Page 36 of Accidental Murder

Kayla decided Inspector Sergeant Hanrahan needed to view William Norton as a suspect and was about to call when the landline telephone rang. She hesitated to answer until it dawned on her that her uncle might have awakened from his stupor and was reaching out to her.

She crossed to the bedside table and answered. “Hello?”

The caller hung up.

Java woke and flicked Kayla’s arm with his tail. She stroked him, losing herself in the soft comfort of his fur until the telephone jangled a second time.

She answered. “Hello?”

Someone was breathing.

The call ended.

“What the heck?” She slammed the phone into its cradle, hurried to the kitchen, and switched on the light.

Flash! Crackle!A bulb popped. Shards of glass rained down around her.

She let out a raggedy laugh.

When the telephone sounded a third time, she shrieked. She seized the receiver off the unit affixed to the wall. “Who’s calling? Answer me!”

No one responded. Either whoever was on the other end of the line was trying to frighten her or ensure she was home. Her first instinct was Dennis, but why would he bother her, believing she was Ashley? Could the caller be William Norton? How would he know she’d been trying to contact Cindy?

No. The suspect—the person who killed Ashley—was in custody. Whoever was calling wasn’t out to rattle her. It was a wrong number. End of story.

The doorbell buzzed.

Kayla juddered. She tore into the hall and saw the doorknob wiggling.

The cat’s collar jingled.

Heart hammering, Kayla returned to the kitchen, grabbed a carving knife, and raced back to the door.

Armed and ready, she peeked through the peephole.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Peter was standingon the stoop, his eyes bloodshot, a cell phone pressed to his ear. Kayla glimpsed the knife in her hand and dropped it into the umbrella stand by the door.

“Ash, are you there?” Peter knocked. “Ash?”

Kayla shook out her shoulders and set her hand on the doorknob. Before turning it, she caught sight of what she was wearing. Bra and jeans. Okay, they were designer jeans, but she would bet Ashley had never in her life worn jeans around Peter. And only a bra? In the foyer? Too intimate.

The telephone rang again.

“Just a sec!” Kayla yelled in the direction of the door and sprinted to the bedroom.

The phone ceased ringing.

Relief swept over her as she grasped that Peter, not the bogeyman, was the one calling her. She yanked off the jeans, snatched a lavender silk robe off a hook, and threw it on. She groaned as she passed the mirror. Her hair stood in spikes. Her makeup was nonexistent. An actress on opening night couldn’t have felt more nervous.

“Ash!” Peter hollered.

“Use your key!” she yelled in response.

“I haven’t got one. You took it back, remember?”

Kayla dashed for the door and whipped it open.