Page 2 of Edge of Whispers

She was staring at the ceiling now, gasping for air. Her lips purple.

He rolled off her, and her hand flew to her chest. Clutching, rubbing. Pounding, weakly against her heart.

Oh, Christ. A fucking heart attack? Now? No fucking way.

He leaned over and slapped her face to get her attention. “You useless, troublesome bitch,” he said.

Her eyes focused on him with some difficulty. His heightened predator senses felt her slipping away to someplace where he could not follow. He sensed rather than saw the hint of triumph in her eyes before they rolled up, went blank and empty. Gone.

She’d croaked, just to spite him. And now old Barbieri was dead, too.

The boss was not going to be happy. He did not feel like the embodiment of Death now. He felt like a dumb, clumsy dickhead who’d been brutally fucked with.

He touched the Contessa’s throat. No pulse. Stone dead.

He suppressed the intense urge to mutilate their corpses. That would be undisciplined. A tantrum. He didn’t allow himself tantrums anymore. Too risky.

He got up, panting, and looked around. He needed a plan of action, another lead.

A swift search of Barbieri’s suitcase and briefcase yielded no insights. They’d fucked him good. The room was empty but for a writing table, a few carefully lit art pieces, and three envelopes on the table—stamped and ready. The one he picked up was addressed to Nancy D’Onofrio. He ripped it open and squinted at the antique cursive script.

My dearest Nancy,

I’m afraid what I have to tell you will come as a shock. I'm sorry to have to tell you in a letter. I wanted to speak to all three of you in person, but after my cardiologist appointment last week, I decided I can’t risk waiting until I have all three of my precious girls together in one room…

Girls? His head lifted like an animal scenting prey. His eyes lit on a shelf crowded with photographs.

He went over to study them more closely. Sure enough. Three young women smiled out of the picture frames. Pretty young women. Too young to be the dead bitch’s daughters. Granddaughters, maybe.

Fresh meat. And their addresses, written right there on the letters. Sweet detail.

He stared at the images. He was breathing hard. In one photo, a luscious girl with big dark eyes and long, curly dark hair was curled up in a window seat, reading. Another picture featured a tall, smiling girl with auburn hair who held a calico cat up beneath her chin. A slim waif with red hair wearing a slinky evening gown gestured proudly toward a huge abstract sculpture that towered behind her.

All three had bright, sparkling eyes, rosy lips, expanses of smooth, unmarked skin. Curves and hollows, for him to pinch and squeeze.

Those girls would walk on their hands and bark like dogs for him, too. He’d find the old man’s long-sought prize, earn his fee, and have a fine, juicy time doing it.

So much saliva exploded into his mouth, he started to dribble. He licked his lips and wiped his chin. He knew better than to leave genetic material for the forensic types to test.

Finally, this job was starting to get interesting.

Chapter One

Nancy

“Are you girls going to be all right, Nancy?” Elsie’s white brows knitted anxiously above her faded blue eyes. “I can stay longer, you know. As long as you need.”

I manufactured what I hoped was a calm and reassuring look as I herded the old lady gently toward the door. I hugged Elsie warmly and gave her wrinkled cheek a kiss. “We’ll be fine,” I assured her. “We’re exhausted, that’s all. We need a little down time.”

“But Lucia wouldn’t have wanted you girls to be all alone,” Elsie fussed.

My younger sister Nell seized the elderly neighbor’s hand and patted it. “We’ll be okay,” she said gently. “Thanks so much for the casserole, Aunt Elsie. You’ve been wonderful to us. Lucia was so lucky to have you for a neighbor. We all feel lucky. It meant so much to her, and to us. Really.”

After Elsie was finally nudged and flattered out the door, I locked it, deadbolted it, and collapsed against it, sliding down its length until my butt hit the floor.

“My God,” I muttered. “That took forever. I think Lucia must’ve known everyone in town.”

Nell sank down beside me. Vivi, our youngest sister, flopped onto her back on the scratched floorboards. She put her hand over her eyes to block a bolt of late afternoon sunlight coming through the panes in the door.

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