Almost Dead (The Lizzy Gardner Series Book 5) Read online

  After college, and after she’d started earning a decent paycheck, she’d gotten braces, contacts, ridiculously expensive haircuts, and new clothes. Even before the mini-makeover, she’d possessed a decent body, but in the end none of it mattered. One thing she’d learned very quickly was that no amount of scrubbing and perfume could hide the fact that she would always be the poor girl from a pig farm.

  Always had been.

  Always would be.

  Mirror, mirror on the wall . . . who’s the ugliest of them all? Jenny Pickett, that’s who.

  She reached for the small canister, and this time she removed the lid. One tiny pill could end it all. Put her out of her misery forever.

  For a moment in time, Jenny had thought things could be different. She’d thought hard work and success would show all her haters that she didn’t deserve their disdain.

  But now she knew better.

  All of those people who fucked with you are the pigs, not you! Why can’t you see the truth? Don’t you dare take that pill!

  Jenny clamped her hands over her ears.

  Look at the list again. Don’t be a fool. They’re the ones who deserve to die!

  She didn’t want to listen to the voice. She wanted to end her misery and be done with it.

  Read the list, Jenny!

  Jenny dropped her hands and forced herself to look at the names. This time, she read each one slowly, letting every syllable roll over her tongue. Each person on her list had done horrible things to her. It wasn’t her fault they did what they did. They had a choice. It was them, not her. The hatred and disgust she’d felt for herself had been misplaced.

  The realization caused her to feel a hundred pounds lighter.

  Why hadn’t she seen it before?

  She put the lid back on the container and put the suicide pill away.

  It’s about time you stood up for yourself. Maybe you’re not so spineless, after all.

  Brandon Louis

  Terri Kramer

  Stephen White

  Debi Murray

  Gavin Murdock

  Rachel Elliott

  Melony Reed

  Ron Jennings

  Louise Penderfor

  Mindy Graft

  Aubrey Singleton

  Claire Moss

  Chelsea Webster

  Dean Newman

  Gary Perdue

  After reading the names over and over, confident that these were the worst of the offenders, she sucked in a deep breath of air and then slowly exhaled.

  This is your kill list. It’s beautiful.

  Yes . . . her kill list. Each and every person on the list would die, but she would need to follow a set of rules:

  a) be smart,

  b) be patient, and

  c) do not get caught.

  Making the list had been easy. Now she needed to work things through and put some thought into how she would end their lives.

  She’d gotten lucky with Brandon. He’d kept their relationship a well-guarded secret, which turned out to serve her well. He’d never shared his private numbers with her, always calling her from airport pay phones.

  But in the end, stabbing him had proved to be quite messy. Cleaning up all that blood wasn’t easy. Getting rid of the rental car and Brandon’s body had taken the entire night. Lining the trunk of her car, driving to her parents’ farm, and then digging a hole in the middle of their fifty-acre parcel had been beyond exhausting.

  How could she kill them without getting caught?

  It can’t be that difficult. You’re a chemist.

  She couldn’t exactly bury any more dead people on her parents’ farm. She needed to make the deaths appear to be random accidents. But how?

  Do I have to repeat myself? You’re a chemist. Poison.

  She straightened in her seat. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. She went to the wall of books lining the shelves and brushed her fingers over the spines: Organic Chemicals, Pharmacotherapy: A Pathophysiologic Approach, The Pharmacological Basis of Therapeutics, Handbook of Pharmaceutical Excipients, and—there it was. Toxicology: The Basic Science of Poisons. Perfect.

  CHAPTER 8

  Pam Middleton walked into Lizzy’s office downtown at exactly twelve noon. She wore dark slacks, a white sweater, and a strand of pearls. Her blonde hair, streaked with auburn, was pulled back with a clip. Her face looked pinched, her eyes tired. Her lips appeared as a thin red line.

  After introductions were made, Lizzy gestured for Mrs. Middleton to have a seat in the empty chair next to Hayley.

  “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

  “Not a problem. Hayley told me that you need us to locate someone for you. Why don’t you give us the specifics?”

  The woman’s hands were clamped tightly on her lap. “Everything we talk about today will remain in the strictest of confidence?”

  Lizzy and Hayley both agreed.

  “Twenty-five years ago, at the age of sixteen, I had a baby girl. My boyfriend, Dillon, and I struggled with the decision to give our baby up for adoption, but in the end we felt we had no choice. We were young. My parents threatened to throw me out of the house. His parents were devastated. It was a horrible time. Neither of us had a job. There was no way we would be able to provide for our child.”

  The woman took a steadying breath before continuing. “So the decision was made, and, because we thought it was only fair to the adoptive parents that we stay out of the picture, we never looked back.”

  Mrs. Middleton toyed with her pearls before she found her voice again. “Seven years later, I married Dillon and we went on to have another child. A daughter.”

  The woman’s eyes watered and her bottom lip quivered. She took a moment to gather her thoughts while Hayley and Lizzy exchanged looks, both waiting for the other to offer words of comfort and support. Instead, they merely sat there, unmoving and blank-faced.

