The Final Victim Read Online Free PDF Page A

question.
        Nydia conspicuously avoided the unspoken invitation to babysit Wills for the evening-not surprising, since she never did seem to have a way with children. Phyllida distinctly remembers being intimidated by the woman's unyielding austerity whenever she and her brother visited, and finds it hard to believe that Nydia actually had a hand in helping to raise Daddy and Uncle Norris after Grandmother Eleanore died.
        Soon after Nydia left the room, Phyllida's brother barged in to "catch up." Ah, Gib , with his swaggering comments, nosy questions, and barely gratuitous attention to his only nephew, who now lies sleeping in the ancient wooden crib across the room.
        All right, not ancient. Charlotte claimed to have used it whenever she visited Oakgate when her own children were young. But safety standards have changed. For all Phyllida knows, the rails are far apart enough for little Wills to get his blond head stuck.
        Being a responsible parent, unlike Brian, she doesn't dare leave the room. Not even for a moment.
        Yes, she's a prisoner here; prisoner in an over-furnished, overly fussy cell awash in cherry antiques, Waverly wallpaper, and Laura Ashley linens. The room was once part of the much larger one next door, now occupied by Charlotte's daughter, and the dividing wall is thin. She can hear every word that's said in there, and no doubt vice versa.
         Which means she can find herself serenaded, and not just by music, at all hours. Currently, Lianna's television is blasting some MTV show with a rap soundtrack. The throbbing bass grew so loud earlier that Phyllida tapped on the wall.
         Lianna did turn it down that time. But not much, and subsequent knocks have yielded no response.
        Yes, this is far from her favorite guest room in the' house.
        She and Brian spent their wedding night in the more spacious, elegant quarters down the hall.
        But Charlotte and her husband occupy that room now, and apparently have for quite some time. Lianna's is the second-best location, a corner room with a private bath and fireplace, still spacious despite having been divided years ago.
         Phyllida is hard-pressed to keep her envy at bay. Not that she wants to spend any more time in the dreary old mansion than is absolutely necessary. But it would have been nice to have seen more of Grandaddy in his final days.
        At least, that's what she told Charlotte this afternoon, after their grandfather was laid to rest alongside his wife, Eleanore , and generations of Remingtons in Oakgate's cemetery.
        "You're lucky, you know," she told her teary-eyed cousin. "I hadn't even seen Grandaddy in ages." Not since her wedding, in fact, three years ago. "I hope he knew how much I missed him. I think about him all the time."
        Well, not all the time.
        But she did, occasionally, think about her grandfather.
        More often, she'd be willing to bet, than her brother ever did.
        Leave it to Gib to show up at Oakgate mere minutes before the funeral started, with a mountain of luggage in the limo, requisite blonde on his arm-he apparently still dates only blondes-and chip on his shoulder.
        Her brother never did get along with their father's side of the family. He preferred to mingle with the maternal Yankee relatives.
        Now he knows as well as Phyllida does that it's going to take more than what's left of their Remington trust funds to see the two of them through the remainder of their adulthood, not to mention helping to care for their mother eventually.
        Right now, Susan Remington is living in Providence with one of her sisters and working at a boutique. Someday soon, she's going to need financial help, and it will be up to her children to provide it. What else does she have? Her own family lost everything when their importing business went belly-up years ago; she'll get nothing from them.
         Gib's law degree