Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty–one
- Twenty–two
- Twenty–three
- Twenty–four
- Twenty–five
- Twenty–six
- Twenty–seven
- Twenty–eight
- Twenty–nine
- Thirty
- Thirty–one
- Thirty–two
- Thirty–three
- Thirty–four
- Thirty–five
- Thirty–six
- Thirty–seven
- Thirty–eight
- Thirty–nine
- Forty
- Forty–one
- Forty–two
- Forty–three
- Forty–four
- Forty–five
- Forty–six
- Forty–seven
- Forty–eight
- Forty–nine
- Fifty
- Fifty–one
- Fifty–two
- Fifty–three
- Fifty–four
- Fifty–five
- Fifty–six
- Fifty–seven
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Becky Masterman
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
Beaufort came out from the bedroom wiping his right palm on his jeans over and over. He said to Carlo, who watched with horror from his chair, “Too many people dead because of you.”
Beaufort thought about taping Carlo’s other leg to the chair and then figured it was too much bother. He sagged back down in his recliner to wait for Brigid’s arrival, feeling a little old. He was wearied and saddened by what had happened to Gloria. But hopeful, too. The feeling of pleasure had subsided until he could almost think it had never happened. There must be other women like Gloria out there. When that curse that Hickock had laid on him was finally at rest, and he could have peace inside himself, he might be a different man.
Fifty–six
When we landed in Tucson I put the confession back into its envelope and the envelope back into my tote bag. On my phone I found a message from Beaufort, with the caller ID GLORIA BENTHAM. So it was likely he was at her place, using her phone. I called the number back and played dumb.
“Where are you?” I asked Beaufort when I heard his voice. “Are you still at the house?”
“No. Where are you?”
I didn’t tell Beaufort I was stuck in the bathroom waiting for everyone else to deplane so I wouldn’t be seen. “I’m waiting to deplane. I’m at the back.”
“How long does it take you to get home from the airport?”
“About fifty … maybe an hour with traffic.” I didn’t want him to get nervous and do something rash, so I said, “Maybe a little more.”
“Then call me again when you get close to your house. I’ll tell you what to do when you get there. Do you have the document?”
“I do.”
“Good. I’m tired of worrying.” I heard his voice catch on this unintended spillage of honesty, and could almost imagine him rubbing his face to get control. Maybe he was losing his grip. That could be good or bad.
Beaufort went on, “So I want you to know, if you made a copy, if you had a notion to leave one in a safe deposit box somewhere—”
“I haven’t had the time to do that, you idiot.”
“—or you’re having my location traced while we talk, I swear I’ll stay alive at least long enough to find you, kill Carlo, and make you watch while I do it. Got that?”
“I do. Where’s Gloria?”
“She’s fine.”
“That’s not what I asked. I said where, not how.”
“In one hour I’ll call again and tell you where to go.” And he disconnected.