Split Second

CHAPTER 55

Whortleberry

Friday morning

Ann Marie Slatter watched the gorgeous TV reporter with the streaked blond hair climb back into her van, never once teetering on her stilettos, the cameraman behind her. She was still shaking when the young guy with the bad complexion drove them away. She’d made sure her makeup was perfect and the pretty yellow tunic she wore over her leggings looked hot. And she’d made sure they used her whole name, because adding Marie made it sound more sophisticated. Her boss, Dave, had told her some magazine or cable talk show might pay for her story if she played her cards right.

She didn’t relish going back inside her parents’ house. Her mom and dad wouldn’t stop telling her it was a miracle she was still alive, and it was past time she went back to church, because the good Lord had surely saved her yesterday, hadn’t He?

Ann Marie jumped into her ancient Mazda SUV and peeled out of the driveway. She’d rather spend some time with Dave and the sheriff than listen to that. She hadn’t cried during the interview, didn’t want to ruin her fresh eye makeup and look bad on camera, but now she teared up and got the shakes so bad she had to pull over. There wasn’t a soul around, so she let herself cry.

She heard a car coming behind her and looked at the rearview mirror. Great, someone would see her crying her eyes out on the side of the road.

The car came closer—no, not a car, it was a dirty white Silverado, and Ann Marie’s heart stopped. She knew who was driving it. She’d watched that crazy woman stroll out of the diner yesterday after murdering Lou and Frank, and drive away in that Silverado.

It was Ted Bundy’s daughter, she didn’t have a doubt. The tears froze on her face.

Ann Marie gunned her Mazda, but she didn’t get far. It only took a second for Kirsten to pull ahead of her car and block her in.

She threw the Mazda into reverse, but Kirsten simply pulled a gun out of her pocket and shot both the front tires. Then she strolled over to the driver’s side and tapped on the window, and tried the door. At least Ann Marie had locked all the doors. She stared at Ted Bundy’s daughter and saw her own death in the woman’s crazy eyes.

“Hi,” Kirsten said. “I’ve got you blocked right in, baby, and now you’ve got two dead tires, so you aren’t going anywhere. Hey, you like all the attention you’re getting from surviving the massacre at Dave’s Diner? I heard a newscaster call it that—it sounds so hokey, but that’s the media for you.”

Ann Marie whispered, “You—you said you hoped I’d get out of town, you said—”

“I can’t hear you, sweetcakes, you’ve got your window up. Roll it down so I can hear you better.”

Ann Marie shouted, “You wanted me to get out of this town—”

“Yes, yes, I know, but you see, my daddy didn’t ever do the expected thing, and I remembered that. And I really didn’t like what you’ve been saying about me on TV, calling me scary crazy and a monster. You should have been a little more grateful, don’t you think? But this isn’t about you, really; you’re not that important. This is about showing those fed bastards I can do whatever I want.

“Come on out now, little girl; it’s time you and I did our dance.”

“No!”

Kirsten kept that scary smile on her face as she slowly pulled a length of wire from her back pocket. “Remember all Frank’s brains exploding out of the back of his head? That really cool red dot on his forehead—it looked so innocent until you saw all his brains splatted on the vinyl booth behind him. Hey, at least you won’t have to clean that off now. Come on, little girl, time to get this show on the road. Open the door!”

Ann Marie scooted across the front seats, opened the passenger-side door, jumped, rolled, and came up running. She ran for all she was worth across an open field, gunshots sounding behind her.