Just Try to Stop Me - Gregg Olsen A Waterman & Stark Thriller

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beat later, the nurse returned.

      “I’ll bet you want to see your baby, honey.”

      “No, I actually don’t. I want someone to get my bag. I brought cocoa butter for my stomach. I don’t want stretch marks.”

      When Elise and Brad drove home from the hospital, there was a kind of uneasiness in the air. The baby was beautiful and she was going to be fine—probably released in a couple of days.

      “There’s something wrong with her,” Elise said.

      “She’s little, honey. She’ll grow.”

      Elise shook her head. “Not Kara. I’m talking about Brenda. There’s something really wrong with that girl. All she cared about was her stretch marks and making sure she’d have a perfect beach body when she got out of the hospital. She didn’t care one bit about her baby. I’m not exaggerating. You saw it too.”

      “Yeah, Elise, I did,” Brad said.

      “She didn’t even want to hold Kara. It was almost like I had to force the baby into her arms.”

      “She might be scared about being a new mom. It’s a big change.”

      “Don’t defend her. You and I both know something is up with her. She’s cold like. She doesn’t want to share the attention with her own baby. It’s like Kara is competition for her or something.”

      “Not everyone is a great mom out of the box. Not everyone is like you, Elise.”

      She smiled at her husband’s compliment. “Thanks for that, but I’m worried.”

      “Don’t be worried. Brenda will adjust. All will be well.”

      * * *

      Brad Nevins rested his hands on the table. He stayed silent for a long time. Kendall could see that he was reliving something painful, something so dark that he needed to process. He was a kind, thoughtful man.

      “You know what?” he asked.

      “What’s that, Mr. Nevins?”

      “Kara didn’t have a chance. Not from the day she was born. Her mother could stand before a mirror holding that baby and only see herself. It’s like Kara was never going to be anything other then a means to an end, and we didn’t see it. We really blew it.”

      “You couldn’t have known,” Kendall said, knowing the futility of such words.

      “Elise knew. She told me, and I didn’t listen. I should have. I really should have. I had seen Brenda pull all kinds of crap from nearly the first day I met her and somehow, like a cat having kittens, I thought that having a baby would refocus her. You know, get her off the Brenda Train and have her see that the world wasn’t all about her, all the time.”

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      Birdy Waterman loathed the idea of looking over another medical examiner’s report to ferret out some mistake in the autopsy. While protocol for all such examinations was clear and incontrovertible, examiners brought variables of their own to each forensic examination they’d conduct. Some were better record keepers. Some were more adept at seeing what was right in front of them. Some allowed the distractions of their busy, overworked days to get the better of them.

      Birdy sat at her pristine new desk and fanned out the pages printed from the brand-new scanner/printer. There was no doubt what had happened to Joe and Kara Nevins. Kara had been suffocated before the fire and Joe had been drugged with a lethal combination of pills and booze. He’d been alive when the blast occurred. None of that was in dispute. Neither was the reason for the father’s and baby’s deaths.

      Birdy looked up and surveyed her new office. It felt empty. Devoid of any personal touches. Bright white walls and gleaming ribbons of stainless-steel counters outside her interior window. Almost soulless.

      Like Brenda Nevins, she thought. Empty just like her.

      She dialed Kendall’s number.

      “Your day going any better than mine?” she asked.

      “Depends on how bad your day is, Birdy.”

      “About a six,” she said.

      “Not good,” Kendall said. “How come?”

      “I don’t know, Kendall. I was looking through the autopsy reports on Joe and Kara Nevins. I can’t for the life of me see anything that will help us understand Brenda any better.”

      “Nothing?”

      “No,” Birdy said. “How about you?”

      “Beyond the fact that she was a conniver who used sex to get what she wanted, no.”

      “Sounds like my sister,” Birdy said.

      Kendall laughed. “You don’t mean that.”

      Birdy hesitated, pretending to weigh what Kendall had said. “No. Not really. I guess I didn’t mean that.”

      “How are things with her?” Kendall asked. “With your mom?”

      “Not good. Not good with either one of them. I’m going to have to go up there again any day now. It won’t be long.”

      “I’m sorry, Birdy,” Kendall said. “I know it doesn’t help to have someone tell you that they know what you’re going through, but I do. I really do.”

      “I know. Thank you. I’ll get through it. Everyone does,” Birdy said, before she changed the subject to something less painful. “Have you caught up with Brenda’s mother yet?”

      “I’ve driven by a half dozen times. No sign of her. I’m going to make one more attempt, then I’m heading home.”

      “That sounds good.”

      “Hey, Birdy,” Kendall said, before ending the call, “how do you like your new office?”

      “Hate it,” Birdy said. “Really don’t like it. At all.”

      “But it’s state of the art. You’ve always told me that the county had the crappiest lab equipment that you’ve ever seen.”

      “I did, and it does,” Birdy said with an audible sigh. “I just feel out of sorts here. It’ll pass. I know it will.”

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      Brenda Nevins appeared on the screen. She’d adjusted her hair and makeup, possibly because there’d been some unkind remarks about her appearance in the comments section of her last YouTube posting. It was also possible that she’d flitted about the Internet and seen examples of other video blogs—especially those with young women suggesting makeup tips—and thought she could up her game.

      “Hi all,” she started. “Me again! So much has been happening that I wanted to come back on here and talk about some of the things that people have been saying about me. I want to set the record straight because I know how words hurt. I want to talk about my baby, Kara. Some people are saying mean things about what happened. I just want everyone to know that while I can take responsibility for what I’ve done in life, I will not have that one hanging on me. Do you know what it’s like going to prison and being known as a baby killer? You probably don’t. I do. It was awful. It was particularly awful because that’s not me. I mean, not intentionally me. What happened with Kara was an accident. It really was. I loved that kidlet. I really did. I didn’t know she was going to be home. I thought she was at day care,” she said as she glanced at her computer screen and lost her train of thought. She’d obviously learned to talk directly to the pinprick of light that was the camera on her laptop, but couldn’t help but look at herself.

      She stopped recording. When she started up again, her mascara had been reapplied.

      “Day care,” she said. “That’s where I expected my husband

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