Killing Me Softly. Maggie Shayne

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СКАЧАТЬ and looked at the clock on her cluttered nightstand. It, and the framed photo of her and Bryan, arm in arm, in happy teenage puppy love, were the only two things there that really belonged. Beside those were the empty water glass, the partially ingested vodka diet, a box of tissues, an empty prescription bottle and another one that wasn’t empty, the bowl of Chinese noodles she’d had for dinner and an open package of peanut M&M’s.

      She had to shove some of the junk aside to see what time it was, and as soon as she did, she felt a lot less guilty for her reluctance to answer the phone. “It’s first thing on a Saturday. Is someone dead?”

      She was kidding, being sarcastic and snotty, and feeling totally justified in both, until Beth said, “Yes. Someone is dead.”

      Dawn sat up straight and blurted his name as everything inside her turned to ice. “Bryan—”

      “Bryan’s…he’s fine. No. He’s not fine. His dad is with him, and he’s physically fine. At least, I think he is.”

      “Good God, Beth, will you just tell me who’s dead already? I’m having heart failure here!”

      “A girl. Her name is Bette—Bettina something or other. She was…she was murdered last night. Apparently in Bryan’s house. In his…in his bed.”

      “What?”

      “He had a party last night. Had too much to drink. Woke up this morning to find this girl dead in his bed.”

      “Drugs? God, that’s going to mess up Bryan’s career big-time. Or was it…?”

      “She was murdered.”

      Dawn swore in a way she’d never before done in front of either one of her mothers.

      “Dawn, they’ve taken Bryan in for questioning. Josh just called from the station, and he says it doesn’t look good.”

      “Doesn’t look good?” Dawn frowned at the phone as if it were deliberately being vague. “Doesn’t look good? As in, they actually think he did it?”

      “I don’t know. I guess…I guess so.”

      “Well, they can’t! That just doesn’t make any sense,” Dawn said. “Bry’s a cop, for crying out loud.”

      “Yes, a cop who’s been suspended for the past month.”

      “What, still? All because he shot that guy?”

      “He’s been cleared of any wrongdoing, but he was required to meet with the department psychiatrist to be sure he wasn’t suffering from post-traumatic stress. She just gave him the all clear, and he was scheduled to return to work on Monday. Hence, the party last night.”

      “He was celebrating,” Dawn said.

      “Apparently.”

      Dawn closed her eyes, shook her head, offering a token argument, because she couldn’t seem to stop her self. Force of habit, she presumed. “I don’t know what good my coming back would do, Beth.”

      “Yes, you do,” Beth whispered. “You know you do.”

      “Did he…ask for me?”

      “He needs you, Dawn. If they don’t arrest him—”

      “Arrest him?”

      “If they don’t arrest him, Josh is going to bring him home. Dawnie, you know you can help. Even without the…the ability you inherited from your father—”

      “There is no ability.” She didn’t bother reminding Beth that any mention of Dawn’s long-dead father was strictly off-limits. The man had been a powerful medium—as well as a murderer. His gift and his mental illness, so twisted up in his mind that he couldn’t tell the real voices from the imaginary ones. The ones that told him to kill. With his dying breath, he’d passed his gift on to his teenage daughter, promising to return to her. A promise he’d kept, and one that had sent her running across the continent to escape.

      And she had escaped.

      “The dead don’t talk to me anymore, Beth. It’s…it’s gone.” Thanks to AA—Absolut and Ativan in her case.

      “I don’t believe that,” Beth said softly. “I know it drove your father insane—and I know that scares you, Dawn. So I hope, for your sake, it’s true. But even without that, Dawn, you can help. You and Bryan were like—you were like Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys.”

      “One Hardy Boy.”

      “The way you figured out what was going on in Blackberry five years ago when your father found me here—when he thought God was telling him to kill me… If it hadn’t been for you and Bryan…”

      “That was five years ago, Beth. A lot of water has gone under the bridge since then. Bryan’s the one who went on to become a cop. I just fix cars—”

      “You restore classic cars for collectors. Don’t undersell yourself.”

      “Yeah, well, it’s a far cry from crime solving.”

      “He needs you, Dawn. And I need you. I’m scared. Josh sounded awful on the phone. Bryan’s his son, and this is going to be hell on him, no matter how it comes out. I need to be there for him, Dawn, but I’m scared, too. I need you. The family needs to face this together. Please, baby, please. It’s time you came home.”

      “There are just…so many ghosts.”

      “Yeah. Well, now there’s one more.”

      “Beth—”

      “Dawn,” Beth said, and her tone had changed from pleading to the voice of absolute authority. “I didn’t raise you—didn’t even get to know you until you were practically grown. But I am your mother and I’m speaking to you as a mother right now. There’s a ticket waiting for you at the airport. Your flight leaves at 1:16 p.m., your time. Get up, pack a bag, call your boss and get your ass home. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

      Dawn closed her eyes. “I’m a grown-up now, Beth. You can’t tell me what to do.”

      “I just did, kiddo. I’ve put up with your hiding and your wallowing and your—well, to be blunt, your cowardice, for five long years, but I’m done with it now. You’re tougher than this. Stronger. Your family needs you, and I hate to say it, Dawn, but if you let me down again, I’m just not going to forgive you. Not this time.”

      Dawn blinked and stared at the phone, but Beth was gone. She’d disconnected. So Dawn replaced the receiver on its cradle and peeled back her covers. Her birth mother had just called her a coward. She had never once even hinted that she felt that way. Dawn had thought Beth understood why she had to run away, had to stay away, from that place where so much had happened. Where her murderous maniac of a father had died at long last after a string of murders and assaults. From that instant when he’d spoken his dying words to her, told her his so-called gift was hers from then on.

      Gift. Who the hell called insanity a gift?

      Oh, there was more to it than СКАЧАТЬ