Читать книгу Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 18
ОглавлениеThomasina had been staring at the large manila envelope for endless minutes, wanting to open it and yet afraid to see what surprise “gift” might be waiting inside for her. One of her students in the last afternoon class had found the envelope, with her name printed on it in bold black letters, lying on the floor at the back of the classroom, as if someone had accidentally dropped it there. She had thanked the student, laid the envelope on her desk and waited until the room was clear before she burst into tears. What had started out less than a week ago as an exciting romantic adventure had now turned into an unnerving nightmare. After allowing herself a good cry, she’d gathered up her things, including the unopened envelope, and driven home. Often when she had to teach a night class, as she did tonight, she didn’t bother going home; instead, she either stayed at the school and caught up on work or she drove into Adams Landing to shop and have an early dinner. But today, she had wanted—no, she had needed—to come home where she felt safe.
She’d found a note on the refrigerator from her mother, telling her that she’d gone to Huntsville with her best friend, Rose Johnson, for a shopping spree at Parkway City Mall, and they wouldn’t be home until late. In a way, she was glad her mother wasn’t here to question her about her odd mood again, which she’d been doing all week. But a part of her wished her mother was here so she could tell her what had been going on for the past week and ask her advice.
Thomasina had placed the envelope in the middle of the kitchen table, poured herself a glass of iced tea, sat down and studied the damn thing as if she could figure out what was inside without opening it.
Monday’s gift would have been sweet, even endearing, if she hadn’t thought that Brandon was playing her for a fool, stringing her along while he kept seeing other women. But the gift that she’d received on Wednesday, an envelope containing sketches and a small box, had been stuffed in her P.O. box at the college. She’d questioned the secretary, asking if she had any idea who’d put the envelope in her box.
“No, I’m sorry,” Kerrianne Gipson had said. “It’s been one of those days. I’ve been in and out of the office all day long. I’m afraid just about anybody could have left it. Why? Is there a problem?”
“No, no problem. I was just curious. I’m sure there’s a note or something inside.”
But the note hadn’t been signed.
She’d waited only until she’d reached her car before ripping open the envelope and dumping the small box out into her hand. Inside the box she’d found a small bottle of perfume. White Shoulders. She didn’t know that particular scent was still being manufactured. It was such an old-fashioned fragrance. Her mother had used it for a couple of years nearly twenty years ago.
She’d read the note before looking at the sketches.
I dream of you this way. Of our being together. Of your loving everything I do to you.
She’d found three sketches inside the envelope, each one more graphic and sickening than the one before, and all three depicting her naked and aroused in various S&M scenes. Her being whipped—the hand holding the whip large and menacing. Her on all fours, a dog collar around her neck attached to a leash. And her lying chained to a metal bed, a large dildo in her mouth and the tip of another one sticking out between her clenched thighs.
She had ripped the sketches and the note into pieces, then had shoved them and the perfume bottle back into the envelope and gotten out of her car. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she’d marched straight across the parking lot to the large, green Dumpster, opened the heavy lid and thrown the envelope on top of the other trash.
When she’d gotten home yesterday evening, she’d gone straight to her room; then she’d taken the pearl necklace, the lipstick, the nail polish, all the photos, notes, and sketches from the top of her closet where she’d stored them, stuck the nonpaper items in her slacks pocket and shoved the notes, photos, and sketches under her arm and carried them with her through the kitchen. She had taken a handful of matches from the box her mother kept in the drawer beside the sink, then had gone outside. She’d placed all the paper items inside the large brick outdoor barbeque grill and struck one match after another, placing each lit flame to various edges of the papers. After that, she had tossed the other things into the outdoor garbage container.
Brandon Kelley was no dream lover. No old-fashioned gentleman. He was a sicko. A pervert. And she wanted nothing to do with him. Robyn Granger could have him, if she wanted him. If Robyn was “into” Brandon’s kind of sex.
