Page 80 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

She hated the fact that everyone thought she was weak, that her previous three marriages seemed to indicate that she couldn’t handle her life by herself. But that wasn’t it. She could. She just didn’t want to. She liked being married, loved being part of a couple, needed that feeling of being a half of a solid whole. The few months she was single between her marriages, she’d always felt adrift. At sea. Almost as if she were doomed to drown.

But Reverend Donald had saved her, and they’d married to create this perfect union. Well, near perfect. And so she wanted to talk to him, to tell him that she was certain that she’d actually seen Marla driving a silver car near the Cahill estate, a place Cherise often drove by. She’d been cruising along a road that wound near the university hospital which backed up to the estate and there, clear as day, driving a little erratically, had been Marla. Or she thought it was Marla. She’d caught only a quick glimpse as the approaching silver Taurus had shot down the road, but the woman at the wheel, who was the spitting image of Marla Amhurst Cahill, had looked over as she’d sped past. For a split second their gazes had locked in recognition before the Taurus had rounded a corner and disappeared from view. Cherise had been so startled she’d nearly hit the curb. She hadn’t had time to write down the license plate number. She’d managed a quick U-turn, but by the time she’d reached the corner of the winding road, the Taurus was long gone.

So now, she considered calling the police.

First, though, she’d like to talk to her husband, get his advice. If only he’d call back.

She picked up the plant mister she kept on the mantel and sprayed the leaves of the potted philodendron that grew between the window and her piano. If Donald wanted her to be strong, so be it. If the Lord thought she needed to make her own decisions, then so she would.

Aside from her view of Marla, Cherise had other things she would like to discuss with her husband. The truth of the matter was, she just didn’t really know how to handle Cissy. The girl was a blasting cap, ready to go off at a second’s notice. Cherise would have to tread carefully, flatter her and the boy, remind her that they were all part of an ever-dwindling family.

At that thought, too, Cherise felt edgy. She set the plant sprayer on the mantel, adjusted the sparkling barrettes she used to hold her hair away from her face, and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror hung over the mantel. Oh dear, she was getting old. Wrinkles had begun to line her face, dark spots on her skin had to be hidden with makeup, her teeth needed bleaching again, and gray hairs were threading through her blond tresses at an alarming rate. She was still thin, but things had begun to sag. Uneasy, she walked to the liquor cabinet, where she kept her bottle of gin. She drank rarely but tonight, well, she needed a little liquid courage, so she poured herself a healthy shot into a short glass.

“Oh, please, Donald, call!” she said to the empty house, a three-bedroom Southern California-style home with a red tile roof and gold stucco walls. She tossed a splash of tonic water into her glass of gin, then carried the drink into the kitchen, adding a twist of lime and three ice cubes. Staring outside, she wondered if she’d done the right thing. She even considered calling one of her kids, but decided against it. She’d received only one phone call from them since Christmas, and that had been about money.

Of course.

Ungrateful children.

She suspected that her two oldest had turned their backs on God completely. Her husband, kind man that he was, had advised her, when she’d broached the subject, that “They’ll be back in their own time. Let them make their own choices. God will guide them.” She wasn’t so sure. In fact, she was afraid all their hard-earned money was going for beer and weed, maybe even ecstasy or mushrooms. Dear Lord, she knew what a tainted path drugs led to, and the thought that her babies were experimenting scared her half to death. And made her angry.

“Oh, well,” she said and took an experimental sip. Ummmm. Another sip, and the chilled gin slid smoothly down her esophagus.

She walked into the living room again and started plotting what she would say, how she would appeal to Cissy. After all, the girl was little more than a kid, in her mid-twenties. Cherise could handle her. Another long swallow, and she felt the warmth in her bloodstream.

It was almost time.

She closed her eyes.

Willed her muscles to loosen.

Heard the creak of a floorboard.

Her eyes flew open. No one was in the house. And the sound was too heavy to be the cat, right? “Patches?” she called, searching for the calico. “Here, kitty, kitty…Oh, for heaven’s sake, where are you?”

She rounded the corner and looked into the darkened front vestibule, where the cat often hid under an antique table on which the family Bible was displayed. “You naughty girl…oh!” She stopped short. Sheer terror shot through her.

A woman stood in the shadows. A woman with a gun leveled squarely at Cherise’s chest.

Cherise dropped her glass. It crashed onto the tile floor, shattering, glass flying, liquid splattering, ice cubes skittering.

“Don’t say a word,” the woman ordered in a low hiss that caused Cherise’s blood to run cold. “Not one word.”

Cherise swallowed back her scream.

What could she do? She had mace in her purse, but that wouldn’t help. She could run, but there was nowhere to hide. She could—

The woman stepped out of the shadows and for a second Cherise thought she’d gone mad.

“Marla?” she whispered, disbelieving. She nearly peed her pants as she saw her assailant’s cruel expres

sion. Other than the quick glimpse earlier, Cherise hadn’t seen her cousin’s wife in ten years, but this woman…oh dear God, she looked so much like Marla. “Please don’t. Show some mercy…. We’re related…Please, oh God…no!”

“Uh-oh. I guess you didn’t hear me,” Marla said. Her lips twisted in an ugly grin.

Before Cherise could utter another word, the woman fired point-blank. Cherise fell back, stumbling against a small table.

“Ssss!” The cat, hiding behind a potted plant, hissed loudly, arched her back, and dashed into the kitchen.

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