Deadly Messengers by Susan May Read Free Book Online Page B

hitch.”
    No, that didn’t work.
     
    “Everybody deals with death differently.”
    Yes, better.
     
    “Some survivors cope, carrying on as if nothing ever happened.”
    Yes, that would fly.
     
    Then, add a quote from a therapist and another professional who specialized in trauma. Oh, yes, and then thinking of trauma, she could speak to a psychologist who dealt in returning soldiers of war and add something about post-traumatic stress disorder.
    Kendall had imagined she would need to console the woman, play the role of a confessor, but Kendall’s confidence now grew by the second. This could turn out to be no more difficult than her usual stories.
    There was an air of affectation about Beverley’s movements as she positioned herself on the couch, her coffee cup held carefully in her lap. Clearly she enjoyed the attention.
    Beverley lifted the hot drink to her mouth and took a long sip before returning it to her lap and wrapping both hands around the mug.
    “Now, what did you want to know? It’s all very exciting, isn’t it? How long before you print the interview? What magazine is it again? I read Cosmopolitan every month. Have done since I was sixteen.”
    “No, it’s not Cosmopolitan . It’s for Healthy, Wealthy and Wisdom . I’m not sure how long. They’ve given me a tight deadline on the story, so I imagine it will be in the next issue out next Friday.”
    Beverley’s brow creased. ““Hmm, I haven’t heard of that one.” Her frown then turned to a wide smile. “But it’s all very exciting, isn’t it?”
    The woman suddenly glowed as though she’d won the lottery. Kendall gave an acknowledging smile to convey she agreed that it was all very exciting , though she failed to comprehend Beverley’s enthusiasm.
    Kendall held up her iPhone. “Is it okay if I record our interview?”
    “Oh, yes.” Beverley vigorously nodded her head. “What a good idea. Record away.”
    Kendall opened and pressed the button of the recording app, then placed the phone on the coffee table between a border collie and a particularly ugly Chihuahua. (To her, a non-animal lover, they weren’t good looking dogs in life, and even less so in china.)
    “So, you and your husband were at Café Amaretto last night just enjoying an evening out, right? How long had you been there before he arrived and it all began?”
    Kendall didn’t want to call it what it was, a massacre. She, also didn’t want to call Toby Benson what he was—a murderer, a killer, a psychopath. Despite Beverley’s non-plussed demeanor, Kendall was uncertain of her interviewee’s reaction if it suddenly dawned on her what she’d actually experienced. That the murders weren’t a scene from a TV show or whatever thought process she used as a coping mechanism. If she could avoid it, Kendall preferred not to sit here with a hysterical woman.
    “Now, let me see. We were up to dessert. I’d just asked Roy—that’s my husband— how long does it take to cut a piece of cake? It was getting near nine-thirty. We like to be in bed by ten these days.”
    Beverley smiled a crow’s-foot smile, though her forehead remained unnaturally smooth.
    “Then we heard the sound of glasses and plates breaking. Oh my! It was a dreadful racket. So loud. At first—and I said this to Roy—I thought the waitress—and she was actually our waitress, by the way—had slipped and dropped a tray in there, in the kitchen. She was the girl, you know, the one in the paper, the waitress that died. Young thing, too. Quite pretty. Just breaks your heart.”
    Beverley tilted her head to the side and looked toward the ceiling as though she were reexamining the memory for the finer details. Kendall leaned in toward her, putting her untouched beverage back on the coffee table as a subtle message to keep talking.
    Beverley tut-tutted before continuing.
    “Yes, terrible thing. She’d served us all night. We had the ravioli. They do a great mushroom ravioli.”
    Kendall was about to suggest