By the time he opened the door to his apartment, he had most of the plan worked out. He'd commence execution of it tomorrow.

He went to his bedroom and turned on the light. Only it didn't come on. d.a.m.n bulb again. Then he noticed the movement by the bed. It was her! Here at his apartment. She was lying on his bed, only a sheet over her. Even in the darkness he could make out the scarf and the gla.s.ses she always wore.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here? I waited at the motel for almost an hour." It didn't occur to him to ask how she knew where he lived.

In answer she sat up, let the sheet fall slightly off her shoulders, which were bare. This got his blood going and all his anger quickly dissipated. Then she seductively pulled the sheet far up her thighs, which were also bare. Kyle felt himself growing aroused as she motioned for him to join her on the bed.

"No guns this time, okay?" he managed to stammer.

She nodded her head and then pointed to the bureau against the wall. Kyle went over and saw the money spread out there.

When he looked back at her, she'd risen and was standing in front of him, the sheet barely covering her. She motioned with a flick of her hand for him to go over to the bed.

He did so smiling. She circled behind him. He turned to face her, his back to the bed.

The sheet dropped.

Her hand came up and Kyle froze. It looked like a gun that she was holding. When she fired, he put up his hands, as though to ward off the bullet.

The air-propelled twin darts attached by fifteen feet of wire to the Taser gun shot out and pierced his thin shirt. With one terrible jolt fifty thousand volts. .h.i.t him dead in the chest, easily enough to drop a three-hundred-pound NFL lineman much less a scrawny morgue tech. The surge instantly overrode his central nervous system, and he fell backward onto the bed, where he curled into a fetal position as his muscles contracted.

Even though he'd be incapacitated for some time, the woman rushed forward to the bed and pulled the darts free. She put the Taser gun into her bag, which was lying on the floor, and slipped on a pair of gloves. She next pulled out a syringe.

Kyle looked on fearfully as she turned over his paralyzed arm, pulled up his sleeve, put a rubber tourniquet around his forearm to pop up his veins, found a good one and plunged the syringe contents into it. She quickly undid the strap and placed it and the syringe on the nightstand next to the bed.

As Kyle lay twitching on the bed, she stared down at him. What she'd shot into him was already taking effect. He was starting to convulse more, but it wasn't enough. She took the pillow, held it over his face and pressed down. Two minutes later it was over. She removed the pillow and looked down at him again. She felt for a pulse and found none. Kyle was dead.

Despite appearing to be naked, she was actually wearing panties and a bra. She pulled a sweat suit from her bag, donned it quickly, grabbed the money, searched Kyle's pockets and found the note she'd written to him. She stuffed the note and the bedsheet she'd wrapped around her into the bag. She made sure she'd left nothing behind other than the syringe and rubber tourniquet and left the building.

As she sped away from the dead man's apartment, she took comfort in the fact that she now had one less problem to deal with.

CHAPTER 56.

KING AND MICh.e.l.lE DROVE OVERto see Remmy the next morning.

King filled in Mich.e.l.le on his conversation with Sylvia. "I spoke with Todd earlier this morning. He's going to pick Kyle up today."

"Any idea who the mystery woman is?"

"I guess the easiest thing to do is go to the club and ask. If she's a regular there, or works there, someone has to know about it."

In turn, Mich.e.l.le filled in King on the reenactment. "It was amazing, hundreds of people with so much going on all the time. I mean, it was utter chaos, like watching a real battle. Eddie thinks they may show some of the film they took on the local PBS station," she said.

"I've actually been to a couple of those. A woman I used to date when I was in the Service had a brother who was big into them. Had a whole museum of memorabilia and stuff from the Civil War. Muskets, uniforms, swords, even an amputation kit."

"Eddie did a great job. The man has amazing skills and yet his self-esteem is rock-bottom."

"Well, his father's a hard act to follow."

"Yeah, but it's not like he hasn't accomplished anything in his life. And as physical as he is, you should have seen him when he was talking about his twin brother. In fact in some ways he may very well be the most exceptional Battle of them all."

King stared at her with a questioning expression. "And you said he drove you home? Just the two of you?"

"Will you stop with the insinuations? Nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen, between us."

"That's good to hear because the last thing we need is Dorothea or, G.o.d forbid, Remmy Battle gunning for us," King shot back.

Eddie met them at the front door of the mansion.

"I've spent the last hour trying to get her to tell me what was in that secret drawer, and getting absolutely nowhere," he reported.

"Well, if she won't tell you, I don't think we're going to crack her," said King.

"Maybe I softened her up some. She's on the rear terrace and expecting you. The coffee's hot; Mason just brought it out along with some ham biscuits."

Eddie walked out to the terrace with them. Remmy closed what looked like a diary that she was writing in. It was an old-fashioned kind with a clasp and lock across it. Remmy placed the journal inside the pocket of her jacket.

