The Final Victim (28 page)

    Aimee smiles gratefully at Charlotte, who grasps her hand tightly as the two of them hurry down the corridor after the nurse.

    "You don't think she did it herself?"
Phyllida
asks her brother in disbelief, staring at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

    "
Shhh
"
Gib
looks around as if to make sure the other patrons of the Bull Street Cafe haven't overheard. "I didn't say
she
did it…"

    
Phyllida
lowers her voice to a whisper. "You just said-"

    "What I meant was that she could have hired somebody to do it."

    "I can't think of anything more out of character than prim-and-proper Charlotte sneaking around interviewing hit men. Sometimes I think you're losing it, Gib."

    "And sometimes I think that prim-and-proper thing she does is an act."

    "I don't know… I think she was really shaken up by this," she tells Gib. "I felt sorry for her at the hospital."

    "So did
I
," he admits. "Do you think one of us should have stayed with her for a while?"

    So
Gib
suddenly has a conscience? Talk about out of character…

    
Phyllida
watches him douse his scrambled eggs with another hefty dose of Louisiana hot sauce, then take a huge bite without wincing or washing it down with water.

    She shakes her head and nibbles a green grape from her fruit plate, remembering that he always did like things hotter and spicier than anyone else could stomach. Their mother always said his taste buds just aren't wired to be as sensitive as most people's.

    
Phyllida
sometimes wondered if the rest of him might not be wired that way as well. In that way, her brother reminds her of their grandfather. Nothing bothers him, really.
Physically, emotionally…

    Financially, yes, she acknowledges. Money, he cares about "Do you, think we should have stayed at the hospital?" she asks him.

    "I guess not. I don't think she really wanted us there."

    "No, probably not" She spears a fat red strawberry with her fork before asking casually, "So where were you last night, anyway?"

    His head jerks up. "How did I know you weren't going to let that-drop?"

    "Come on, Gib. You were out all night? Where did you go?"

    
"To an art gallery opening."

    
"Where?"

    
"In Savannah.
On River Street You want the address and a bunch of witnesses? Because I promise I can give you both."

    Ignoring that she asks, "You were there all night?"

    "No. I hit a couple of bars after."

    "Who were you with?"

    "Nobody you know."

    "So do the bars still close at three AM around here?" she asks.

    He shrugs. "I wouldn't know. Maybe you should call City Hall and see if they do."

    
"I'm just wondering," she says succinctly, "where you were between three in the morning and when you came home to pick me up."

    She bites into the strawberry, conscious of her brother's gaze on her.

    "You actually think I had something to do with trying to bump off Charlotte's husband, don't you?" he asks flatly.

    "Or course I don't dunk so, Gib. But I hope you have a good alibi. Because you know they're going to ask."

    
"The police?"

    She nods.

    "What about you?" he asks in return. "Where were you?"

    
"Where else?
Stuck at
Oakgate
."

    "Doing what?"

    
"Mostly watching TV in my room.
And sleeping."

    "You were there all night? You never left?"

    "How could I leave? I don't even have a car. I had to wait for you to get home before I could even go to the hospital, remember?"

    "You could have taken
Grandaddy's
Town Car out of the carriage house."

    
Phyllida
sets down her fork, having lost her appetite. She forgot all about that.

    "How would I even know where the keys were?" she asks
Gib
defensively.

    "Nydia would have known."

    "Oh, please. She goes to bed at eight o'clock."

    "How do you know?"

    "Because I tried to find her to see if she knows if there's an Internet connection on the computer in
Grandaddy's
study, and her door was closed. There was no light on in there. I could tell by the crack under the door."

    
"Why the computer?
Trying to hack into the financial files?"
Gib
asks, looking momentarily amused.

    "No, Brian took the laptop back with him and I wanted to read
Variety
online. I'll leave the financial hacking to you," she adds with a smirk.

    "Don't kid about that. We might have to resort to it. So did anybody at
Oakgate
see you last night so they can vouch for you?
Nydia?
The kid?"

    "No." This isn't good. The police might do some snooping around, find out about the will, and realize she or
Gib
would have had a pretty good motive to get rid of the
Maitlands
.

    "I wonder if I can possibly get Nydia to say she saw me around the house," she muses aloud, then dismisses the idea with a flat, "Nah, I can't see her helping out of the goodness of her heart. She never liked me-or you, either. She thought we were the wild kids compared to Miss Perfect."

    
Gib
doesn't argue with that.

    "Maybe she won't help out of the goodness of her heart,
Phyll
," he says, "but she might if you give her some incentive."

    "Like what?"

    "What else?
Cash."

    "She never struck me as being the least bit materialistic,"
Phyllida
points out "Yeah, well, maybe she's secretly longing for a mink coat."

    "How much money are we talking about, here?"
Phyllida
asks.

    "A lot
This
is serious,
Phyll
. You need an airtight alibi as much as I do."

    "Well, I can't imagine Nydia agreeing to
he
to the police for anyone, at any price."

