62
Victoria followed her sister down the hall and let Teagan push her into the closet behind the garments like two kids playing hide-and-seek.
“Shut up,” Teagan said, holding a finger to her lips and stilling the swinging hangers. “I’ll take care of this.”
“How?”
“Quiet.”
With a pointed look, Teagan wrapped herself in a robe from the hook on the wall and fled, shutting Victoria in darkness. Everything in her mind narrowed to a singular, pounding thought.
Trapped.
She was trapped. Couldn’t leave the apartment. Couldn’t leave the damn room.
Also, now she had the added stress of Meyers showing up before Teagan had actually outright admitted to anything.
Teagan’s muffled voice cut through her thoughts. “Detective Meyers, is everything all right?”
Meyers’s response was too soft to hear. Teagan must not have let her inside yet.
“No, I haven’t heard from Victoria since this morning,” Teagan said. “We spoke briefly before work. Why? What’s going on?”
Meyers’s answer was reduced to the womp-womp-womp of Charlie Brown’s teacher.
“I don’t know where she could be,” Teagan said. “I could try calling her. Most of Tor’s friends live in the Manor. I don’t think she’d go to a colleague if she was in trouble. Is she in trouble?”
She would be in trouble if Teagan couldn’t get Meyers to leave.
Teagan’s next dismissal was louder. “I’m sure it’s important, but now doesn’t really work for me. I have an early surgery and need at least eight hours to be at my best. I’m sorry to say no, but Tor’s probably fine. We can set something up for a more appropriate time tomorrow.”
Victoria caught snippets of half-formed words. Sis . . . fi . . . missing . . . concer . . .
She was telling Teagan about the fire.
“Okay, no—no, of course, I had no idea. Please, come in. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Cup of coffee? Black, right? Yes, I’ve got a good memory.”
Give her an A-line and a strand of pearls, and Teagan was a clone of their mother.
The next minutes were some of the most frustrating of Victoria’s existence. She couldn’t hear Teagan and Meyers talking in the kitchen. Being in the dark in an unfamiliar place was disorienting. Was that Teagan banging the cabinets, or was Meyers searching the apartment?
She had to get closer.
Slowly, Victoria opened the door until there was enough space to squeeze out of the closet. Ted Bundy had murdered dozens of women unchecked, and his downfall had been a traffic infraction. Victoria was not about to get caught because she stepped on the wrong floorboard.
Not that she was comparing herself to Ted Bundy.
Victoria tiptoed across the room and repeated the process with the bedroom door. She had an obstructed view of the living room. Teagan had drawn the curtains at some point. The lamp on the end table created a soft, inviting glow.
Meyers’s voice got louder, and Victoria withdrew deeper into the shadows. “. . . fire chief has started the preliminary stages of his investigation. His crew are working the scene now, trying to piece together the specifics.”
“How horrible. Are they thinking faulty wiring? Tor mentioned a house fire in the Manor a few years ago. Something about the materials they’re using in new constructions not being as resistant. The family lost everything.”
“It’s too soon to say with any certainty what the official ruling will be, but the chief did say that, based on his initial findings, the burn patterns don’t look accidental. There were definite points of origin, at least three.”
Teagan gasped. “Arson?”
“We haven’t ruled out the possibility that Victoria set the fire herself.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Teagan said. “Why would she burn her own house down?”
“A very good question, which is why it’s important that we find her. Hear what she has to say.”
Meyers sat at the far end of the couch. Teagan extended a steaming mug to her, which Meyers graciously accepted. She blew on it, eyes fixed in front of her, and sipped tentatively. “This is a good blend.”
“Death Wish,” Teagan agreed.
“The brand. It’s called Death Wish.”
“Ah, yes. Cumbie’s is usually as fancy as I get. Most bang for the buck.”
I’m under suspicion of arson and murder, but sure, let’s continue this discourse on the merits of gas-station coffee, Victoria thought.
Meyers quirked her head to the side as if she were thinking hard. “Ms. Livingston, did I interrupt something?”
“What do you mean?” Teagan’s confusion was convincing, but every fiber in Victoria’s body was screaming.
She tipped her chin at the mugs on the table. “You said you were getting ready for bed, but there are two mugs.” She leaned forward, gently touching each cup. “Still warm.”
Shit.
Teagan wrapped her arms around her torso. She sneaked a glance down the hall, catching Victoria’s eyes, and with a minute shake of her head, a warning to stay put, she rounded the couch. “They’re both mine. Forgot to put the old mug in the dishwasher,” she said. “Perks of being single. Don’t need to explain my cleaning habits to anyone.”
“Is she here?”
“Is . . . who here?”
“Your sister.”
“I already told you; we haven’t spoken since this morning.”
“Care to reconsider your original statement?” Meyers asked.
Teagan shrugged, stuffing her hands into the robe pockets.
Meyers chuckled drily. “Obstructing an investigation is a crime, one I won’t hesitate to act upon should you give me a reason.”
“Good thing no one here is above the law.”
“Your sister is wanted for questioning in connection with two murders.”
“So you’ve said. I can’t help you.”
“Look, if she’s asking you to stick your neck out for her, that’s not any family you want to keep.”
Teagan stared her down. “For all you know, Victoria was trapped in the house when it went up in flames. Maybe you should be there assisting with the search instead of harassing me.”
“We know she’s alive. We have a confirmed sighting.”
Teagan paced methodically. Right. Pivot. Left. Pivot. A pendulum of energy. “Confirmed by who? Margaret Connors? The self-proclaimed Empress of Kent Wood? Forgive me if I don’t jump aboard that gossip train. I know the price of the ticket.”
Meyers moved to put her mug down and froze, hand hovering midair. “Who said anything about Margaret Connors?”
Teagan abruptly stopped. “You did,” she said.
Shit. Victoria gripped the doorframe, losing the fight to stay put.
“No,” Meyers said. “I didn’t.”
Suspension of time never felt more real to Victoria than it did in that moment.
“Hell,” Teagan spat, moving with the speed of a viper. She snatched something from the depths of the couch cushion and jabbed it at Meyers.
“No!” Victoria cried, a beat behind in processing what was happening as the needle hit its mark.
A blink of an eye and an eternity passed in the space of seconds.
Meyers slapped at her neck, reeling back on the couch as she caught sight of Victoria.
“Victoria, get back,” Teagan said, level and calm.
“What did you do?”
Meyers attempted to stand. She went to steady herself on the table, missed the edge, and fell forward. The discarded needle rolled off the couch and landed between Victoria and Teagan.
“Hnng,” Meyers moaned. “Ssss.” Stumbling, collapsing, she managed to skirt the couch and claw at Teagan. Disturbing grunt-groans escaped her throat beneath a face much too red to be normal.
Teagan shook her off easily, more irritated than afraid.
Meyers’s movements became sluggish and slow. Her half-lidded eyes went cross as she patted drunkenly at her torso. The heel of her boot dug into the area rug, like she was trying to push herself away from them. Toward the door. Toward escape. A futile attempt.
It all stopped. One way or another, they’d reached the end.
“Teags,” Victoria said, the word a whispered bastardization of a prayer.
Tossing the robe aside, Teagan smoothed her hair neatly off her face and put her hands on her hips with a theatrical sigh before turning to Victoria. “You want her arms or legs?”