The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (48 page)

"Air conditioning on the fritz, or was it just all that hot air from them lawyers?"

Sunny laughed. "A little of both."

Amanda waited, poised to run as soon as Sunny and Dub went into the bar, but Sunny placed a slim hand on her arm. "I'll meet you inside in five minutes, Dub. I need to talk to Amanda first."

Crap. She'd seen the gun.

"Run, Amanda!" Charley advised. "Get away from her!"

Amanda had been considering just that action until Charley suggested it. Instead, she stood quietly while Dub strolled back into the bar.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance. Crickets chirped all around them. The night was soft and warm and normal while Charley paced up and down in front of her, going a little higher off the ground with each turn. Nothing normal about that. Maybe he'd soon float away into the sky.

"What are you planning to do with that gun?" Sunny asked quietly when the door closed behind Dub.

Charley ceased pacing and settled to the ground, folding his arms and watching the exchange intently. So much for hoping he'd float away.

"I have a R
ight to
C
arry permit," Amanda replied defiantly. "I'm legal."

"I know that, but it doesn't answer my question. What do you plan to do with that gun?"

"Target practice.
" Amanda decided she didn't like Sunny Donovan after all. Where did the woman get off, questioning her about something that was none of her business? "How do you know
I have a R
ight to
C
arry?"

Sunny ignored her question. "Amanda, I think you're in some kind of trouble, and I want to help you. Please let me help you."

The woman's expression was so sincere Amanda's anger dissipated. Sunny Donovan was the self-appointed guardian of the underdog in Silver Creek, and Amanda was her latest project. It was hard to be angry with someone so sincere and determined to help.

"I appreciate your concern, but I've got everything under control."

"What do you have under control?"

Lawyers. This interrogation reminded her of her father. She supposed that association
actually
made her more kindly disposed toward this aggressive, annoying woman. "The gun. My life." She spread her arms wide. "Everything."

Sunny sighed, put her palms together and held her hands to her mouth, studying Amanda intently as if trying to read her mind. Finally she dropped her hands in resignation and smiled. "You're stubborn, determined, independent. I like you. Please, think about letting me help you. If you get in trouble you can't handle on your own, if at any time you realize you're no longer in control of everything, call me. Day or night. I always have my cell phone with me, even when I'm in court."

Amanda grinned wryly. "Even when you're in court? My dad—he's a judge—would throw out any lawyer whose cell phone rang during court."

"I keep it on vibrate when I'm in court." She reached inside her purse and pulled out the object under discussion. "What
's your cell number?"

Amanda recited her number as Sunny punched it into her phone. Amanda's phone rang.

"There," Sunny said, disconnecting before Amanda could extract her phone from her purse. "You have my number in your phone so you can call me without looking it up."

"Okay, okay. I promise I'll call if I get in over my head."

Sunny turned and headed toward the bar, but Amanda put a hand on her arm to stop her, a reversal of their earlier roles. "How did you know I was here?"

Sunny regarded her quietly for a moment, then she smiled. "I didn't. I came to see my client, Dub."

Amanda released her arm, and Sunny continued into the bar.

"I
don’t
believe her," she said to Charley. "Do you suppose she's helping Kimball?"

"No!" Charley protested. "Not for one minute do I believe Sunny Donovan would help a scumbag like Roland Kimball. She would never do anything to hurt you."

But Amanda wasn't so certain. Maybe Sunny thought she was doing the right thing. Maybe Kimball had somehow convinced Sunny that whatever he had in mind for Amanda was somehow in her best interest.

Chapter Twenty-Two

When Amanda returned, Irene sat waiting on the sofa in the living room, worry creasing her forehead.

A tiny part of Amanda was pleased Irene cared so much, but the rest of her was dismayed that she was causing her mother-in-law to worry. She didn't want to
upset
her further by telling her what she planned to do. In fact, she didn't want to talk about it at all. She wanted to get upstairs, hide under the covers and try not to think about the gun inside her jacket pocket…or where the gun would be this time tomorrow night.

"See?" Amanda said, smiling widely and waving an arm. "I'm fine! Thanks for waiting up. Good-night."

"You're not fine," Irene replied softly. "We need to talk."

Amanda sighed and started to sit on the sofa.

"Let's go to the kitchen and have some hot chocolate."

Uh-oh. The kitchen table. Ominous. 