    
"You're probably right"
Gib
polishes off the rest of his eggs in a single gulp, then eyes the remains of her fruit plate.
"Are you going to eat that?"

    Wordlessly, she slides her plate across the table and wonders how he can possibly eat at a time like this. Her own stomach is in knots.

    But then, that's Gib. She doubts he's ever missed a meal, or lost a moment's sleep, because of stress.

    It must be nice to go through life that certain you're going to land on your feet. Somehow,
Gib
always does.

    But the odds are that sooner or later, he's going to fall flat on his face.

    
Phyllida
just hopes-for his
sake,
and her own-that time isn't upon him now.

    "Royce? Royce… Are you awake?"

    Drifting along through heavy fog on a delightful cushion of tranquility, he wonders,
Royce? Who's Royce?

    Then somebody shakes his arm, ever so gently, and the cloud of medication lifts enough for him to remember.

    
Me! I'm Royce.

    And that's Charlotte's voice, calling me.

    He opens his eyes to see his wife leaning over him, smiling tearfully. The light is so bright Why is it so bright?

    "Where… Where am I?" he murmurs, and tries to roll over, his effort halted by a fierce stab of pain in his leg. He goes still, trying to find his way back to the calming fog…

    "You're in the hospital."

    
The hospital?

    Why-? Oh!

    A fleeting memory slams into him like a bullet, and his eyelids fly open again.

    "Shot" he manages to say, and Charlotte nods.

    She's been crying, he realizes. Her eyes are black with mascara smudges that track faintly toward her jaw.

    'You're going to be fine, Royce… Are you in pain?"

    
"My… leg."
He tries to move it again and winces.

    "Does it hurt?"

    Like hell.

    She must have read his mind, because she says, "They've got you on some heavy stuff to relieve it. The nurse said it might make you confused and that you might not remember things at first."

    He's silent, searching his muddled brain for details.

    "Do you remember what happened, Royce?" Charlotte asks gently.

    "I don't know… not… everything."

    "They just upped the dose. It'll probably knock you out again. But that's good. You should just sleep."

    He nods, searching his muddled memory for details, coming up with the right question. "Who… shot me?"

    "They don't know.
Whoever it was got away."
She leans over to kiss his forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay, Royce. And there's somebody else here to see you. Aimee flew in from New Orleans this morning."

    
Aimee?
New Orleans?

    "Aimee!" he exclaims, as the light dawns. "Yes. Where is she?" “I’ll send her in." Charlotte brushes his cheek with the back of her fingers. "I'm so thankful you're okay, Royce."

    
"Yeah."
He tries to shift position slightly, and grunts in pain.
"My leg."

    "I know. But the damage was repaired in surgery, and you're going to have full use of it again after you recover. You'll be playing tennis again in no time."

    
Tennis.
Good. That's really good. He likes tennis, doesn't he? It's all so fuzzy…

    "I'll go tell Aimee it's her turn," Charlotte says.

    "Yes.
Aimee."

    "She's wonderful, Royce."

    He smiles, relieved that the two women in his life have met and everything is apparently fine between them.

    "Wish I could have been there to introduce y'all," he tells Charlotte.

    "We did just fine on our own. And I'm going to ask her to stay with me at
Oakgate
. She had said she'd get a hotel, but… She's family."

    This is more than he ever could have hoped for.

    Feeling the tide of weariness sweeping toward him, he closes his eyes contentedly to wait for Aimee.

    
"Nydia!"
Lianna
shouts, plunking the telephone receiver back into its cradle in her grandfather's study.
"Nydia!
Where are you?"

    She hears footsteps pounding up the stairs and decides the housekeeper sure can move pretty fast for an old person.

    "What? What is it?" Nydia asks breathlessly, bursting into the room.

    "Did you take this telephone off the hook? I came in here to make a call and I found the receiver dangling on the floor."

    The woman averts her gaze, telling
Lianna
that she correctly guessed the culprit.

    "Why did you do this? My father has probably been trying to reach me!"

    Silence, although Nydia looks directly at her now, and seems to be weighing some kind of decision.

    "How long has it been off the hook?"
Lianna
demands.

    "Since this morning," the woman confesses, without the decency to look the least bit apologetic. "And I did it because your mother asked me to."

    Fury churns in
Lianna's
gut
How
dare her mother go to such deliberate lengths to make it impossible for Dad to reach her?

    That does it.

    This is the last straw.

    
Lianna
turns her back on the housekeeper and reaches for the phone again. She has to get
ahold
of her father. He must have been trying to call her all day to tell her why he hasn't shown up. Wait till he hears what Mom did. He's going to be livid.

    Before she can pick up the receiver, the phone rings.

    "Don't answer that!" Nydia says sharply.

    'The hell I won't!"
Lianna
snatches it up with a breathless hello.

    "Who is this?" an unfamiliar voice asks.

    Disappointment courses through her as she answers, "
It's
Lianna
."

    
"
Lianna
?
Charlotte Maitland's daughter?"

    "Yes."

    "I'm calling from the Chatham Gazette for a comment on the shooting of your father last night, Miss Maitland."