Final Breath

Clicking back a page on the Internet, Sydney tried to find another article on Angela's death that would give more information or an update of some kind. But none of the other articles offered anything new. Each story carried that same quote from the woman who had seen Angela's body plummet: 'It was as if the poor thing just fell out of the sky.'

Sydney rubbed her forehead, then switched off the computer. It was strange--first Leah and Jared, and now Angela Gannon. They'd died--violently--only four days apart. And their deaths, as far as she knew, were still unsolved.

Sighing, Sydney got to her feet and collected Joe's torn-up letter from her desktop. With the scraps of paper clutched in her fist, she wandered to the back door and unlocked it. She was thinking about Angela and Jared and Leah. Those kind of tragedies always happened in threes. Was that already three, or would someone else die?

A light breeze came off the lake as she stepped outside. The lid to the garbage can was stuck, and she had to jostle it a bit before she could open it.

'Oh, shit,' Sydney whispered, startled. She'd forgotten about the dead robin in there. It must have rolled out of the paper towels when she'd moved the garbage can lid. Now the poor dead thing lay there in the moonlight.

Sydney still wondered how the dead bird had ended up on her pillow. She tossed the scraps of Joe's letter into the garbage. Then she very gingerly picked out a sheet of the paper towel and covered up the frail little feathered corpse again.

'Poor thing,' she said to herself.

Then she thought of Angela, and a chill raced through her.

'It was as if the poor thing just fell out of the sky.'

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sydney frowned at her slightly puffy reflection in the bathroom medicine chest mirror. This is what you get for that third glass of pinot grigio last night, she thought. She'd already gone downstairs and started up the Mr. Coffee machine. She'd also phoned the network.

George Camper was a head honcho in publicity. Forwarding fan letters and handling special requests were among his department's responsibilities. If someone from the network had sent Elizabeth Grogen and the Dvoraks flowers on her behalf, George would have known about it.

But the network was operating with a Sunday skeletal staff this morning, and nobody knew anything. They'd given her George's home phone number. Sydney had called there and left a message.

With her hair pulled back in a scrunchie, Sydney put some Visine drops in her eyes and then washed her face. She was still haunted by the thought she'd had last night--that perhaps there was a connection between the dead robin on her pillow and Angela's bizarre death.

Drying off her face, she heard the water dripping and glanced over at the sink. The hollow dripping sound wasn't coming from there. She gazed at the closed shower curtain with the map of the world on it. The curtain billowed in and out slightly--almost as if it were breathing. The dripping sound got steadier--then abruptly stopped. Sydney pulled back the curtain and saw the beaded water drops around the tub's drain. One last drop clung to the faucet. Suddenly, something crept out of the drain.

Sydney gasped and bumped into the sink as she recoiled. It took her a moment to realize it was a medium- size spider. But the black crawly thing had still scared the hell out of her. With a shaky hand, she gathered up some toilet paper, then swiped up the spider and flushed it down the toilet. She gave it a second flush, just to be sure.

She wondered if maybe that dead bird had more to do with this creepy town house than with Angela Gannon's death.

Opening the bathroom door, she hadn't expected to see anyone, and there stood Eli in his pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. Sydney gasped. 'Good God, Eli, you scared the you-know-what out of me.'

'Sorry,' he muttered sleepily.

She caught her breath. At least he was talking to her now.

'You done in there?' he asked, rubbing his eyes.

She nodded, but remained in the bathroom doorway. 'Are we okay?'

'I guess so,' Eli replied. 'Sorry about dropping those f-bombs on you last night.'

She let out a stunned little laugh. 'You're just lucky you didn't end up with a mouthful of Dial. I've never heard you use that kind of language.' She patted his shoulder. 'Anyway, I'm sorry I accused you of putting that bird on my bed. It really unnerved me to find it there. Maybe that sort of thing happens when you live this close to the water--or in a friggin' haunted house.'

Eli cracked a smile. 'So friggin' is okay to use?'

She kissed his forehead. 'Only in front of me--and sparingly. Anyway, we're all forgiven, right?'

Eli nodded, then he slid his arms around her. 'I called Dad last night,' he said. With his face in her shoulder, his voice was slightly muffled. 'He told me you tried to get Brad and Tim out here for a visit. Thanks for trying, Mom.'

Sydney held him tightly. 'Well, I'm sorry I wasn't able to pull it off.'

After a few moments, Eli squirmed a little. 'Mom, I got to pee.'

She pulled away and mussed his hair. 'How about homemade waffles for breakfast? I haven't broken out the waffle iron in months.'

'Sounds good, Mom,' Eli replied, ducking into the bathroom.

Sydney's first attempt at making a waffle in three months was a disaster. One side was burnt black, the other side nearly raw. She unplugged the waffle iron. 'Eli?' she called. 'Honey, a little delay to breakfast! It'll be about another fifteen minutes.'

'No sweat!' Eli answered from upstairs. 'Don't knock yourself out, Mom, because I really don't think...' She couldn't hear the rest, because his voice was fading, and the phone rang.

She checked the caller ID and saw it was George Camper, calling back. She grabbed the cordless. 'Hello, George?'

'Hi, Sydney.'

'Thanks for getting back to me. Sorry to bother you at home.'

'No problem, Sydney. What can I do for you?'

'I wasn't sure if you knew anything about this or not, but last week this couple from Movers & Shakers, Leah Dvorak and Jared McGinty, the ones who stopped the robbery at the Thai restaurant--'

'Yeah, I heard they were murdered,' George finished for her. 'That's just awful. What a tragedy...'

'Yes, well, last night I found out Angela Gannon committed suicide, at least the police seem to think it might have been a suicide. She's the woman I interviewed who talked that man out of jumping from that office building ledge in Chicago.'

'Oh, sure, I remember that story. The girl's dead?'

'Yes,' Sydney said. 'You didn't know?'

'No, I hadn't heard anything, Sydney. God, that's terrible. In one week, you lost three of your Movers & Shakers people. Were you--um, thinking about doing some kind of posthumous tribute or something?'

'No.' Sydney hesitated. He'd already answered her question: he didn't know about Angela's death. Still, she had to ask. 'Listen, George, do you think someone in your office might have sent flowers to the Dvoraks and to Angela's sister on my behalf?'

'I'm not sure I understand, Sydney.'

'I've gotten notes from the Dvoraks and Angela's sister, thanking me for the flowers--and I didn't send any. Do you think someone in your department--or any other department--might have sent flowers to these people and signed my name on the card?'