  “Recently,” Mrs. Middleton went on, “our sixteen-year-old daughter developed severe stomach cramps and was rushed to the hospital. Within twenty-four hours of bringing her to the hospital, we learned that she had a rare form of leukemia.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lizzy said.

  A tear dripped down the side of Pam Middleton’s cheek.

  Lizzy offered her a tissue.

  The woman dabbed at her eyes and then said, “After my daughter is given radiation and chemo, she’ll need a bone marrow transplant to replenish her red blood cells.”

  “What happens if she doesn’t find a donor?” Hayley asked.

  “She’ll die.”

  “You need the daughter you gave up to save your younger daughter,” Hayley stated.

  “Yes,” the woman said. “Can you help me find her?”

  CHAPTER 9

  As Kitally sat in the car, slumped down low, her eye on the house across the street, she couldn’t help but think that all three of them—Lizzy, Hayley, and herself—were in way over their heads.

  They had never been busier.

  They had so many workers’ compensation cases that Kitally and Hayley were forced to divide up the cases and go out on their own. There was no reason to have two people during long days of surveillance sitting in the car, but that did make for a tedious day.

  Right now, Kitally was working on three different cases.

  Howard Chalkor was one of them.

  According to his claim, he couldn’t lift his right arm due to an on-the-job injury. The worst part of this particular case was that Kitally had thought she was done with Mr. Chalkor after she’d gotten some great shots of him and his son loading a truck with furniture. But the insurance company, picky sons of bitches, said the photos were blurry and unacceptable, which was ridiculous. She had a top-of-the-line camera and her photos were on par with Hayley’s and Lizzy’s.

&
nbsp; At last, Mr. Chalkor came through the front door, looked over his shoulder, and shouted to someone inside the house. He then slammed the door shut and lit a cigarette as he made his way down the path leading to the sidewalk.

  He didn’t get far before a woman came running after him. Towing a dog, a Samoyed, she handed him the leash. They exchanged heated words before she turned and marched back to the house.

  Mr. Chalkor did not look happy. The frown lines in his face were deep, making him look much older than forty-two. With the smoke in his left hand and the leash in his right, he stalked off, heading away from where Kitally was parked.

  Every time Chalkor yanked on the leash, Kitally gritted her teeth. Not only was he using the arm that was supposedly injured; he was hurting the dog. More than anything, she wanted to take that leash and wrap it around the man’s neck—show him what it felt like to be yanked and pulled.

  As he rounded the bend, she thought about pursuing him by car but opted to shadow him on foot. She grabbed her camera, locked her car, and followed his trail.

  Once Mr. Chalkor and his dog were back in view, she took a picture every time he yanked on the leash, which happened a lot, since he wouldn’t allow the poor dog to even smell a bush, much less take a pee.

  She watched Chalkor join a group of people and their dogs in the dog park. It wasn’t long before he’d singled out the prettiest woman and struck up a conversation with her, forgetting all about the dog at his side. No wonder the woman back at the house wasn’t happy with him.

  Figuring now was a good time to check the pictures she’d already taken, she found a bench and took a seat. The pictures were good, but yanking on a dog’s leash wasn’t exactly the same as lifting heavy furniture. She would have to call the insurance company and see what they thought. Maybe if she got video of Chalkor yanking on the leash instead of still pictures. She sighed. More than likely, she would have to come back again.

  “Hey you.”

  Kitally looked up, surprised to see Mr. Chalkor standing right in front of her. He was a stocky man—five-ten and well over 250 pounds.

  “Yeah you,” he said.

  “Can I help you?”

  He lifted a stubby finger. “I’m going to give you a warning, but only one. Stay away from me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Next time I see you sitting in your car taking pictures of me and my family, I’m going to make you wish you had minded your own business.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Damn right I am.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Jenny parked her car a few blocks away from the apartment building. The clothes she had on were recently purchased from Goodwill: a tight-fitting beige V-neck sweater, pleated skirt, and two-inch heels. She was going for the librarian look. She would need to find out where to get more wigs like the red one she was wearing today. It was fine, but the selection at Goodwill had been too sparse for her needs.

  She’d also bought a used computer from a guy on Craigslist because she planned on researching the people on her kill list—find out where they lived and what they were up to. If they lived out of state, she put them aside for now.

  After everyone on her list was exterminated, she would destroy the computer. Although she sort of liked being a redhead and looked forward to being a blonde, she’d have to get rid of all the wigs and accessories, too.

  In the center of the plate she carried was a chocolate cake. She’d made it herself using unbleached all-purpose flour, eggs, sugar, the best-quality dark chocolate she could find, rich European butter, and a healthy dose of cyanide.

  Her shoes clacked against the cement stairs as she made her way to the third floor of the apartment building. She had checked out the place a few days ago. There were two cameras: one outside the main office and another one on the front of the building facing the main parking lot.

