Shoots to Kill (33 page)

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Marco said, cupping the side of my face.

I gave him a hug, unable to find the words to express my gratitude.

He hugged me back, gazed down at me for a moment, then turned and strode over to the curb, where Reilly was waiting in the Prius. As I watched him drive away, I said to Nikki, “It’s been one freaky day, Nik.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said, putting an arm around my shoulders, “but we can talk about that later. Right now you need some food. I’ve got scrambled eggs and toast waiting for you.”

Up in our apartment I sat at the table and forced myself to eat, but I felt no hunger. I was oddly numb, the events of the past hours seeming more like a dream. I gave Nikki a condensed version because that’s all my brain could handle. Afterward, I lay down on the sofa with Simon curled up beside me and watched a home-decorating show until I began to drift off. Halfway between wakefulness and sleep, Oliver’s voice began to float past me, bits and pieces of things he’d said.

I sat up with a start as everything crystallized in my mind. Oliver hadn’t planned the murder. He’d merely followed orders. Libby was the mastermind.

That was exactly what she’d intended to do. So she ordered him to kill Delphi and left him to take the blame, which he’d done willingly, as any good soldier would. Then no more mother to control Libby and no more crazy brother to hold her back. Talk about killing two birds with one stone. But how could I prove it?

I checked my watch and saw that it was only four o’clock in the afternoon, perhaps early enough to catch Libby in her office at her art shop. I jumped up, startling Simon and making myself dizzy. “Nikki?”

A note on the table said she’d gone to work. I splashed water on my face at the kitchen sink, grabbed my keys and my purse, and took off. I still felt off-kilter, but my adrenaline was so high I barely noticed.

Ten minutes later I turned onto Washington Street and pulled into an empty parking space near Blume’s. I tried the yellow door first, but it was locked. I cupped my hands against the glass and peered inside, stunned to see that the shop had been emptied out, every piece of art and every stick of furniture gone. I ran to the deli next door and asked when Blume’s had closed. The woman behind the counter said she’d seen workers wheeling large crates through the alley into trucks all morning.

Suddenly Oliver’s cryptic words came back to me:
Mission accomplished. Time to move headquarters.
Libby was leaving town!

I ran to the Vette and took off, driving a little too fast as I headed for her subdivision, hoping she hadn’t already packed up her condo and left. Surely Libby wasn’t that fast.

I pulled up to the curb in front of the town house, jumped out of the Vette, and jogged up her long, curving driveway, then came to a sudden stop. Lisa Wells’s green Volkswagen was parked in front of Libby’s garage. Lisa must have figured it out, too.

At that moment Lisa came out of the garage carrying a leather case. She was wearing her black trench coat with a bright scarf and signature chopsticks through her blond bun. She shoved the case into the backseat of her Volkswagen, then headed toward the garage again. Was she removing evidence?

“Lisa? What’s going on?”

She swung toward me, and my mouth fell open. Libby!

“You’re just in time to say good-bye,” Libby said.

I circled around her, staring in disbelief. She had dyed her hair back to blond and styled it just like Lisa’s. A casual observer wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. I peered into the garage bay. The yellow Corvette was gone, replaced with a green VW like Lisa’s. How clever. If the police came looking for Libby, she could drive out of town right under their noses and everyone would assume she was Lisa.

“Mission accomplished?” I asked, standing in front of her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Give me a break, Libby. You’re not fooling me this time. You accomplished what you set out to do and now it’s time to move headquarters.”

“Honestly, Abby, you’re beginning to annoy me. I’m merely taking a trip to Pittsburgh to visit my college roommate. Roshni’s been bugging me to come see her.”

“Honestly?
You haven’t been honest with me since the day I met you, Libby, so cut the act. I know what you did. Oliver told me all about how you planned your mother’s death.”

“Don’t be crazy, Abby. I’ve had my fill of crazy people. ” She picked up a suitcase from inside the garage and shoved it in the backseat of her car next to the leather case. “And by the way, it’s Leeza now. Libby is so— yesterday.”

She started to get into the car, but I grabbed her arm. “You stole my identity, Libby, but you’re not going to get away with murder.”

“Let go of me!”

“What kind of monster are you to plot your mother’s death, then use your own brother to carry it out? And then, to make sure he was caught, you planted the broken pot and bloody gloves under his sink.”

“Again, Abby, you’re really annoying me.”

“Then, just to confuse the picture, you set Tilly and me up as suspects, too. Don’t deny it, Libby. I know you sent Oliver with Tilly to buy a red wig, and had him plant a key in Tilly’s purse to make
her
look guilty. Then you had him wear that wig and drive your Vette to drop the body behind Bloomers to make
me
look guilty.

“And all the while you played the victim role to the hilt. You even bought Oliver the snake as a birthday present, then ordered him to put it in your mailbox. The only surprise was Kayla showing up at your mom’s viewing, but that only reinforced everyone’s belief that you were a victim. Poor little Libby. And all the while you orchestrated everything, down to the last detail—sending Oliver running into the woods to hide, telling him the cops were on to him.”

Libby gave me a smug glance. “Too bad you can’t prove any of it.”

“Were you at your mother’s house the morning she was killed? Did you tell Oliver that Delphi snitched on him back in high school in order to make him angry enough to hit her? Did you tell Oliver she was going to commit him to a mental hospital, then give Oliver the order to stop her from making that phone call?”

Libby jerked her arm away and got into the driver’s seat, but I held open the door.

“Did your mother beg you to help her, Libby, or did she crawl over the bamboo plant to get away from you? She was still alive when Oliver took the broken pot to the garage, wasn’t she? What did you do, hit her with the wine bottle to finish her off?”

