Read The Perfect Murder for Free Online Page A
Authors: Brenda Novak
possible, he didn't realize he'd forgotten his cell phone until he was standing in line at the checkout register. He usually placed it in the seat next to him as soon as he got in the van so it could sync with his Bluetooth. In California, it was illegal to talk on a cell phone while driving, and he couldn't afford to get pulled over for something stupid. But leaving his cell behind with Marcie in the van was about as stupid a mistake as he could imagine.
"Son of a bitch!"
The woman behind him must've heard the curse. She frowned in disapproval, but he didn't care whether he'd offended her or not. He'd left his damn cell phone in the car! He'd told Marcie not to try anything. Then he'd put temptation only two feet away.
Shoving his cart to the side, he abandoned his groceries so he could hurry to the exit.
His breaths were short, foggy puffs as he jogged around the building. At first glance, everything looked normal. Chances were she was exactly as he'd left her.
He'd warned her, hadn't he?
But as he crept up on the front bumper and peered through the windshield, 36
he knew he'd had good reason to be worried. She'd managed to get her hands free, just as he'd feared. Her gag was down, too. He could tell because the lit screen on his phone bathed her face in an eerie glow--she was in the middle of placing a call.
If it was 9-1-1, they could trace the phone's location using the federal government's Global Position System satellites. Even if it wasn't 9-1-1, the location of any phone could be traced by the signal it sent to the closest cell phone towers.
Jerking open the sliding door, he leaned in and wrenched the phone away.
Then he turned it off, used his T-shirt to wipe it clean and chucked it as hard as he could into the field behind the grocery store.
Marcie had one hand still cuffed to the door handle. The other was bleeding because she'd forced it through the metal circle of the other cuff. But that didn't stop her from pushing her legs through the opening and trying to get out.
Without warning, he slammed the door on her legs. When she arched back and cried out, he widened the gap enough that she could yank her legs in. Then he closed it tightly.
"I didn't call anyone important," she sobbed as he climbed behind the wheel.
If he'd had the time, he would've punched her in the face. "You lying bitch!"
"No, I swear," she said. "I jus' wanted to tell our older sister we're okay. She don't know where we're at. I don't even know..."
"You're dead," he promised but, careful to do nothing that would attract attention, he backed up, swung around and turned out of the driveway at normal speed. He had to get away from the supermarket before his vehicle could be spotted by whatever police unit had been dispatched. And he had to do it without creating a witness to his flight.
37
Four
T he jangle of her phone came to Jane in a dream. She heard it ringing, but it had no relevance to her. It was someone else's phone. Distant. Removed. Then silence--until a much more subtle disturbance woke her.
Opening her eyes to total darkness, she blinked. For months after Oliver had left her lying in her own blood, she'd dreamt she heard him in the hallway, coming to finish what he'd started. He always had a knife in his hand and the look of murder in his eyes. She knew that look because she was one of the few who'd seen it and lived to tell about it. The nightmare was so vivid she could smell him, feel the warmth of his body as he drew close, his fingernails biting into her arm as he dragged her up against him--
"Mom?"
Jane gasped. She could breathe. It wasn't real. Oliver was dead. The noise that'd awakened her had been Kate. Her daughter was standing in the doorway.
"Wh-what?" she said, willing her heart to slow its pounding.
Kate came to the side of the bed. "Didn't you hear me? Someone's on the phone for you. And she sounds like she's crying."
Who would call her in the middle of the night crying? Sheridan? Skye? Had there
"Son of a bitch!"
The woman behind him must've heard the curse. She frowned in disapproval, but he didn't care whether he'd offended her or not. He'd left his damn cell phone in the car! He'd told Marcie not to try anything. Then he'd put temptation only two feet away.
Shoving his cart to the side, he abandoned his groceries so he could hurry to the exit.
His breaths were short, foggy puffs as he jogged around the building. At first glance, everything looked normal. Chances were she was exactly as he'd left her.
He'd warned her, hadn't he?
But as he crept up on the front bumper and peered through the windshield, 36
he knew he'd had good reason to be worried. She'd managed to get her hands free, just as he'd feared. Her gag was down, too. He could tell because the lit screen on his phone bathed her face in an eerie glow--she was in the middle of placing a call.
If it was 9-1-1, they could trace the phone's location using the federal government's Global Position System satellites. Even if it wasn't 9-1-1, the location of any phone could be traced by the signal it sent to the closest cell phone towers.
Jerking open the sliding door, he leaned in and wrenched the phone away.
Then he turned it off, used his T-shirt to wipe it clean and chucked it as hard as he could into the field behind the grocery store.
Marcie had one hand still cuffed to the door handle. The other was bleeding because she'd forced it through the metal circle of the other cuff. But that didn't stop her from pushing her legs through the opening and trying to get out.
Without warning, he slammed the door on her legs. When she arched back and cried out, he widened the gap enough that she could yank her legs in. Then he closed it tightly.
"I didn't call anyone important," she sobbed as he climbed behind the wheel.
If he'd had the time, he would've punched her in the face. "You lying bitch!"
"No, I swear," she said. "I jus' wanted to tell our older sister we're okay. She don't know where we're at. I don't even know..."
"You're dead," he promised but, careful to do nothing that would attract attention, he backed up, swung around and turned out of the driveway at normal speed. He had to get away from the supermarket before his vehicle could be spotted by whatever police unit had been dispatched. And he had to do it without creating a witness to his flight.
37
Four
T he jangle of her phone came to Jane in a dream. She heard it ringing, but it had no relevance to her. It was someone else's phone. Distant. Removed. Then silence--until a much more subtle disturbance woke her.
Opening her eyes to total darkness, she blinked. For months after Oliver had left her lying in her own blood, she'd dreamt she heard him in the hallway, coming to finish what he'd started. He always had a knife in his hand and the look of murder in his eyes. She knew that look because she was one of the few who'd seen it and lived to tell about it. The nightmare was so vivid she could smell him, feel the warmth of his body as he drew close, his fingernails biting into her arm as he dragged her up against him--
"Mom?"
Jane gasped. She could breathe. It wasn't real. Oliver was dead. The noise that'd awakened her had been Kate. Her daughter was standing in the doorway.
"Wh-what?" she said, willing her heart to slow its pounding.
Kate came to the side of the bed. "Didn't you hear me? Someone's on the phone for you. And she sounds like she's crying."
Who would call her in the middle of the night crying? Sheridan? Skye? Had there
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