Me, Myself and Why? (19 page)

I was usually able to provide them. But at this time, I had only the vaguest suspicions.

I read the newest sonnet, which had been left on top of the dresser.

“O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends/For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?/Both truth and beauty on my love depends;/So dost thou too, and therein dignified.”

The sonnets, puzzling and odd before, had a decidedly sinister tone to me now.

They were love notes, I finally realized.

Notes to my sisters and me.

ThreeFer had been speaking to me since the very first crime scene, from two states away.

Now he was here. In my city. In our home.

“He will regret this,” I muttered. “He will see how stupid it was to leave a trail. How very childish and stupid.”

“Attagirl,” George said. “You can make him squeal like a piglet when you catch up to him; that’ll make you feel better.”

“It will,” I agreed, actually smiling at him.

After rereading through the file earlier, I had begun to wonder if our killer might not be a multiple personality. This bold stroke, this crime scene which all but called us by name, suggested he (or she) knew far more about us than we did about him.

But please. Please do not be a cop, or a fed. I hate dirty cops. And dirty feds gave us all a bad name.

As they began to zip up the bodies, I walked over, raised my eyebrows in a question, and then unzipped each of the three bags. I peeled back eyelids with my thumb and observed that the eye colors, in addition to the builds, nationalities, and colorings of my sisters and me, were also dead on.

Huh. I squatted beside the bodies, absently letting go of the last victim’s eyelid and watching it slowly roll back down.

Interesting.

Chapter Sixty-one

Patrick called while I was still on the scene. I kept the call short, perhaps too much so. It was not my intention to be rude or to ruin Cadence’s love life; there was simply nothing to be done about it. The work had to come first.

Nevertheless, I was surprised at how disappointed I was. The man had infuriated me with his antics that night outside Ottavio’s. Of course, he had infuriated all three of us, albeit for different reasons.

About four hours later, I was finally home and in the grip of a throbbing headache. Words were blurring together and I was heartily sick of crime-scene photos—not to mention the crime scene itself. My duck had been hours ago and I was cobbling together an evening snack of iced coffee and steamed rice.

I closed the refrigerator door, then stiffened as I heard someone walking down the hallway outside. The person paused just outside my apartment door.

Oh, lovely. I hoped it was the killer. This would all be over soon if I could just get my hands around his neck. Soon, but not quickly. No, I would not make it quick, because he had frightened my sister so badly. It would last and last and

Chapter Sixty-two

Last one on the bus is a rotten egg and a dead killer!
Yes yes!
It’s the killer round and round
Round and round
Round and round

(How stupid is the killer

round and round

to come

to my

house!)

(Oh you can come in

Please do come in

Come on in!)

Yes, the killer can walk right in

Walk right in

Walk right in

(I’m coming, killer! Don’t go away! Wait for me! Waitwait!)

And I’ll hit him

And I’ll bite

And scratch

And blow his house down

I am at the door! I am unlocking it
Why is the door locked?

(stupid Shiro so cautious and dull she is squashed

Squashed inside us

flat and dull but she’s sleeping now sleeping

Shhhhhh)
And now the door is open
And I can see
I can see
I can see

The door is open and one-two-three

It’s the Pillsbury Doughboy!

(Oh well perhaps the killer will come by later
I’m glad the Dough Boy is here!

glad

glad

glad)

(and I jumped on him because he smells like food
And now ka-boom!)
Pillsbury Doughboy is on his back
On his back
On his back
(Oh, the look! The look on your face! Such pretty eyes, yesyes! Pretty like my sister’s
The scared one
The

(Cadence)

Now we’re in the hallway

Round and round

And boy does he look stunned

The wheels on the bus go round and round,

he

smells

like

food!

And I am kissing him
Kissing him
Kissing him

I’m kissing him

But

Now

I’m

Bored.

He’s not the killer.
Meh.

Chapter Sixty-three

Of all the places my sisters had left me, this one was new: right on top of a guy. And in my own apartment, no less! Patrick’s face and mine were not even six inches apart.

“Ah. Hmm. How long have we been like this?”

“Three hours. You were insanely good.”

“What?”

He burst out laughing and twisted his hips, heaving me off him. I realized then we both still had our clothes on. “Okay, three seconds. But they sure were memorable.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You blew me off on the phone.”

Must’ve been Shiro, busy at work. “Yes, well, that means we
don’t
have time to talk. And yet here you are, deciding it’s okay to ignore my wishes—”

“Your sister’s wishes. I knew you’d feel differently, Cadence.”

This irritated me even more. “So your new game is to play us against each other? How is that romantic, exactly?”

He clambered to his feet, moving quickly for such a large man, and extended a hand. I ignored it and stood on my own.

“I don’t mean I came here for action,” he said. “I came here to make sure you take care of yourself. Cathie told me that when you’re using your powers to fight evil, you forget to eat. So . . . now where the hell is it?” He looked around, clearly distracted, and I couldn’t help notice the beautiful cut of his suit (Italian, I was sure), the shadow of stubble on his face, the mesmerizing eyes. Yes indeed, it was a shame that work had to come before pleasure.

“Adrienne knocked me right over on my back when she shot out the door. I must’ve—aha!” He scooped up a sloppy cardboard container, and just when I had decided my liking for him had a ceiling, he handed it to me. It was filled with roast duck. “Cathie said you—Shiro you, not all of you—she said you were trying to find time to order this.”