Libby started the engine and put it in gear. “Like I said, prove it.” She gunned the engine, so I jumped back.

“Your brother is going to stand trial for murder because of you,” I called, following her down the driveway. “You’re crazier than Oliver is,
Leeza.
”

At the bottom of the driveway, she rolled down the window. “Oliver won’t go to prison. They’ll commit him. It’s where he belongs anyway. He’ll get good care there.”

“While you drive off with your half of the inheritance and guardianship over Oliver’s half. How convenient.”

She shrugged. “I learned everything at my mother’s knee. So good-bye again, Abby. It’s been fun being you.”

She rolled up the window, then drove away, and all I could do was stand there with my hands curled into fists of helpless rage because, as she’d pointed out, I couldn’t prove a thing.

Suddenly I heard sirens and saw three cop cars race up the street and form a blockade to stop her. Marco pulled up behind them and got out of his car as the cops cautiously approached the Volkswagen with weapons drawn, shouting orders. I watched as Libby emerged from the car with her hands in the air, a look of shock on her face.

“What did I do?” she cried. She spotted Marco and called, “Marco, do something! Tell them I’m innocent.”

“I doubt they’d believe me,” he replied, coming to stand beside me. He gazed at me in concern. “Are you all right?”

“Probably not, but seeing that”—I pointed toward Libby, who was being handcuffed and tucked into the backseat of a police car—“makes it worth the effort.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“Just call it a gut feeling,” I said, giving him a pointed glance.

Marco got it. “I guess I had that coming.”

“Take the
guess
out of it. So how did
you
figure it out?”

“I remembered Lisa Wells telling me about a conversation she’d had with Libby a few days ago. It seems Libby was blaming her brother for planting his snake in her mailbox
before
we found the snake tank that she claimed to know nothing about.”

“Very good, PI Salvare.”

“Yeah, well, don’t give me all the credit. The real clincher was the DNA evidence. It came back today.” He gave me that captivating half grin that made me want to melt inside.

I didn’t let him see it, though. I played it cool. “What did the evidence show?”

“Scrapings from under Delphi’s fingernails placed Libby at the murder scene.” Marco shook his head in amazement. “She and Delphi must have had quite a struggle.”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it? Libby planned her mother’s murder, had her brother carry out the execution, and set up others to take the blame. I knew Libby was up to no good, but I never thought she was that evil.”

“She fooled me at first,” Marco said ruefully. “I really bought into her innocent act. But once I started investigating Libby’s stalker and dug up her former college roommate, I caught on.” For my benefit, he added, “According to her roommate’s story, Libby stalked her professor’s husband and was nearly thrown out of school.”

I didn’t mention that I’d talked to the roommate, too. Sometimes it was wiser to leave people in the dark.

“All those threatening e-mails Libby got,” Marco continued, “she sent to herself from a computer at the library. A trace on the phone messages led right back to her art shop, and I’m guessing she also wrote letters to herself and mailed them from out of town. It defies belief that she thought she could fool everyone. I don’t know what that says of her opinion of my detective skills.” He paused, then said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you about the case. You understand why, don’t you? You were too close to the situation.”

Too close to the
situation
? That’s how he viewed what Libby had done to me?

At that, the hurt feelings that I’d been nursing for weeks gushed out. “Of course I was close to the situation, you jerk,” I cried, smacking his arm. “Libby was stealing my life right in front of my eyes, and you wouldn’t believe me. Then I poured my heart out to you, pleading with you to stay away from her, and you
still
took her side—because she’d hired you.”

I tried to smack him again, but he caught my wrist in midair and pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. It was the nearest I’d been to him in a long time. “Why would you do that to me?” I asked against his jacket, almost in tears. “Is your PI work more important to you than I am?”

He merely continued to hold me, his chin resting on top of my head, leaving my questions unanswered. Or maybe not answering was his answer. Maybe he was trying to figure out how to break it to me that his work came first.

I heard the squad cars pull away, taking Libby with them. Then Marco said quietly, “It’s over, Abby. Now you can get your life back.”

Most of it, anyway. I pulled away from him, and without meeting his eye, I said, “So I guess that wraps it up.” With a lift of my shoulder, I added, “I’ll see you around, then.”

“Before you go, would you walk over to my car with me? I have something for you.”

I gave Marco a skeptical glance, but he wouldn’t say anything more, so I followed him along the curb to his car, and waited while he opened the trunk.

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing. “It might be a little painful, but it won’t bite.”

A little painful? Curious now, I stepped forward and peered inside—and there lay my mom’s beaded jacket that had been on display at Libby’s shop. I didn’t know whether to be pleased or horrified. “How did you get it? Libby packed up everything yesterday.”

“I found it on top of a pile of crates in the alley behind her shop, waiting for garbage pickup.”

“When?”

“A few days ago.”

Which meant Libby had never actually wanted my mom’s artwork at all. She’d taken it just to torture me. “I’m so glad Mom didn’t see it there. She would’ve been humiliated.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that.”

I gazed at Marco with deep gratitude, and despite my hurt, I could feel myself falling in love with him all over again. “That was very kind of you.”

He picked up one of my hands, smoothing the skin on top with his thumb. “I don’t want to lose you, Abby. We had something special, something I’ve never had with another woman. I don’t know where it might lead us, but I do know that I sure as hell don’t want to let it go.”

I gulped back tears. “Me, neither. But the thing is, if you don’t trust me—”

“Who said I don’t trust you?”

“You, by not trusting my gut feelings about Libby.”

“That was a mistake, and I’m really sorry about it, but it had nothing to do with my trust in you.”

“It does, Marco. Don’t you see? You brushed off my concerns as though they were silly, and that told me you didn’t trust my judgment.”