called. Never. She wasn’t phoning just to make conversation. There had to be a point to this.

“Look, I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to blow up at you like that. I was just overwrought, you know. Freaked out about Gran and all. I want to make it up to you.”

Cherise liked the sound of that, but she was suspicious. She’d known Cissy all of her life, and the younger woman wasn’t one to capitulate or change her mind. “You do?”

“Yeah…well, I don’t know. I just thought we should talk, and I promise I won’t freak out.”

That sounded better. Truer to form. “When?”

“How about tonight? I can get a sitter.”

“Oh, well…Donald’s out of town. I know he wants us all to get together for a family dinner.”

“Actually, I thought it should be just you and me anyway. Not Jack or Donald, because they’re not really Cahills.”

“I don’t make any decisions without talking things over with Donald.”

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