Kiss of the Bees

Myrna Louise’s death had come to the prison, Andy had laughed at the incompetent ninnies who ruled it as death by natural causes.

“Why is that so funny?” Mitch had asked.

“Because they’re wrong. Because I made arrangements to have someone slip her a little something.”

As well as Mitch knew Andy by then, the whole idea was a little startling. “Your own mother?” Mitch asked.

“Why not?” Andy returned. “Once she handed Diana’s little care package over to my hired-hand delivery boy, there was no sense in her hanging around. After all, that damned rest home was costing a fortune. And don’t pretend to be so shocked, Mitch. After all, it’s in your own best interests.”

“Mine!”

“You bet. Myrna Louise’s rent at that retirement home was coming directly out of my pocket—and yours, too.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Mitch had said. “But you arranged the whole thing from here?”

“Sure,” Andy said. “If you’ve got enough money, hiring decent help is no problem.”

Mitch continued going through the motions of seeming to listen intently and of taking notes, but he was losing interest. There comes a time in every bullfight when it’s time to end the capework and uncover the sword. His purpose was to leave Diana Ladd Walker with something to think about later on. Something that would, in the aftermath of what was about to happen between Lani and Quentin, leave her questioning all her smug assumptions about the kind of person she was and how she had raised her children.

He waited until she paused. “Listening to you now and remembering the way you describe Andrew Carlisle’s mother in the book, you make her sound perfectly ordinary.”

“She was perfectly ordinary,” Diana said. “That’s what I wanted to show about her. Myrna Louise Rivers was far less educated than her son and hadn’t had the benefit of all the advantages that accrued to him from his father’s side of the family. People like to believe that monsters beget monsters, but she wasn’t a monster, not by any means. I think it’s far too easy for society to believe that killers inherit their evil tendencies from their parents and then pass them along to their own children. As I said in the book, I don’t believe that’s true.”

“Is that the case in your own situation as well?”

Diana frowned. “What do you mean?”

“In the case of your stepson, Quentin. You don’t feel that his upbringing had anything to do with what happened to him or to the other son, the one who ran away?”

Mitch was delighted to see the angry flush that flooded Diana Walker’s face. “No,” she said firmly. “Quentin Walker and Tommy Walker were both responsible for their own actions.”

“But isn’t it possible that your relationship with their father closed those two boys out somehow and that’s why they ended up going so haywire?”

Gleefully, Mitch saw the muscles on Diana’s jawline contract. “No,” she said. “I don’t think that at all. By the time I met them, both those boys were headed in the wrong direction. There was nothing their father and I could do to change that course.”

Maybe it didn’t seem like much of a seed, but once Brandon and Diana Walker were trying to come to grips with the fact that their son Quentin had murdered his sister Lani, it would give them something more to think about.

Monty Lazarus made a show of glancing at his watch. “My God!” he exclaimed. “Look at the time. I promised Megan that I’d have you home in plenty of time for your dinner. Based on that, I booked another appointment. I’m supposed to meet some friends, and I’m about to be late. Would you mind if we finished this up and shot the pictures sometime tomorrow?”

If Diana Ladd Walker had posed for a photo right then, the camera probably would have captured exactly what she was thinking—that it would have given her the greatest of pleasure to shove the camera right back down Monty’s arrogant goddamned throat.

“That would be fine,” she said, trying not to let her relief show at finally escaping this interminable interview. Maybe by tomorrow she could find a way to be reasonably civil to this jackass.

“What time?”

“Say two o’clock.”

“All right. And where? Out at the house?”

“No. Not your place. I have some locations in mind. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know where to meet me.”

“Fine.” Diana got up and started away, but before she went too far, she remembered her manners. “Thanks for the refreshments.”

“Think nothing of it,” Monty Lazarus said with an ingratiating smile. “It was my pleasure.”

The EMTs immediately went to work attempting to stabilize their patient. Agent Kelly and Deputy Fellows suddenly found themselves with nothing to do. Sent packing from the scene of all the action, the two officers retreated to the spot where their vehicles were parked.

Agent Kelly was a short, sturdy blonde with closely-cropped hair, gray-green eyes, and an easy smile. Brian had no idea how long she had been out in the baking sun with the injured man, but her face was flushed. The shirt of her green uniform was soaked with sweat.

Opening the door to her van, she put the two empty water jugs—both his and hers—on the floorboard of the front seat, and then she pulled out another. Screwing open the cap, she held the jug over her head and poured, letting the water spill down. Once she was thoroughly soaked, she handed the gallon jug over to Brian. “Live a little,” she said.

After a momentary hesitation, Brian followed suit. “My name’s Katherine Kelly, by the way,” she told him as he gave the jug back to her. “Kath for short. We didn’t exactly have time for official introductions before.” She held out her hand.