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Carl shrugged in a gesture of helplessness. “I shot her.”
He took a moment to get his breath. “I was quite calm afterward. I put the gun in the bag, then cleaned up the kitchen. Janet was always fanatical about neatness. I wiped the kettle of my prints, picked up the little canister of Sylvia’s tea, wiped it and put it back into the rack. I turned its face around as I couldn’t bear to see the name.
“Then I walked out. I felt bad that poor Dora would probably be the one to find her, but it couldn’t be helped.”
They sat in silence for a while. Sara was visualizing all that he’d told her. Carl’s face was even more gray than it had been.
Sara looked at her notebook. She hadn’t written a word. “I guess that’s all.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want any questions to come up later. After I’m, you know, gone.”
“I don’t think there will be,” she said softly.
“Good.” Carl smiled. “The drugs they give you here are wonderful. I can almost understand addicts. Speaking of which, how is Lisa?”
“Still here in Lachlan. She’s...”
“I know. Waiting for me to go. I will as soon as all this is settled.” He sat up a bit, his face alarmed. “What about that reporter? He’s been a real pest.”
“He’s been sorted,” Sara said firmly. “He’s dropped the White Lily Kidnapping. I told him that Chet had planted the evidence, and that the man was kind of crazy. Hi
s imagination had blown a small case into something huge.”
Carl’s face seemed to age. “Did he believe that?”
“Heavens no!” Sara said. “But what he did believe is my offer to get my agent and my editor to read the fiction series that he and Arthur are going to write.”
“A what?”
Sara smiled. “Arthur wants to write a murder mystery series about a man in a wheelchair and Everett is going to be a collaborator. I think they’re going to move in together.”
“Makes sense. Arthur is rich and alone and...”
“Everett is poor and alone. It’s a perfect match.”
Carl nodded, pleased. “It might work out. And Charlene?”
“She’s at home. She’s been talking to Jack but she hasn’t told us anything we didn’t already know. Tayla has put her big house on the market. She’s going to give the commission to Kate.”
“That’s good,” Carl said. “Very good. And you’ll write Sylvia’s book?”
“It’s finished except for this last part. It will be with her name in huge letters on the cover, but mine will be small and below it.”
“Because your name sells books.”
“Right.” Carl’s eyes were drooping so Sara stood up. “I’ll see you later,” she said, but thought Maybe. When he didn’t answer, she left the room.
That had been two days ago. Carl was still alive, still hanging on to life, but not for long.
Sara closed her computer. She could hear Jack and Kate in the kitchen. They were laughing and quietly talking and Sara didn’t want to interrupt them.
Her X-Pro 2 camera was nearby and she took out the SD card. It had been so long since she’d used that camera that she didn’t remember what she’d last shot. She’d received a call from Sheriff Flynn and she and Jack had gone tearing out. She didn’t even remember what she’d done that morning—the time when Janet was being murdered.
The photos came up. Oh yeah, she’d taken her MINI all the way over to the east side to Andrews Avenue to have it serviced. Jack said he’d do it but Sara wanted the drive. She got there at 7:30 a.m., turned her car over to the team, and started taking photos. There were men with air hoses, cars on hydraulic lifts, women dressed for work, a customer—
Sara was sure her heart skipped a beat. She enlarged the picture.
Carl was standing in the background. The camera’s face recognition had caught him in crystal clarity. A quick search showed that he was in six pictures, always standing in the background and watching.
