been used previously to shoo away unwelcome birds
and even more unwelcome strangers on the Izard farm.
Judith tensed in her chair. Her feet were planted
firmly on the floor, her fingers gripping the table’s
edge. “Why would you shoot me?” she asked in a
voice that didn’t sound like her own.
“I want my book,” Meg said, now holding the gun
with both hands. “Give me my book.”
“Okay.” Judith forced herself to move. “May I?”
“Yes.” Meg stood up. “No tricks, just my book.”
It had never been harder for Judith to walk, not even
when she’d taken her first tenuous steps after hip surgery. Slowly, agonizingly, she made her way to the
drawer by the computer. Keeping one hand in full
sight, she reached down to get the book.
“Here,” she said, still moving with difficulty.
“Here’s your book.”
Meg removed her left hand from the gun and took
the heavy volume from Judith. “Thank you,” she said
with great dignity. She clasped
breast and slipped the gun back into her purse. “Goodbye.”
Judith stared as Meg walked toward the entry hall.
The other woman moved slowly now, almost decorously, to the front door. Trying to control a sudden
spasm of trembling, Judith started to follow. But Meg
had closed the door behind her before Judith could get
beyond the dining room.
“My God!” Judith exclaimed under her breath, and
leaned against the wall.
She took several breaths before she could go on. Finally, she reached the door just as the shot rang out. Judith had expected it. She didn’t want to look outside,
but she had to.
Meg Izard was lying facedown at the sidewalk’s
edge. Her copy of
Judith inspected the items on the silver tray and decided to start breakfast with the fruit compote. “How’s
your omelette?” she asked of Joe, who was sitting in a
plush armchair with his tray on his lap.
“Excellent,” he replied. “I couldn’t have made a better one myself. The Cascadia Hotel has one of the best
chefs on the West Coast.”
“I have to admit it,” Judith said with a pleasurable
little smile, “this is heaven.”
“As long as we’ve been turned out of our house, we
might as well make the most of it,” Joe said, his green-
eyed gaze taking in the extensive hotel suite with its
lavish old-world appointments. “Especially since Paradox Studios is paying for it.”
“I can’t believe they ended up paying us,” Judith remarked, admiring the thick slice of Virginia ham on the
white Limoges plate. “Twenty-five thousand dollars,
