Stop Me (Last Stand 2)

But just as she was about to step out of the room, she realized something was different. The picture of her husband that normally sat right in the middle of her table was gone.

Bending, she looked under the bed. Then she searched in and around the desk.

Had it been knocked off? None of the others were askew.

Where was it? She loved that picture. It’d been taken right after Milo had decided to become a volunteer with the church youth program, and it showed him with Gruber Coen, his first “project.” Beverly didn’t like Gruber much. She never had. He was odd, made her uncomfortable. But that didn’t ruin the picture because it showed her husband at his very finest. Maybe she’d been forced to do things she didn’t want to do, but Milo never had. He tried to help boys like Gruber, to make the world a better place.

The picture was nowhere to be found.

Something else occurred to her. Maybe it hadn’t been knocked off or misplaced. Maybe it’d been stolen. Not only had Gruber been the one to get her a job with Peccavi after Milo died, he kidnapped the kids they sold, at least those Peccavi didn’t buy from desperate women.

Her mouth dropping open, she sagged onto the bed.

Jasmine Stratford was onto them.

Gruber sat on the couch in his favorite place, with his sister positioned beside him. He liked having her close, couldn’t imagine doing anything else with her, not right away. She wasn’t even cold yet, he told himself, although he knew she had to be. A body didn’t stay warm for long. She’d start to bloat soon, and then she’d stink too badly to keep around.

Maybe he could figure out a way to freeze all of her. Or maybe he’d chop off a finger and use it to write his mother a blood-smeared farewell.

He chortled at the thought of a nurse opening his mother’s mail and throwing up at the sight.

“You’re so gross!”

He jumped at the sound of Valerie’s voice. Had she really said that? Or had he imagined it? It’d been so clear, with just the right amount of disdain….

Fear prickled his skin as he leaned closer and put his cheek next to her mouth.

No breath. She was dead. But she wasn’t silent. She’d never be silent. What would he have to do to get some peace, for God’s sake?

Maybe it was time to get rid of her body. It’d been fun while she’d kept her mouth shut. His biggest trophy so far. He loved remembering her final moments—the disbelief that’d flickered in her eyes as he forced her to go down on her knees and take him in her mouth. But she seemed determined to get the last laugh.

Leave it to Valerie. He could never top her. She’d make him look bad no matter what.

The phone, ringing upstairs, made him pause just as he began to drag her off his couch. Probably Valerie’s husband again. Fortunately, she hadn’t mentioned to him that she was coming by. Steve’s calls were merely random efforts to find her:

“You haven’t heard from your sister, have you? Will you call me if you do?”

Gruber had enjoyed claiming he had no idea where she was. It was believable enough. They didn’t associate all that often. Especially since she’d married Steve.

Gruber didn’t like her husband. He thought he was better than everyone else, just because he had a degree. Your brother’s a weird dude, Gruber had overheard his brother-in-law murmur to Valerie at their wedding.

“I’m not going to pick up for your stupid husband,” he told her. But he began to fear that Steve would come over if he didn’t answer the phone, so he trudged upstairs.

At least, he didn’t have to worry about her car. He’d already driven it back to the hospital and taken a city bus home.

By the time he reached the phone, he’d missed the call, but caller ID indicated that it hadn’t been Steve, after all. It’d been Beverly Moreau.

“What could she want?” he muttered, and returned the call.

“Gruber?”

“I’m busy,” he snapped.

“I don’t care. You need to hear this. Jasmine Stratford was here.”

Again? Kimberly’s sister was as determined as she said she was on TV.

“What’d she want?”

“Her sister, right?”

He wrinkled his nose at a peculiar scent in his kitchen. Shit, he’d left the hand of the woman he’d killed last night on the kitchen counter. He’d taken it out to show Valerie and must’ve forgotten to put it back. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Her sister wasn’t one of our children?”

She shouldn’t have been. He’d taken Kimberly for himself. Peccavi hadn’t known about her—until, after about two weeks, when he’d been hard up for money and decided to sell her to his boss. He still regretted that decision. He’d never been able to find another girl like her. Fornier’s willful brat certainly couldn’t compare.

But Peccavi’s business came in handy when things went so wrong with Adele. Or rather, Francis came in handy as a scapegoat.

“I don’t keep track,” he told Beverly. She wasn’t supposed to keep track, either. They were all safer that way. Keeping records of any kind, even mental ones, was asking for trouble. That was what Peccavi said. And Peccavi was usually right.

“Well, she’s suspicious, anyway. I think she took that picture of you and Milo I had in my office.”

Valerie seemed to cackle from downstairs. “See? You idiot!” she yelled. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re caught. You think you can do what you’ve done and get away with it? You think you can kill me?”

“I’ve done whatever I want for seventeen years!” he called back.

“What?” Beverly asked, obviously confused.

“I’m not talking to you. Did you tell Peccavi?”

“I left him a message to call me, but I couldn’t reach him. That’s why I’m calling you.”

What a relief! But Valerie didn’t seem to agree. “You’ll screw it up somehow,” she yelled. “You always do.”

Gruber pressed his fingers to his left temple. Why wouldn’t she shut up?

Maybe he could silence her if he cut her up and fed her to the alligators out in the bayou. But he didn’t have time for that.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said into the phone.

“You will?”

“Of course. Peccavi already asked me to.”

“And you haven’t been able to do a damn thing about it so far.” Valerie again.