Free Deadly Illusions by Brenda Joyce

“But I do not want another woman hurt—or murdered.”
    â€œI dreamed about him last night.”
    Francesca was surprised. “What did you dream?”
    â€œIt makes no sense. I dreamed he called me a faithless woman.” She looked down at the display beneath the glass countertop. She whispered, not looking up, “I think…I am almost certain that he called me a faithless…bitch.”
    Her surprise increased. Francesca leaned forward. “You think that because of your dream or because you can remember his words?”
    Francis gazed at her. “It was so real. Like remembering something you should have never forgotten.”
    If the Slasher had called her faithless, that would imply that he knew Mrs. O’Leary. “Would you recognize his voice again if you heard it?”
    â€œYes!” She shivered. “Of course I would.”
    Francesca was thoughtful. Then she held up Francis’s left hand. “Is that an engagement ring?”
    Francis blushed, smiling. “Yes. My friend gave it to me Saturday. The attack made him realize how much he loves me.”
    â€œYour friend?”
    â€œSam Wilson. My…husband…died two years ago. There’s been no one since. It’s been so long…and then I met Sam.” She was smiling and clearly in love. “We met in March. March 3rd, to be exact.”
    â€œI am very happy for you,” Francesca said, hiding her surprise. Bragg had told her that Francis’s husband had disappeared over two years ago, clearly having decided to leave his wife. But she was claiming that he was dead—while preparing to marry another man. Did her fiancé, Sam Wilson, know thetruth? Francesca wondered. And she could not help but note that Francis had met Sam Wilson a month before the Slasher’s first assault.
    â€œMrs. O’Leary, the police commissioner told me that your husband abandoned you two years ago. That he simply left one day and never came back.” Francesca stared at the woman.
    Francis turned crimson. “Oh,” she said, sitting down on a stool behind the counter. “Oh,” she said again. Tears filled her eyes.
    â€œSo he isn’t dead?” Francesca asked, this time gently.
    Francis shrugged. “He’s dead to me, Miss Cahill. Please, please don’t tell my fiancé! Sam has made me so happy!” she cried.
    â€œI won’t say a word,” Francesca said. She felt sorry for the young woman now. “Why would anyone, much less the Slasher, label you as faithless?”
    Her dark eyes widened. “I wouldn’t know! I adored my husband, Miss Cahill, until the day he left. Until that day, he was a good, solid, honest and hardworking man—or so I thought! I was never faithless to Thomas.”
    Until now, Francesca thought silently. She decided to ask Bragg if the police could attempt to locate Francis’s errant husband. “And what about your loyalty to Sam?”
    â€œI would never be faithless to the man in my life. I’ve seen no one but Sam since my husband left me.”
    Francesca met the other woman’s unwavering gaze. She did not look away as most liars did, and there was no change in her coloring. Francesca felt rather strongly that Francis had buried her husband some time ago—that, to her, he was really dead. If Francis had been called a faithless bitch, it had probably meant nothing more than the words of a maddened killer. “Mrs. O’Leary, do you have any idea where your husband is? Have you heard from him at all since he left?”
    Francis set her jaw. “I have not had a single letter—not asingle word! But I do suspect he went West. He was always talking about the open ranges of Texas and California. And Miss Cahill, if he did go out West, well, then he could be dead, couldn’t he? They say that land is a dangerous, lawless place.”
    Francesca realized that trying to locate Thomas