Chapter 3

3

There were no lights on inside the library when we arrived, and Cordelia's car was still parked out front, a fact I found strange. We parked, walked up to the front door, and I reached out, twisting the knob.

I expected it to be locked.

It wasn't.

Even stranger.

"If I was worried before, I'm even more worried now," my mother said.

We entered the library, and I pointed at the floor. "Someone's dropped their keys."

My mother cupped a hand to the side of her mouth and said, "Yoo-hoo, Cordelia, are you here?"

We were met with silence.

I ran a hand along the wall, stopping when I located the light switch. I flipped it on and looked around. There was no sign of Cordelia at first, but the local library was small. If she was here, it wouldn't take long to find her.

"Let's do a quick walkthrough," I said.

My mother nodded, and we made our way over to the bookshelves, going up and down the aisles, searching for Cordelia. I'd rounded the fourth aisle when I saw someone not too far from me, and I gasped. Hunched over on the floor several feet away was an older woman, turned on her side.

Blood was everywhere.

On her clothes.

On the carpet.

A gun on the floor next to her.

My mother caught up to me, followed my line of sight, and shrieked, racing over to the woman as she dropped to her knees.

She reached out, shaking her.

"Mom," I said. "I don't think you should?—"

"Cordelia, it's Darlene. I'm here. Open your eyes! Please, please open your eyes!"

I walked over and kneeled next to Cordelia, feeling for a pulse. It seemed like there was one, but if I was right, it was faint. I placed my ear above her mouth, surprised when I felt a tingling sensation of hot air.

"I think … it's faint, but I believe she's still breathing," I said.

"You think she's still alive?"

"I hope so."

As my heart pulsated inside my chest, I called for an ambulance.

My mother began sobbing, patting Cordelia's hand, as she begged her friend to "hang in there," telling her "help is on the way."

I gave the 9-1-1 operator details about where we were and what we knew, which wasn't much and then I ended the call. I was anxious to take a closer look at Cordelia before anyone else arrived.

She'd been shot in the chest, which in my mind meant one of two things:

One, the wound she'd sustained had been self-inflicted.

Or two, and what seemed more logical, Cordelia had been attacked, shot, and left for dead.

"If someone else is responsible for what happened here tonight, this is a crime scene," I said. "We need to be careful not to touch anything until the police get here."

"Well, of course someone shot her. What other explanation could there be?"

My mother sprang to a standing position. "I'm going to check the bathroom, see if there's a first aid kit."

"Mom, let me look around the place first. If she was attacked, whoever did this to her might still be here."

My mother reached into her handbag, pulling out a pistol. "Don't you worry about me. I've been going to the gun range for a few years now. If the person who did this to her is still around, he'll wish he wasn't. Get Foley on the horn. He needs to be here."

Foley was the next call on my list. He was the chief of police for San Luis Obispo County, and he was also married to my sister.

He answered on the second ring, saying, "It's not like you to call this late. Everything okay?"

"It's not."

"What's going on?"

"I'm at the local library with my mother."

"Hasn't it closed by now?"

"Her neighbor just started volunteering here, and she's been shot."

"Shot? Is she dead or alive?"

"She's breathing, but it's faint. I'll explain more when you get here."

"Hold tight. I'll call Whitlock, and we'll be right there."

The call ended, and I glanced down at Cordelia. Her eyes flashed open. She looked at me and whispered, "Marlon, my darling, you're here. I knew you'd come."

"It's not Marlon. It's Georgiana Germaine, Darlene's daughter. Can you tell me what happened to you?"

She seemed to have not heard me at all—or was ignoring the question. "We're together now, Marlon. Together forever, just like I always knew we would be."

As my mother raced back to my side, first aid kit in hand, Cordelia's eyes closed, and what little life she had left closed along with her.

"Is she … she's not … she's going to be okay, right?" my mother asked. "We can fix this … we can make it better."

I bent down, checking Cordelia's pulse a second time, and then I glanced up at my mother. "I'm sorry. It's too late, Mom. We're too late. She's … she's dead."