  Standing outside Apartment 32B, she drew a deep breath, then rapped her knuckles against the door. As she waited, her heart pounded against her chest, a little bit harder with each passing second.

  She’d been sitting in her car a block away, waiting and watching, when she saw Terri Kramer pull into the parking lot.

  She knew Terri was home.

  Jenny was about to knock again when the door opened. Terri Kramer in the flesh. She’d gained a few pounds since college, but overall she still looked young and confident. Her hair was darker than Jenny remembered and was cut short. She had big eyes and red, kissy lips stolen right off a Betty Boop comic strip.

  Terri still looked the same, but Jenny didn’t. There was no possible way Terri would recognize her. She didn’t look anything like the Jenny Pickett from their college days.

  “Hi! My name is Kasey Trumble, and I just moved into the apartment building last week. When I heard that a famous chemist lived in the building, I decided to bake a cake and take a minute to introduce myself.”

  “I’m sorry,” Terri said. “I really don’t have time to talk right now. I’m rushing off for a business trip. Another day maybe?”

  She’s not falling for it. I told you it was a dumb idea. You better get your ass inside that apartment before someone sees you.

  “Oh, I see,” Jenny said. “I just thought since we’re both research chemists and being that you are everything I aspire to be, well . . . gosh, never mind.”

  “You’re a chemist?”

  Jenny nodded.

  Terri bit down on her bottom lip. “I really am in a hurry. How about next week?”

  “Does the trip you’re going on have to do with the antiaging serum you developed? If so, you better get your people to make sure your patent is airtight.”

  The corners of Terri’s red bow lips turned downward. “Why do you say that?”

  “Like I said, I’m a chemist. A woman I work with showed me a write-up on you in the Journal of the American Chemical Society. She swears on the Bible that she knew you in college and then worked with you at Pfizer, and that she came up with the formula first.”

  Terri’s face turned a shade of green. “What’s her name?”

  “Jenny Pickett.”

  Jenny gave the news a minute to settle into Terri’s brain waves. Then she said, “Don’t tell me you really know Jenny Pickett?”

  “I do,” Terri said. “Why don’t you come in and tell me what else she said.”

  “Are you sure? I know you’re busy.”

  “I’m sure, and, besides, that cake looks delicious.”

  “Great,” Jenny said, making quick work of getting inside the apartment, relieved when Terri shut the door behind her. “I’ll just give you the details,” Jenny told her, “and then skedaddle out of here.”

  Terri Kramer seemed to be in a daze, which was understandable, considering the news Jenny had just dumped on her.

  Get this show on the road! Get some plates.

  The apartment was small. The kitchen, dining, and living areas were all lumped together. Jenny pointed to the kitchen. “Where do you keep your dishes?”

  Terri pulled two plates from a cupboard. “Would you like hot tea or milk?”

  “Milk would be great,” Jenny said as she took a seat at one of four chairs surrounding the dining room table. There was no time for awkward silence. “Wait until you get a taste of this chocolate miracle. My grandmother passed the recipe on to me. It’s to die for.”

  Really?

  Terri seemed to be in her own world as she poured them both glasses of milk and then took a seat at the table across from Jenny. Since she hadn’t cut into the cake yet, Jenny took the knife and did the honors.

  In a matter of minutes, Terri’s demeanor had transformed from a confident woman in a hurry to an apprehensive woman awaiting execution.

  “Are you all right?” Jenny asked. “You look sort of pale. If it’s about Jenny Pickett, I
wouldn’t worry too much about anything she says. Everyone at work thinks she’s a bit strange, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I guess I don’t understand.”

  The cake. Make her eat the cake and then get out of here!

  “Before I explain further,” Jenny said, “I insist you try a bite of chocolate heaven. I want to know what you think.”

  Terri did as she was told. She nodded her approval and even took a second bite before chasing it down with some cold milk. “That is quite good.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  As Terri ate, Jenny rambled on, making up stories about her coworker. “Jenny is so reserved. Beyond reserved, really. Strange, like I said. She doesn’t have any friends that I know of. She brings a brown paper bag lunch to work and keeps to herself.”

  Terri shrugged as she took another bite and followed it with a sip of milk. “I’ve met a lot of chemists over the years and most seem to be introverted.”

  “Really?”

  Terri nodded. “I don’t think Jenny Pickett ever realized how brilliant she really was and is.”

  “Brilliant?”

  “Definitely. But the one thing she always lacked was confidence. It was sad, really, the way she let people walk all over her.” Terri took another bite. “This cake is delicious—dense but so moist.”

  “I’ll give you the recipe before I go.”

  What’s taking so long? Why isn’t she dying? Don’t tell me you fucked this up.

  “Shut up,” Jenny said under her breath.

  “What?”

  Jenny touched her throat. “Sorry, I was just trying to clear a tickle.”

  It was quiet for a moment. Terri had put her fork down and appeared to be staring at her plate.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you. I never should have told you about Jenny Pickett in the first place.”

  “No, I’m glad you did.”

  “You didn’t really steal the formula from her, did you?”