Dark Secrets 2: No Time to Die; The Deep End of Fear Read Online Free PDF Page B

kitchen, check Sid's car. Thanx.
    I continued reading through the batch of notes—her description of Stoddard Theater, her account of the funny things that had happened during auditions, and her reaction to Walker.
    He's always criticizing me, Jen, me more than anybody else. I make him mad because I don't cringe like the others at his stupid remarks. I just stare at him. One of these days I'm going to give it back. He's a nobody acting like he's directing Broadway. Somebody's got to put Walker in his place. Looks like it'll have to be me.
    There were frequent references to "Boots." Of course, given Liza's difficulty in following rules, she and Maggie had had a few run-ins. Liza thought Brian was nice. I found only two mentions of Paul. She was aware of his interest in her, but seemed to consider him just another of her fans. Maybe she had seen too many weirdos in New York to be alarmed, I thought. She didn't get along with Keri.
    Talk about a snob! She finds the whole world boring, which, if you ask me, is the ultimate in snobbery. Her parents have given her so much that the only thing left to want is something she can't have—like Paul. In front of everybody she announced that she couldn't stand my jasmine perfume. Fine, I told her, stay away from me so you don't have to smell it—make us both happy!
    I remembered correctly the romantic way Liza had described her relationship with Mike—Michael as she called him.
    "It's Mike," he keeps saying, but I like the sound of Michael better—Mikes are guys who work at Kmart. He is so gorgeous—dark hair, blue eyes to die for, tall but not one of those skinny Hamlet types—a real guy. We're like so in love, but we both fake a little. I don't discourage the other guys who are interested in me because it's always good to keep each other wondering. But really, Jen, this is true love!!! You've got to come down and meet my incredible guy.
    Please come soon.
    The descriptions of Michael and Liza's shared moments filled the rest of her e-mails. I remembered thinking when I first read them that Liza had finally figured out what counted, for the things she was talking about so romantically were small acts of kindness, little bits of gentleness, not wild kisses. Usually, Liza went for cool, star types like herself, and after she and the guy grew tired of showering each other with flattery, the fighting got ugly. Maybe Liza had finally fallen for a guy who was terrific on the inside, too.
    And maybe I should have been gentler, I thought, not trying to force Mike to admit his feelings for my sister.
    I read all the way through the correspondence and came to the last e-mail, the one that had been sent after lunch the day Liza died.
    Jenny, Don't tell Mom and Dad, but I'm thinking about coming home. I know they won't want me to pull out of the production, but I think I have to. I've hurt someone very badly, and I don't know how to make it up. I had no idea—I didn't mean it—it's terrible. I need to talk to you.
    1:20—rehearsal's started. Talk later. L
    Whom Liza had hurt, I never found out. I showed the note to the police, but they dismissed it as normal high-school stuff. The pattern of the serial murderer had been established, and his victims appeared to be random. They weren't looking for suspects who knew Liza and would have had some kind of personal motive.
    I wondered again what had happened that day. Had Liza suddenly realized she was hurting Paul? Had something occurred between her and Mike?
    Maybe that's why he denied their relationship now. Or, had she let Walker have it between the eyes? My sister had a better command of language than she had realized and could sometimes be cruel in what she said.
    It wasn't until I got her phone message that night that I checked my e-mail. If I had checked earlier, I might have reached her before she slipped out the window. If I had gone to Wisteria when Liza invited me, I might have helped her get out of whatever mess she was in. I could