Irene heated milk in the microwave and added Ghirardelli chocolate while Amanda sat stiffly at the table. Though the house was warm, she kept her leather jacket on, kept the gun pressed close. Absurdly, she felt if she let it out of her possession in the house, it would somehow spread its influence and involve Irene and her family in the upcoming confrontation with Kimball.

Irene joined her at the table, and Amanda sipped her hot chocolate. "Delicious," she said. "As if you could make anything that isn't."

"Thank you." Irene wrapped her hands around her warm cup, but did not drink. "Herbert and I talked while you were gone. We decided that whatever you're planning to do, we're going to help you. That man has got to pay for killing our son."

"You're going to help?" Images of Irene and Herbert attacking Kimball with kitchen knives, rolling pin, knitting needles and a rolled up copy of
Reader's Digest
raced through her head. "No, you can't. Kimball knows that Herbert talked to the cops."

"I know," Irene said.

"You do?" So much for trying to protect her.

Irene shrugged. "It's a small town. Everybody knows everything. But this did show us how big the problem is that we're up against." She shook her head slowly. "I sure didn't think something like this could happen in Silver Creek. It's a good place, a lot of good people. I always knew Roland Kimball wasn't a nice man. I just never would have dreamed something like this could happen."

Amanda nodded grimly. "Kimball thinks he's all-powerful. He thinks he's above the law. He thinks his money can buy him the right to commit murder."

"He's wrong, and we're all going to work together to prove it. Tell us your plan, and we'll figure out where we fit in."

"Agree with her." Charley suddenly appeared at her elbow. "You can't argue with my mother. Just agree with her, and then we'll make sure she doesn't know what we're doing."

"Umm…okay." She lifted her cup of hot chocolate and drank, giving herself a moment to think.

Irene looked surprised at the easy agreement. "So where did you go tonight?" she asked. "What are we going to do next?"

"I bought an unregistered gun," Amanda said, deciding to allay Irene's suspicions by telling her the truth up to the point of the actual meeting with Kimball. "I'm ready to meet with Kimball, give him the gun and tell him it's the one he used to kill Dianne."

"And you think he's going to confess, and you're going to record it on your cell phone?"

"Exactly."

"How do you think you're going to get him to confess to murder? He's been smart enough to get away with it for years. Why would he tell you now?"

Amanda decided not to tell Irene she was sure Ki
mball planned to kill her
so he wouldn't be worried about what he told her. "I'm going to appeal to his gigantic ego. Get him to brag."

She did not plan to let Kimball kill her, of course. Dub had put bullets in her gun. And she was almost beginning to believe
the purpose of
Charley's continuing presence just might be to save her life so she could take Kimball down. But she wasn't going to tell Irene any of that.

"What do you want Herbert and me to do?"

"Make up something," Charley advised.

"When I find out where Kimball wants to meet me, I'll let you know, and Herbert can come there with, uh, his shotgun. Just be sure to give me enough time to get his full confession." She looked at Charley, who nodded his approval.

Irene nodded, her jawline firm. "That sounds like a good idea. Herbert used to hunt a lot. He's the best shot in the county."

Amanda finished her hot chocolate. "Tomorrow," she said, rising from the table, the weight of the loaded gun in her jacket pocket comforting and frightening at the same time.

She climbed the stairs, her footsteps leaden. Was this the last time she'd climb these stairs to bed?

Don't even go there!
she admonished herself.

In her bedroom, she changed into her night shirt without even checking the corners for Charley. His seeing her undressed ranked low on her list of things to fear.

She settled into bed, pulling the covers over he
r head
.

Tomorrow.

This nightmare that had begun with Charley's phone call about the gun then progressed through his murder and her almost-murder would end tomorrow, one way or the other.

Tomorrow she'd face Kimball. Beard the lion in his den.

That brought up the question of where they'd meet. She had no doubt he'd choose someplace where he felt comfortable, someplace isolated
since he probably planned
to kill her, someplace that would allow for easy disposal of her body.

Would he lure her to the lake the way he'd done with Dianne?

She had no car they could sit in. Not likely he'd kill her in his own car.

Make that—
try
to kill her in his own car.

No, he wouldn't want to get blood on the leather interior of that big, black
Cadillac
.

So maybe he wouldn't shoot her. Maybe he'd strangle her. Avoid the blood evidence.

Nah. Surely after Herbert's call to the police, Kimball would be careful not to get DNA evidence in his car, and with her hair, she'd be sure to leave lots of long, curly, red DNA.

So would they meet in a clearing in the woods?