Something was off, and I’d sensed it all along. That was one of several reasons I’d been so reluctant to let things get too serious, too soon.

I’d known, on some level, that Tucker wasn’t telling me the truth.

What else had he lied about?

I’m not sleeping with my ex-wife.

Well, that one was up for grabs.

You won’t get pregnant. I had a vasectomy two years ago.

Yikes. I got up and checked the calendar on the wall. Heaved a sigh of relief.

The phone rang again. I checked the caller ID, and it said, Number Unavailable. Probably Tucker, on a borrowed cell, calling to feed me some other line of b.s.

“Hello,” I snapped.

It was Distorto again. “There’s a way into your place you don’t know about,” he said, in that weird electronic warble. “I don’t need a key.”

If I hadn’t been so pissed off, I would have been terrified. “Geoff? Look, I know you killed Lillian. I know you did.”

He laughed. “Whoever Geoff is,” he said.

At least, I thought it was a he. Because of the distortion device, I couldn’t tell.

I don’t need a key.

“Heather?” She was in the hospital, wasn’t she? I couldn’t keep the quaver out of my voice, and that pissed me off even more.

Another robotic laugh. “You have a lot of enemies, don’t you? I’ll have to hurry if I’m going to kill you before somebody else beats me to it.”

I decided to brazen it out. “The police know you killed Lillian,” I said. “They know you tried to kill me, while I was in the hospital. They’re going to pick you up any minute now. It’s all over, you goddamned mother-murderer! You freaking cat-killer!”

Yeah, taunted a little voice in my head. He’s going to be arrested. As soon as they get the analysis back on that IV bag, if it ever went to the police lab in the first place. Tucker lied about being a cop, so he must have lied about the investigation, too. Maybe he was just humoring me, all along. Maybe he never followed up.

“I saw you at the funeral today,” Distorto went on. “I see almost everything you do.”

I made a mental note to pick up a new telephone, the kind with a recorder. At least if he called again, I could play the call back for Detective Crowley. “Did you put flowers on Mom and Dad’s graves while you were there, Geoff?”

Silence.

Finally, he said, “You killed them, you know.”

I knew he was jerking my chain, but a chill of dread went through me just the same. What if it was true? How the hell would I live with the knowledge that I was the shooter?

“You killed them,” the caller went on, “and your brother took the rap.”