The Hitman's Daughter by Carolyne Topdjian

Author:Carolyne Topdjian [Topdjian, Carolyne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SEVEN

Money. The killer had set her up over Birdie’s inheritance. Mave’s brain felt like it might rupture from Morganson’s news.

If either Charlie or Parissa Everhart had been aware they’d been cut from their mother’s will—that everything was going to a stranger—surely, the human response would be outrage. Drastic actions could cause drastic reactions—like murder—especially when millions of dollars were concerned. But why? Why leave her everything?

The more she considered it, the more essential it became she retrieve Birdie’s note. It wasn’t just evidence that could confirm her whereabouts during the crime—proof she wasn’t lying. Its message and signature were possible clues into the killer’s identity. And the killer had the answers Mave now desperately needed.

Her feet climbed the spiral staircase on autopilot, spinning higher and higher. Behind her, Sheriff Morganson’s trailing steps vibrated through the iron handrail. The sheriff asked no more questions as they made their way to the fifth floor. It made Mave nervous. Either Morganson recognized her baffled state, or she, too, needed the time to think. What would she do when they entered her room?

Through the darkened hallways, Mave imagined suspects one by one dropping off the note: first Katrina, then Dominic Grady, then Tag, Charlie, or Parissa, or even her husband Nicholas Vaughn.

They reached the staff quarters, and Mave slowed to a stop in front of her room. “This is it,” she said, though she had a feeling the sheriff knew exactly behind which door she slept. Her heart thumped unreasonably fast as she turned the lock and pushed.

I’ve got nothing to hide, she reminded herself. If she thought it enough times, maybe she’d begin to believe it.

The glow from her phone skated across her bed, dresser, nightstand. Everything seemed perfectly as she’d left it: tidy and organized. The exception was a silver tray from catering deposited next to the door—her dinner presumably.

She stepped across the creaky threshold, ignoring the food despite her empty stomach, and led the sheriff to her bathroom. There wasn’t enough space for both of them to fit without bumping into one another. As Mave reached down to draw out her wastebasket, a fresh pang of anxiety turned her stomach. If Tag hadn’t stolen it when he’d stopped by yesterday, could the note somehow be used against her—carry only her prints like the glass muller?

A killer who went to all this trouble would’ve worn gloves.

Before Mave could backtrack, Sheriff Morganson’s flashlight reflected the bin’s contents. The edge of the manila card was visible within. The anxiety squeezing Mave’s chest intensified. She reminded herself, Birdie had not written that invitation. A forensic handwriting expert could prove it. There was chance, no matter how small, that Morganson would process the evidence and the forgery would backfire and expose its true author. That was assuming she wasn’t a dirty cop. That was assuming her surprise arrival wasn’t part of the set-up.

The sheriff hooked out Birdie’s invitation with the end of her pen. After closely inspecting it, she snapped a photo of the card. She seemed neither pleased nor displeased.

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