1st to Die (Women's Murder Club 1)

Before we boarded, I beeped McBride and left a detailed message on his voice mail. Kathy’s lover was probably someone famous. It was why she had moved away from San Francisco. The profile fit the pattern of our killer. Her sister, Hillary, might know the killer’s name.

On board, all I could think about was that we were getting close. Raleigh was there beside me. As the plane rose, I leaned into his arm, surrendering to total exhaustion.

All my physical troubles seemed a million miles away. I remembered something I’d said to Claire. I had told her that finding this bastard gave me the resolve to go on. The red-bearded man in my dream who had gotten away.

“We’re going to get him,” I said to Raleigh. “We can’t let him kill another bride and groom.”

Chapter 63

EIGHT THE NEXT MORNING, I was at my desk.

There were several ways I could go with this investigation. Hillary Bloom was the most direct, assuming, as Merrill had implied, that she was able to give us a name. It was clear that in a twisted way she was trying to save her family the added pain of having Kathy publicly branded as some kind of pathetic sexual victim, cheating on her husband-to-be right up until their vows.

Sooner or later a name would emerge. From her, or from Seattle.

Before I did anything else, I called Medved’s office and rescheduled the blood treatment I had canceled for five o’clock today. After a brief wait, the receptionist said the doctor would see me himself.

Maybe it was good news. Truth was, I was feeling a little stronger. Maybe the treatments were beginning to do their work.

It was hard picking up where I had left off in San Francisco. The best leads were now in Cleveland. I read some reports on the evidence Jacobi was tracking down, held a meeting of the task force at ten.

Actually, the most promising leads — the hair and the Bridal Boutique at Saks — had come from my meetings with Claire and Cindy. I couldn’t resist calling Claire a little before noon.

“Bring me up to

date,” she said excitedly. “I thought we were partners.”

“I will,” I replied. “Get Cindy. Meet me for lunch.”

Chapter 64

THE THREE OF US leaned against a stone wall in City Hall Park, picking at salad sandwiches we had bought at a nearby grocer’s. The murder club meets again.

“You were right,” I said to Claire. I passed her a copy of the security photo showing Red Beard sneaking into the Cleveland wedding.

She stared at it, her eyes focusing intensely. Claire looked up only when the confirmation of her first physical supposition brought out a curious half smile. “I only read whatever that bastard left behind.”

“Maybe,” I said, tossing her a wink. “But I bet Righetti would’ve missed it.”

“This is true,” she allowed with a satisfied beam.

It was a bright, breezy late-June day; the air was fragrant from a crisp Pacific breeze. Office folk worked on their tans; secretaries gabbed in groups.

I recounted what I had found in Cleveland. I never mentioned what had taken place by the lake between Chris Raleigh and me.

When I finished with Merrill Shortley’s shocking revelation, Cindy said, “Maybe you should’ve stayed out there, Lindsay.”

I shook my head. “It’s not my case. I was only there on a consult. Now I’m running point between three jurisdictions.”

“You think Merrill Shortley has more to tell?” asked Claire.

“I don’t think so. If she knew, I think she would have told me.”

“The bride must have had other friends here,” said Cindy. “She was in publicity. If this guy was famous, maybe she met him through her job.”

I nodded. “I have someone checking that out. We also have the Seattle PD combing through her apartment.”

“Where’d she work when she lived here?” Claire asked.