Free Deadly Intent by Christiane Heggan Page B

going to let you kids die.”
    Yet by the time Irene had reached Abbie’s room, the upper half of the house was already in flames. If she was awake, why had she waited so long before getting everybody out?
    “How could you be sure? Did you wait around to find out?”
    He laughed again, a cynical, condescending laugh, meant to make her feel stupid. “What and get caught? You’ve got to be kidding.”
    “Ian said my mother contacted you through the classifieds?”
    “Yeah. Lots of people do it that way, even now. For the average Joe out there, with no connections, a classified ad, worded just right, is about the only way of finding what you want. All you have to do is say something like...” He paused for a second, ‘”Looking for an exterminator to do specialized work.’ Or ‘handyman to do demolition work.’ You’ll get lots of calls, but if you’re patient, sooner or later, you’ll get just the person you want.”
    “What did my mother’s ad say?” Maybe she could check the newspaper archives. These days most newspapers kept copies on microfiche.
    “Oh, Christ, how am I supposed to remember that?”
    “What about the name of the newspaper then? And the date the ad ran? Surely you remember those?”
    “Sorry. I was reading more than a dozen papers in those
    days, from all over the country. I can’t remember which one Irene used, or the date she contacted me.”
    “How convenient.”
    This time he heard the sarcasm in her voice, because he reacted. “Hey, don’t blame me if that’s not what you wanted to hear. It don’t change what I know.”
    “You mean, what you’re making up, don’t you, Mr. Kramer?”
    “That’s for the cops to decide, missie.” He let a second pass. “Are we finished? My fifteen minutes are almost up. You wouldn’t want me to get in trouble, now, would you?”
    Abbie felt drained. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from this conversation, or if she had even expected anything at all. “Yes,” she said. “We’re finished.”
    “Then will you join me in a prayer, Ms. DiAngelo?”
    Startled, Abbie started to say something, but he was already talking. “My Lord, Jesus, you gave your life for me and now I want to give my life for you. I offer you my death, oh Lord, as I offer you my body and my soul—“
    Abbie slammed the phone down. What kind of sick monster was this? Did he actually think she was buying his act? And what man made up such outright lies without an ounce of remorse, then prayed for his soul all in the same breath?
    She covered her face with her hands and remained in that position, until Brady buzzed her on the intercom to tell her he was leaving.
    Maybe all was not lost, she thought as she rose from behind her desk. Maybe there was a way out of this nightmare—a legal way. She didn’t know what it could be, but Claudia’s brother was an attorney. Although he lived in Philadelphia, he and Claudia got together often, and whenever he was in town, Abbie made sure they stopped at
    Campagne for lunch or dinner. More important, she knew she could trust him.
    With that thought in mind, she grabbed her purse and ran out.
    Nine
    Thirty-five-year-old Claudia Marjolis and Abbie had met seven years ago, when Abbie had catered the grand opening of Claudia’s first one-woman show. The younger child of an old-money Philadelphia family and a self-admitted rebel, Claudia had astounded her family when she had dropped out of medical school to become a sculptor.
    Although her parents had eventually recovered from the shock and supported her wholeheartedly, they still didn’t know what to make of their daughter’s free spirit, a spirit that was reflected not only in her work, which some critics had labeled revolutionary, but in her lifestyle, in the way she dressed and even in the food she ate.
    Home and studio shared space in a second-story loft that had once been a candy factory. A bank of windows along one wall offered an unobstructed view of Princeton