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At the Barefoot Bar once again, Elizabeth’s friends questioned her and questioned her, trying to make it all seem light and airy when their faces were full of worry and concern. Elizabeth understood. If she were in their shoes, and hadn’t been the one experiencing these strange events, she would have probably felt the same. But no matter how many questions they asked her, she had no answers for them. She didn’t understand her ability, either. It just was, and though she’d fought it down for years with her own iron will, it never went away, evidenced by what had occurred at Uncle Vito’s.
They were all there—Tara, Vivian, Deirdre, Jade and Nadia. Tara was the one who initiated most of the queries. Jade, knowing how reluctant Elizabeth was in even admitting anything unusual had happened with Little Nate, ran a little bit of interference for her. Deirdre boldly asked her if she really wanted them to believe she was clairvoyant, making it clear she, of all of them, thought the whole thing was a crock. Vivian tried to change the subject, patently uncomfortable with the idea. Nadia seemed to be reserving judgment, though she did show Elizabeth a news item that ran on one of the more salacious local television stations where the reporter pleaded with the mystery savior to show herself and let the world thank her for her heroic efforts.
Elizabeth realized two things from the evening. One, her friends were not going to be able to keep her secret for long, if they hadn’t given it away already, and two, their friendship with her had taken an unexpected turn, maybe not for the better.
With exhaustion coming on like a drowning wave, Elizabeth finally had enough and asked Tara to drive her back to Vivian’s to pick up her car and Chloe. Deirdre tried to talk everyone into staying, but no one really wanted to.
When they got back to Vivian’s house, Lissa and Bibi seemed to have ganged up on Chloe who was near tears but wouldn’t let them fall until she was in the car on the way home. “I hate Lissa,” she said again, brushing aside angry tears.
“We don’t hate anyone,” Elizabeth answered, tired.
“Yes, we do.” Chloe sounded so positive Elizabeth wondered if something more was behind her words, then decided she was chasing ghosts. Chloe was a child who loved and hated all at the same time.
Back at the house, Elizabeth indulged her with a Popsicle, then read her two stories at bedtime. Closing her door, she walked to her bedroom, kicked off her shoes, and changed into a pair of pajamas. She’d had one glass of wine at the bar and wondered if she should indulge in another, but a headache was knocking at the back of her brain, so she let it go.
She was in bed, reading and rereading the same page of a book Nadia had recommended to her that she just couldn’t get into, when her doorbell rang. Her first reaction was to burrow under the covers and hold back whatever was coming her way.
The half sister.
Immediately, she was angry with her father again. He should have asked her before he just handed out her address. “What was he thinking?”
Throwing off the covers, she hurried to the door, not bothering with a robe. She wanted to catch her visitor before she rang the bell again and risked waking Chloe. She would get rid of her, and the private detective, too, if he was still with her.
Peering through the peephole, Elizabeth felt a distinct shock. Not a supposed relative. Officer Maya. What’s she doing here? Did Detective Thronson tell her what I said?
Cautiously, Elizabeth turned on the outside light and opened the door. “Officer Maya,” she said, her tone purposely neutral.
“I’m sorry to bother you again, Mrs. Ellis, but I have some disturbing news.”
The restaurant crash. “Did he die? The man in the car?”
Officer Maya hesitated, then said, “Yes, unfortunately, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because Detective Bette Thronson was killed last night. Shot in her own home. And we believe you may have been one of the last people to see her alive.”
Chapter 27
“What? Shot? No!” Elizabeth stumbled backward away from the doorway. “She can’t be dead. She can’t!” But even as she said the words, she could read the truth in Maya’s sober and stunned face. “Oh, God . . .”
We think you may have been the last person to see her alive. . . .
Crumpling into a chair in the living room, Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. How can this be happening?
Her world had tumbled off its axis, tragedies befalling people she knew, people who’d touched her life. Her hands were wet with tears and she felt darkness squeeze in on her.
“Mrs. Ellis?” Maya’s voice. From a distance. As if the officer were on the far side of a long tunnel. “Mrs. Ellis!”
In her shock, Elizabeth had left Officer Maya standing on the porch, but she’d come into the house anyway and was leaning over her. With an effort, Elizabeth pulled back from the seductive embrace of oblivion. She needed to keep from fainting. She needed to be present.
She dropped her hands. “I’m . . . I’m okay,” she said, though of course, that was a lie. She was far from being anything close to okay. “I don’t understand. What happened?”
“There was an intruder in her home. No forced entry. Looks like he or she followed Bette home and pushed their way inside.” Maya was having difficulty keeping the emotion out of her voice. “My partner’s on the scene with the techs.”
Elizabeth gazed dispiritedly at the officer. Her heart pounded erratically. Dead because you had a problem with her. Dead because you argued with her, baited her, in so many words told her to go ahead and arrest you. “Do you . . . Do you know who did it?”
“Not yet,” Maya said, her dark eyes somber. “But we will.”
Something in her tone alerted Elizabeth to the realization that Maya thought she had something to do with Thronson’s death, just as Thronson suspected she was involved with the others.
You can’t wish someone dead.
