Don't Scream Part 51

But Youre fired, she repeats.

Who are you supposed to be, Donald Trump? Emily protests, her intended sarcasm largely overshadowed by blatant dismay. You cant fire me for one little mistake. Thats not f I can, I did, and Ill mail your last paycheck. Get moving.

Emily hovers in the doorway of Fionas office another split second before she turns and scurries away. Moments later, Fiona hears her close the outer door.

Good riddance, she mutters, and lights a cigarette with a shaking hand. Screw the no-smoking rule.

She realizes Emily left behind her open can of Diet Pepsi on Fionas side table, where she set itwithout using a coaster, of course.

I doubt sh.e.l.l be back for it.

I doubt shed even come back for her paycheck if I dont mail it.

Maybe I shouldnt.

Fiona inhales a stream of smokeand with it, all right, maybe a bit of remorse. But it doesnt last for long.

Sh.e.l.l send Emily her paycheck, but she wont feel bad about firing her. This has been a long time coming.

And it wasnt about just one little mistake, as Emily claimed. Shes made plenty.

But this one, in particular, is unforgivable.

Emily forgot to send out an important client doc.u.ment. She took it with her to Mail Boxes Etc., and lost it somewhere along the way. Then she apparently forgot all about it.

What do you mean, youforgot? Fiona demanded of Emily, who shrugged.

Fiona was already having a bad day before this happened. A bad week, really.

All right, perhaps the worst week shes ever had in her life.

What with that creepy picture showing up on her doorstep, Ca.s.sie still in hiding but sending e-mails, Brynn calling her every five minutes, skittish and apparently just making sure Fiona is still alive, and her own birthday looming just days away And then theres James.

He hasnt returned her calls in the last few days.

He had an a.s.sistant return them as though he a.s.sumed she might be calling him about something business-related.

Of course, she had to pretend that she was.

She even tried e-mailing him, yesterdaya simpleHi, whats up? but theres been no reply.

So, yes, shes been in a foul mood.

And, yes, Emily was on the receiving end of the inevitable fallout just now.

But she deserves it. She screwed up.

And now Im going to have to deal with an irate client, and a million stupid, mindless administrative details Emily should have been taking care of.

She doesnt need any of that. Especially not now.

The phone rings.

Speak of the devil,she thinks dismally. Its probably her client.

The phone rings again.

It takes Fiona another moment to remember that she has to pick it up herself.

Fiona Fitzgerald Public Relations.

Hey, its me, her twin sister says. Ive had three messages from you in, like, three days. Whats up?

Where the heck have you been and why dont you get a real phone?

Ive been here, and thisis a real phone.

Then why dont you return calls?

Because you keep asking me if Im coming up there for our birthday this weekend, and Im still not sure what I want to do.

Well, its not like its months away, so, obviously, you arent coming.

Not necessarily. Ive been toying around with it.

Is it that Antoinette doesnt want you to come up? Because youre both welcome.

No, she actually thinks I should come. And she cant, herself, but she doesnt care about that.

So do you want me to buy you a ticket? Fiona offers, and takes a deep drag off her cigarette, trying to calm her nerves.

No, I can get my own ticket.

Itll cost you a fortune.

Havent you ever heard of last-minute ticket deals?

So get one.

I will if I decide to come.

Deethe childhood nickname spills from her lips and her sister doesnt protestplease come.

I might.

But you might not. Wheres Antoinette? Put her on the line.

Why?

Because Im going to tell her to bring you to an airport and put you on a plane.

She doesnt follow orders, and, anyway, shes not here right now. Listen, Fee, if I can get there, I will. I even still have the key to your house, so maybe youll come home from work and Ill be there to surprise you. Okay?

Fiona hesitates.No. Thats not good enough. I need you. Now.

Thats what she wants to tell her twin.

Instead, she says just, Okay, try hard, and hears her voice crack.

Terrific, shes on the verge of tears.

Fee? Are you all right?

Im fine. She sinks the remains of her cigarette in Emilys Diet Pepsi can. Call me when you know what youre doing.

As she hangs up, Fiona hears a m.u.f.fled movement in the next room.

Someone is there.

For over a week now, Quincy has been trying to figure out where that piece of an old sorority sweater fits into the Harrington case.

The fact is, it fits in about as well as Governor Troy Allerson would fit in working a factory a.s.sembly line.

If it wasnt for that sc.r.a.p of gray and red woolwhich lab tests proved were embedded with microscopic particles of soil and vegetation ordinarily found at a much higher elevationQuincy would be feeling a lot better about Allerson as a potential suspect.

No, he doesnt doubt what Ray Wilmington revealed in his rambling note, which was primarily an apology to his mother for the shame he had brought her.

Sprinkled in with ad nauseamPlease forgive me s andI never meant to hurt you s was that believable revelation about Matildas clandestine relationship with her G.o.dfather.

Theres not a doubt in Quincys jaded mind that a man like Allerson, whose esteemed and promising political career is built entirely on his wholesome family-man image, would kill in order to protect that image.

So maybe he jilted Matilda and she threatened to go to his wife. Or the press.

More likely, maybe Ray Wilmington made that threat, as he claimed.

Blackmail.

That was why Ray was hanging around that night in front of the victims house.

He confessed that he was planning to extort money from her in exchange for keeping quiet about her affair with Allerson. When he saw that she was inebriateda fact corroborated by the coroners officehe left without confronting her.

Or so he claimed in his letter.

He also claimed that he never approached Allerson at all.

Quincys team is doing its best to gather evidence of the high-profile politicians involvement with Matilda Harrington. But so far, theyre having a h.e.l.l of a time. Allerson covered his tracks remarkably well.

Not just the affair, but the murder as well, if he really was behind it.

Citing routine procedure, Mike and Deb questioned him yesterday, to no avail. They even came right out and asked him, point-blank, about an affair. They said he went pale, but kept his composure, and admitted nothing.

Wilmington didnt come right out in his letter and accuse Allerson of the murder. He didnt even write that he saw him there the night of the murder.

But did he?

Theyll never know.

Quincy cant help but acknowledge that a guy like Allerson pays people to cook for him, clean for him, shop for him, and probably to buff his toenails. He wouldnt choose to get bloodeven if it is blue blood, like his ownall over that fancy wardrobe of his. Not if he could help it.

Did he hire someone to do it for him? The lack of prints at the scene would indicate premeditation and, perhaps, professionalism.

But the overkill element would seem to indicate a crime of pa.s.sion. Or is the demonstration of pa.s.sion deliberate, intended to cover up the real motive?

And what about the bizarre calling card left at the scene?

None of it fits together.

And its giving Quincy one h.e.l.l of a perpetual stomachache.

For a moment, Fiona sits, absolutely frozen, her thoughts whirling immediately to Tildys murder.

What if ?

Suddenly, she finds herself more outraged than afraid.

She takes her jewel-handled letter opener from her desk and clutches it in her hand like a weapon.

Then, holding her breath, her pulse roaring in her own ears, she sneaks over to the door and pulls it open a crack.

Emily is back, furtively going through the top drawer of the desk which happens to be where Fiona keeps the petty cash.

What are you doing? she asks sharply, and the girl jumps and presses a hand to the base of her throat.

You scared me.

Ditto. Fiona tosses the letter opener back on her desk. I thought you left.

I did, but She trails off.

What are you doing? Fiona repeats.

Just looking for that package. I thought if I could find itI really need this job.

Forget it. Youre done. I have a copy of it that I can print out and send again, and I wouldnt give you your job back even if I thought you really were looking for the original.

Emilys eyes flare. Are you calling me a liar?

Fiona shrugs.