Margaret swiveled to Kaitlan, feeling sick. “This isn’t right.”
“Shh.” Pete flung up a hand, eyes riveted to the monitor. “If something goes wrong, I’ve got a gun.”
Surprise flicked across Kaitlan’s face. She looked at Margaret and swallowed hard.
So what, Margaret thought, we’re too far away to help! She swung away, a hand thrust to her scalp. Why hadn’t she stopped this?
Her focus landed on the bookcase of Darell’s first editions. Ratcheted up to the top shelf.
Over the Waters. The cruise-ship story, with the protagonist’s plans to catch the killer gone so awry. The warning was right there this morning, if only she’d made Darell listen —
Life After Death. The next novel in line. The title leapt out at her.
Margaret stared at it.
Vaguely, she registered Darell’s voice on the monitor.
Life After Death. The title screamed.
Dreamlike, Margaret drifted to the bookcase, already knowing. Ancient memory bubbled like lava, her nerves singeing hot, so hot. Her arm reached up to the top shelf, to the book she would have read next if she hadn’t stopped too soon, if she hadn’t been so terribly, utterly stupid …
She slid out Life After Death.
Craig’s and Darell’s voices were arguing. They barely registered.
Sam, Pete, somebody in the room uttered a curse.
Margaret opened the hardback book. She skimmed the first page. The second.
Darell’s story of years ago—the homicidal ER doctor, the hospital on a far-flung island.
In Margaret’s mind, the lava-memories boiled higher and plunged over a cliff.
“Ah!” Kaitlan cried.
On the third page Margaret found it. The fabric. Black silk with green stripes. The cloth the doctor used to strangle his victims.
The novel slipped from Margaret’s fingers and slammed to the floor.