Amnesia by Beverly Barton Read Free Book Online Page B

On the drive over from Austinville, she’d made a dozen phone calls, using her On-Star system, which made phoning while driving an easy, risk-free task. She’d spoken to the president and two vice presidents at Vanderley, Inc., and helped theirtop PR person word a press release about Lulu’s murder. She’d also spoken to her uncle twice and it had broken her heart to hear the sound of his weak, trembling voice. Knowing that Dr. Martin had arranged for nurses to be at Uncle Louis’s side twenty-four/seven gave her some comfort.
    Before leaving early this morning, she’d fielded numerous calls from local, state and even national newspapers and televisions stations. Her cousin’s murder was front-page news throughout the state of Mississippi and most of the South. Even now, a good twelve hours after hearing the news from Sheriff Brody, Annabelle was having difficulty believing it was true. Accepting the death of a family member was always difficult—she’d gone through the agony with her aunt Meta Anne’s and both her parents’ deaths and again when she lost Chris. When someone young died, someone only twenty-seven as Lulu had been, the loss seemed all the greater because you felt that the person hadn’t gotten a chance to live a full life. She’d felt that way when Chris died two years ago. He had been the center of her world for so long that shortly after the funeral, she’d fallen apart completely. But in typical Annabelle style, she hadn’t allowed herself to wallow in self-pity for very long. She’d pulled herself up by the proverbial bootstraps, dusted off her bruised and bloody emotions and thrown herself back into work. Thank God for work. It had been her salvation more than once over the years.
    As she approached the Poplar Avenue entrance to the Criminal Justice Center, she recited the directions she’d been given over the telephone by the helpful police officer she’d spoken to an hour ago while she’d been en route. With her mind on other matters—finding the homicide division of the police department within this huge complex, as well as thinking about what she’d be told concerning Lulu’s murder— Annabelle failed to notice the small crowd gathering around her. Suddenly, someone shouted her name. She jerked her head up and searched for the speaker.
    “Ms. Vanderley? Annabelle Vanderley?” A short, wiry man with a camera in hand moved toward her.
    “Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?”
    “You are Lulu Vanderley’s cousin, Annabelle, aren’t you?” a small, slender blonde holding a microphone in her hand asked as she zeroed in on Annabelle.
    “We’d like to ask you a few questions,” another reporter joined in the fray.
    “I have no comment,” Annabelle told them. “The spokesperson for Vanderley, Inc. will make a statement at noon today at our headquarters in Jackson, Mississippi.”
    “Is it true that Lulu was killed by her latest lover?”
    “Was she raped and then killed?”
    “How was she killed? Was she shot? Strangled? Stabbed?”
    The questions bombarded her as the reporters drew closer and closer, shoving microphones and cameras in her face.
    “Please, leave me alone.” She tried to move past the throng that seemed to be multiplying by the minute, but she was surrounded. Try as she might, she couldn’t find an escape route.
    As if from out of nowhere a tall, broad-shouldered man cut a path through Annabelle’s tormentors, slid his arm around her waist and all but shoved the reporters aside. When they complained, he paused, faced them and snarled. With her breath caught in her throat, Annabelle took a good look at her rescuer. The fierce expression on his face would have backed down the devil himself. The reporters continued to grumble, but didn’t make the slightest move in her direction.
    Whoever this man was—her protector—he took her breath away.
    “You heard the lady. Leave her alone,” he said, his voice baritone deep and rich.
    Annabelle