Copycat by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online Page A

comedian’s schtick. “I hear Lundgren heard from someone claiming to be the Sleeping Angel.”
    â€œYeah? Who’d you hear that from?”
    â€œA buddy in CRU.”
    And she knew which one. She narrowed her eyes at Brian, who was flirting outrageously with the too-young-for-him bartender. “Passing along a crank call? Some people have way too much time on their hands.”
    â€œYou so sure it was a crank?” That came from Snowe.
    â€œMakes a hell of a lot more sense than the real killer calling and confessing. Come on.”
    â€œStrange things happen.”
    Suddenly irritated, she wished she had gone home. “Give me a break.”
    M.C. swung her stool to face the stage.
    â€œDid we hit a nerve?” Sorenstein teased.
    Snowe snickered. “What? Is Lundgren getting to you?”
    â€œNot at all, boys, just enjoying the show.”
    She ignored their laughter, sipped her wine and listened to the rest of the comic’s routine about growing up outside the Italian circle, looking in on them.
    When he finished, she clapped loudly. He shot her a big smile, bowed and exited the stage. A moment later, he joined them at the bar. M.C. smiled at him. “Thanks. I needed that.”
    â€œThank you. I need that.” The bartender set a beer in front of him, obviously on the house. He took a long swallow, then glanced back at her. “Let me guess, you’re family.”
    He was referring to her ethnicity, she knew. And with her dark hair and eyes and olive skin tone, she knew she looked the part. One hundred percent. She smiled. “You were very funny. Right on target.”
    â€œThank you, Mary Catherine.”
    â€œCall me M.C. So tell me, how has your family reacted to your choice of comedic subject matter?”
    â€œThey hired Uncle Tony to take care of me.”
    â€œUncle Tony?” she repeated, lips lifting. “An enforcer?”
    â€œMuch worse. An ambulance-chasing shark in a suit. He threatened me with a defamation of character lawsuit.”
    â€œYou’re serious?”
    â€œAbsolutely. I told him to bring it on.” He took a swallow of his beer. “So what’s your story?”
    â€œI’m the youngest of six. And the only girl.”
    â€œI’m sitting next to royalty, then.” He mock bowed. “Princess Mary Catherine.”
    â€œIn the form of a cop.”
    He held up his glass in a mock toast. “To a fellow rebel and outsider.”
    An outsider? She had never thought of herself quite that way, but it certainly fit. She was one of them and loved, but different. And not just because she didn’t fit the mold of her ancestors. Her profession made her different, as well. The way she lived. The violence and inhumanity she saw on a daily basis.
    â€œIs this a private party, or can anybody join in?”
    That came from Brian, who seemed to have given up on the bartender. Deciding she’d had enough, she stood. “It’s your party now, guys. I’m beat.”
    As she walked away, she looked back at Lance Castrogiovanni. He caught her glance and smiled. She returned the smile, wondering if she would see him again—and hoping that she would.

11
    Thursday, March 9, 2006
7:20 a.m.
    K itt stood at the grave site, shivering in the early-morning chill. The stone read:
    Our Beloved “Peanut”
    Sadie Marie Lundgren
    September 10, 1990—April 4, 2001
    Kitt visited Sadie at least once a week. Laid fresh flowers on her grave, removed the dead ones. Today it was daisies.
    She looked up at the gray sky, longing suddenly for real spring. Bright sun and blue sky.
    â€œSomething bad’s happened, sweetheart. He’s back. That man who killed those girls. And I’m—”
    She struggled to speak past the lump that formed in her throat. Even after all the time that had passed, she still choked up at moments like this.
    â€œI’m afraid,” she went on. “For other