As King was greeting Remmy, Eddie motioned Mich.e.l.le toward him and whispered, "When you're done here, come on by my studio; it's right behind the carriage house. I've got something to show you."

He walked off, and Mich.e.l.le turned to see Remmy's keen gaze on her.

"I understand you watched Eddie playing soldier," she said slowly.

Mich.e.l.le joined them at the table. King poured out coffees.

"He's certainly good at it," remarked Mich.e.l.le. "I had no idea it was so involved."

"Eddie got into it because his father was interested in it. I don't think he really cares for it all that much."

"Well, he certainly looked like he loved it to me."

"Well, looks certainly can be deceiving, can't they?"

The two women gazed at each other for an uncomfortably long time.

King finally broke in. "You're a miracle worker, Remmy."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning the conversion of Lulu from enemy to friend."

Remmy waved her hand dismissively. "I was wrong and I acknowledged it. Don't make it out to be some grand gesture of benevolence."

"So what made you conclude you were wrong?" asked Mich.e.l.le as she reached for a biscuit and coffee.

Remmy raised her cup and took a drink before answering. "I made Junior an offer he couldn't refuse. But he did refuse it. And then he got murdered. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure there's a lot more to it than I thought."

"But Junior might still have been involved. He might have been killed because of it, in fact," said King.

Remmy settled her stern gaze on him. "Didn't you try your best to convince me he was innocent? Or am I thinking of another Sean King?"

"Just playing devil's advocate."

"I forgot, you're a lawyer. Reminds me why I can't stand the breed."

"I'm glad I took down my shingle, then. I wouldn't want you for an enemy."

"No, you wouldn't," she said bluntly.

"I understand you're quite anxious to get back some property other than your jewelry and cash."

"Eddie's already been here trying, Sean," Remmy said. "And if I won't tell him, I sure as h.e.l.l am not telling you."

"Is it that bad?" asked King in a very serious tone. "So bad you'd risk more people being murdered?"

"I have my reasons."

"I hope they're d.a.m.n good ones, but I think you're not only being selfish but shortsighted."

"I'm unaccustomed to being spoken to that way," she snapped.

"I tend to lose my manners during a murder investigation. I trust I have my priorities right," he replied firmly.

"What was in my closet can have nothing to do with anybody getting killed."

"Your husband and Junior may have been killed by the same person. If so, the only connection I see between them is the burglary."

"It can't be, it can't," said Remmy stubbornly.

"And you won't let us be the judge of that?"

"No, I won't," she said steadfastly.

"All right, let's get back to why we're here. Eddie says that people are talking about you maybe having Bobby and Junior killed. He says it's ruining your life."

"Eddie talks too much. I thought I taught him that reserve and stoicism are two of the greatest attributes a person can have."

"But not greater than love," said Mich.e.l.le. "And he does love you."

"I know that!" snapped Remmy.

"If he's worried about you, there must be a reason," Mich.e.l.le persisted.

"Eddie worries too much about the wrong things."

"Remmy, we can't help you if you won't confide in us," said King.

"I never said I needed your help."

"Okay, fine. By the way, where were you when Junior was killed?"

"No one has yet told me exactly when he was killed."

After King told her the time parameters, she thought for a bit. "I was here actually, in my room reading."

"Anybody here to verify that?"

"I can."

Mason was standing in the doorway. "I was in the house until ten o'clock that night. Mrs. Battle never came out of her room during that time."

King looked at him for a long moment. "Thanks, Mason." He looked back at Remmy as Mason walked off. "It's nice to have such good, loyal help, isn't it? Last question: why was your wedding ring in the drawer and not on your finger?"

Remmy didn't answer right away. King stared at her, waiting for a response. Finally, she said, "A ring is a symbol of love and commitment."

"Yes," said King expectantly.

"You said that was your last question. I'm sure you can find your way out."

Outside, Mich.e.l.le said, "Sean, you know it wasn't Remmy who killed Junior."

"That's right. I saw Mason coming out onto the patio. I wanted him to tell us wherehe was at that time." was at that time."

"That was pretty clever."

"Even cleverer because he said Remmy never came out of her room."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that Mason doesn't have an alibi for the time Junior was killed."

"You really think he's a possible suspect?"

"Of course he is, Mich.e.l.le. He's older but still big and strong enough to have taken on Junior. And you noticed that the killer never spoke to us. He only used his laser aimer to convey his instructions."

"Because if he'd spoken, we would have recognized his voice?"

"Exactly. And he lied about the reason Remmy wasn't wearing her ring."

"Speaking of which, the stoic Mrs. Battle was pretty candid with her answer. No love, no commitment, no ring. Yet she stayed married to the man."

"Lots of marriages work that way, unfortunately. Well, at least she's free of him now."