“Thanks for this. I’m afraid I can’t let you stay,” I said, unable to keep the genuine regret out of my tone. “There are classified documents all over my apartment.” Not to mention several repulsive photographs.

“That’s all right. I’m just glad to see you. Any of you—even if it’s just for a few seconds.”

“Adrienne didn’t—didn’t hurt you?”

“No. She knocked me over and told me I smelled like food. Then she sang that nursery rhyme ‘The Wheels on the Bus.’ Just as I was about to start singing along, she left.”

He had gotten off lightly. Again. Was it possible that all
three
of us were getting fond of him?

“Thank you for stopping in. It was very kind of you to bring me another duck.”

“Another—?”

“Never mind. Thank you again. And, um . . . I’m sorry I punched your lights out.”

He rubbed his jaw. “Aw, that? That was nothing. A love tap.”

“My first, on a first date anyway. What time’d you wake up?”

“About an hour later.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“You’re right. It was about five minutes. Still impressive.”

“Thanks. Um, you’ll please see yourself out?”

“I never made it in,” he said, sarcastically. But he softened the gripe with another heart-stopping grin. “Fine, go on. Catch bad guys.”

“Oh yes,” I said, opening my door. “Count on it.”

“Cool.”

I was still smirking like a fool. And long after he’d gone, I still couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter Sixty-four

I found myself sitting at my kitchen table, my head pillowed on my arms. I blinked—morning sunshine was streaming into the room. I was sore all over my back and neck. And
ravenous.

Boy. Boy oh boy, I didn’t think I’d ever been so happy to be a multiple than I was when I was able to escape that nightmare of a bloody bedroom. I decided to leave Shiro (at least I hope it was Shiro) a thank-you note. She inevitably tossed them into our fireplace, but still. It was the thought that counted.

I went to the fridge and grabbed the first thing I saw—a Coke. I chugged it in about four belch-inducing swallows, then heard the phone ring. I plunked the can on the counter and looked at the caller ID: Cathie.

“Hey there,” I answered. “What’s up?”

“Cadence? Is that you?”

“Hi, Patrick. I thought you were Cathie.”

“Yeah, I’m at her apartment right now. Listen, are you all right?”

“Sure.” Odd. He sounded worried. But about what? “Are
you
all right? You sound stressed.”

“I am stressed! You promise you’re okay.”

“What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“That’s sweet,” I said, remembering the way he smiled at me just outside the apartment.

“No, seriously. I’m worried. I’ve knocked on your door, called, texted you . . . nothing. The only thing that stopped me from dialing 911 was calling your work number that Cathie gave me. Your boss told me to stop being such an overbearing male influence or she’d flay my privates. Charming woman. But at least I was reasonably sure you were alive. Where’ve you been?”

I shook my head. “Patrick, are you messing with me? I just saw you last night. Woke up on top of you after Adrienne tackled you, accepted your peace offering of duck . . .”

“Um, Cadence.” The pause was disturbing. “That was three nights ago.”

I nearly dropped the phone. “Three nights?” Rats! That would explain my exhaustion. And soreness. And appetite. “Golly, what happened?”

He sighed. “I was hoping you’d know.”

I spotted what I’d been too thirsty and hungry to see when I woke up: files neatly stacked on my table, and several pages of notes in Shiro’s precise handwriting. Also, daily newspapers from the last three days.

“Ah. Okay. I see. Um, Patrick, I’m fine. Thanks for calling. I’ve gotta go.”

“But—”

“Patrick, if it’s been three days, I’m way behind on work. And I’ve got a killer to catch. And I think I missed Tina’s party, holy old rat guts!”

“You’re so weird.”

“Glad you’ve been paying attention. I promise to make it up to you. Give Cathie a hug for me.”

I hung up on him before he could protest, sat back down, reached for the top page of Shiro’s notes, and began to read.

Chapter Sixty-five

Cadence,

First, my regrets for your extended absence. I had a great deal of work to do. I have been able to pull some information together which I hope might assist you in our investigation. As you will see by the end, I cannot go any further myself. The time has come for you to finish putting the pieces together.

As you already deduced, I have found numerous examples of the number three throughout the ThreeFer file. Where we erred was assuming the instances of three were him/her telling us about him/her. I now think he/she has been telling us about . . . us.

I now strongly suspect he (I do not feel the nonzero chance of a female suspect warrants further consideration, so will in the future refer to ThreeFer as he) suffers from our common affliction, MPD.

I grimaced and resisted the urge to crumple Shiro’s note into a teeny tiny ball. This just got more and more awful.

I have prepared condensed files for you from the last crime scene. Knowing too much detail would upset you for personal reasons, I had George edit certain aspects of the material and focus only on those elements that truly matter. Three points I must make:

1.
George still whines like a crippled camel when the case lead assigns him work. This is inefficient. Please put your persuasive “people skills” to good use, and ask Michaela to assign him elsewhere.

2.
Beyond the obvious nature of the deaths, there is very little at the crime scene that indicates reckless violence. The blood is contained to the bedroom area, and mostly the bed itself, and as you know we have puzzled over the lack of defensive wounds on the victims, suggesting some emotional bond between the murderer and the victims—or possibly between the murderer and us.