“Just so much shoveled dirt.”
“When did Angie die?”
“Before my time.”
“I know what happened, Anique. I understand. Catts hurt you, then made you hurt others.”
“Who’s Catts?”
“Menard. Catts killed Menard and took his name.”
“Menard. Catts.” Air puffed from her lips. “Amateur hour.”
“He was evil. He tortured you. He tortured Angie Robinson. You had to play along to please him.”
“I didn’t play along.” A finger jabbed her sternum. “I ruled. I was queen.”
“Q.” Queen of Hearts.
“You did what was necessary to survive.”
“You don’t get it. I’m the queen, not the rabbit.”
“I know. You’re the strong one, Anique. You shot Catts.”
“He grew weak.”
“You smothered Louise Parent.”
“A mercy killing.”
Her flippant indifference triggered a helpless, savage anger. Suddenly, I couldn’t control myself. Without thinking I abandoned my attempt at dialogue and bucked and twisted. Sweat dampened my face and rolled down my spine.
“You callous bitch!”
Pomerleau laughed and rhythmically rose to her toes and dropped to her heels like an excited child until I sat back, heaving and exhausted.
“The police will find you,” I panted. “You won’t get away.”
Pomerleau hooked one finger under a studded collar circling her neck. A venomous smile crawled the dead pale face.
“Three bodies were pulled from the ashes,” she chanted. “But, praise the lord, one victim escaped the flames.”
Upending the can, Pomerleau doused my clothes with gasoline.
My stomach lurched. My heart flew to my throat.
Tossing the can, Pomerleau strode from the parlor. I heard her cross the hall, then move through the kitchen, the back bedroom, and the room beside us, pausing briefly in each. My thoughts shifted to Anne. I’m so very sorry, Annie. So stupid and so sorry. I should never have involved you.
An acrid smell began filling the air.
“Run, Tawny!” I screamed. “Get out!”
I wrenched and writhed, chest burning, pain cartwheeling through my head.
In minutes, Pomerleau was back, face etched with, what? Elation? Joy?
“The neighbors will call 911,” I shrieked. “You won’t get far.”
“You’ll be dead from the smoke.”
Pomerleau struck a match, and watched the small flame sputter and blossom.
“See you in Candyland.”
Her wrist flicked.
I heard a loud whup, felt heat behind me, then saw the room dance in flickering orange light.
37
THE FLASH OF FLAME WITHERED AFTER THE OPENING BURST, BUT choking black smoke began filling the room.
I couldn’t get to my feet. The ropes held me twisted backward, ankles bound to wrists. I rolled back up onto my knees.
My eyes burned. My throat grew raw. Though heat was building, my body shook. This fire would not burn itself out. I had to get away or die.
