Page 85 of Noble Neighbor
She hugged the jacket to her chest, trying to figure out if she felt relief or disappointment at not finding evidence of Lathan’s infidelity.
Dropping her head in chagrin, Savannah berated herself. Had it become so bad she was looking for a reason to end their marriage?
With a sigh, she leaned down and grabbed the pants. And frowned.
What was that on the carpet?
She scooped it up and examined the pendant lying in her palm. A unicorn.How pretty. Why would Lathan carry a pendant in his pocket? She frowned. It looked familiar, but where—
Oh … No! No. Surely not?
Blood chilling, Savannah tipped her hand andwatched the object fall. It bounced once on the tile beforesettling on the thick-pile mat by her feet, the chain cold where it lay across her toes. A full body shudder charged through her, and she lifted her foot, shaking it off, wishing she could shake the grim notion from her mind.
She’d seen that pendant before.
Just last night.
On the late news.
It belonged to the latest victim of the Silk Rope Strangler.
The woman had been killed Friday evening.
Savannah wove shaky fingers through her hair, diggingher fingers into her scalp.
Think, Sunny-girl. Think.
She paced a circle. It could be a similar pendant. One Lathan bought for their unicorn-mad daughter.
“Just a coincidence,” she muttered. Crouching, she pinched the chain between forefinger and thumb.About an inch-and-a-half in diameter, the inlaid crystalswinked a cheerful blue in the overhead light. The gold unicorn slowly turned, revealing the flat back.
And the engraving on it.
Believe in magic. And us.
“No, no, no,” Savannah whispered. A guttural cryburst from her, taking her to her knees, the pendant tumbling back to the floor from her numb fingers.
They had shown a picture of the pendant, the FBI agent reciting, “Agatha Newton’s unicorn pendant, one she was wearing at the time of her murder, is missing, presumed taken by her killer. It has an identifying inscription. ‘Believe in magic. And us.’ Given to her by her husband on their wedding day, she always wore it.”
And it matched — right down to the last inlaid, periwinkle blue stone —to the one lying on the laundry floor.
The one she’d found in her husband’s clothing.
Bowing her head, Savannah sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, willing herself to calm down and think.
The Silk Rope Strangler — God, who on earth came up with that dreadful moniker? — had been active for about eighteen months, crossing state lines, tying up, raping, and strangling women.
Savannah moaned, swallowing back a hysterical laugh.
Look at you, assuming your husband, the father of your girls, a murderer.
A serial killer.
There had to be an explanation. Anything but — her eyes opened, and she stared at the pendant —that.
Pushing upright, Savannah moved across the room and into the kitchen, retrieving a small plastic bag. Blanking her mind to escape her heinous thoughts, she dropped the pendant in, zipped it closed, and with a shudder, she tucked it into her sweater pocket. She reached for a new laundry bag, carefully folded the shirt and suit, and bagged both. As an afterthought, she added the bag she had ripped earlier.
Now what?
