Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

But they’d never understand how true love and deep hate could live in the same heart.

Thaddeus hadn’t known her. After all the years she’d shared her bed, her body, given him her trust and devotion, he hadn’t seen her through the disguise.

He hadn’t known until, in the last moments of his life, as the blood drained from him, she’d taken off the mask. He’d looked so puzzled, she remembered—fondly—staring at her as life poured out of him.

And he’d said her name, finally said her name, Darla, like a question. His last word had been her name.

And that, oh that, had been delicious.

“Excuse me.”

Darla came back to the moment as another woman nudged her impatiently.

“I need to get by.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry. My mind wandered.” With an apologetic smile, Darla shifted, chose some grapes, some berries.

When she finished in the market, she stepped back outside. Opened her umbrella, gave it a little twirl.

She felt lighter than air!

She hummed a bit as she walked, as she replayed her scene with the police. Perfect, just perfect, in her recollection. The shock, the grief, the struggle for composure.

So much fun! She hadn’t known how much fun she’d have.

Maybe she’d worried, just for a moment, when she’d realized Grand had come down. But then that had turned out perfectly, too.

To have her sweet grandmother—and the acclaimed Eloise Callahan—vouch for her, essentially relate the same story, the same timeline.

And how smart had it been to run up to check on Grand when Thad-deus passed out. The police could hardly suspect her of killing anyone when she had her much-loved grandmother to tend to.

She had to admit it was fun to match wits with Eve Dallas. It felt as if they were characters—the leads—in a vid. Only she was directing it, too. And writing it. She’d designed the costumes (at least her own).

And she already had the next act written.

Walking home in the rain with her market bag, her bakery box, she smiled, even did a little dance inside her head.

All those years, she thought, all those years with Thaddeus, she’d been so devoted, so faithful.

So weak.

She’d created a company—herself! Used her brain, her skills, her energy to make it into something solid. Not earthshaking, but solid and respectable.

She’d done that.

And she’d let him take it from her, just as he’d taken her self-respect. At least she’d learned from the group that she wasn’t alone. In fact, she wasn’t nearly the worst case. So many women used, abused, betrayed.

They had a champion in her now. She’d given them Lady Justice.

She swiped into the house, put her umbrella in the stand, her jacket in the closet.

After carrying the marketing to the kitchen, she ordered the droid to make tea while she herself arranged the fruit, the pastries on pretty plates.

A treat for Grand.

She checked the time, deemed it perfect. Grand would have finished her physical therapy, and would be settled in the upstairs parlor.

She wheeled the cart into the elevator. Inside she arranged her face into what she thought of as a brave smile—keeping her eyes just a little sad.