This morning, Thomasina had written Brandon a succinct letter warning him that if he ever sent her another package of any kind, she would call the police. She had thought that would be the end of it. She’d been wrong. So very wrong.
She kept staring at the manila envelope lying in the middle of the table. Wishing it would go away. Wishing she had the guts to open it. Knowing that if it contained what she thought it did, she’d have no choice but to contact the local authorities.
Enough was enough.
Allen Clark drove a late-model Mercedes, dressed in suits and ties and when he had moved Mary Lee and Kevin to Huntsville, he’d moved them into a three-hundred and fifty-thousand dollar house in the southeast area. The guy was in his late forties, had been divorced for eight years when he met Mary Lee and had no children of his own. As much as Jim wanted to hate the guy, he couldn’t. From what he could tell, Allen really loved Mary Lee and seemed to genuinely care about Kevin. And for the first time in a long time, Mary Lee acted as if she was truly happy. Of course, her taking Kevin away from Memphis had screwed up Jim’s life and he resented the hell out of her attitude that Allen would make Kevin a better father. Okay, so Allen had more money. Big deal. And with Kevin living under his roof, Allen spent more time with him. But Goddamn it, Allen was not Kevin’s father. He was. And he loved his son, would do anything for him—anything short of giving him up for another man to raise.
Jim hadn’t seen Kevin in nearly two months, although he called him a couple of times a week. When they talked, Kevin raved about his new room, his new computer, his fabulous dirt bike, and his great new stepdad. Unless another guy had gone through the same experience, he wouldn’t be able to understand how Jim felt, how worthless and insignificant. When the only really good thing in your life is your child and suddenly you’re no longer the primary man in his world, it’s like having your heart ripped from your chest without the benefit of any painkillers.
Despite his heavy workload at the office, Jim had taken off early to accommodate Allen’s schedule. Allen had explained that he wanted to drop Kevin off at four and be home by five-thirty to have dinner with Mary Lee.
“She needs me,” Allen had said. “She’s scared out of her mind and if I’m not with her, she panics.”
Yeah, that sounded like Mary Lee. For as long as Jim had known her, she’d been self-centered, her needs coming before anyone else’s. In Mary Lee’s world, everything revolved around her. So why, when she was facing major surgery for cancer, would anything be different? He didn’t envy Allen in the least for having to play nursemaid to a woman who could never be satisfied. It wasn’t that Jim didn’t wish Mary Lee the best—he did. He prayed she’d come through the surgery with flying colors, have a complete recovery and live to be ninety.
It had taken him a long time to stop hating her. And even longer to stop loving her.
Jim stood on the small front porch of his duplex and watched as Allen pulled his Mercedes into the driveway. By the time Allen opened his door, Jim was at the end of the sidewalk meeting him. They shook hands cordially; then Jim glanced across the hood of the car and saw Kevin’s dark head. His twelve-year-old son was already five-eight. Jim figured by the time he was eighteen he’d be as tall as Jim, at six-three.
Allen popped the car’s trunk and Kevin joined him to retrieve a couple of suitcases and a laptop computer. For a minute there, Jim halfway expected Kevin to pull his dirt bike from the trunk.
“Is that everything?” Jim asked. “Need any help?”
Allen handed Jim one of the suitcases. “He should have enough to do him for several weeks,” Allen said. “If not, buy whatever he needs and send me the bill.”
Jim growled under his breath and said in a low, rough voice, “I think I can manage to buy my son whatever he needs.”
Allen’s craggy face turned pink. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything. It’s just … Well, okay then.” He turned to Kevin who’d walked over and now stood between his father and stepfather. Allen smiled at Kevin. “I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as your mom comes out of surgery, and she’ll call you herself as soon as she can.”
Kevin nodded.
“She’s going to be all right.” Allen’s smile wavered. “And you’ll be home with us before school starts.”
“Yeah, sure.” Kevin shrugged.
“If you need anything …” Allen left his sentence unfinished.
“I’ll be fine,” Kevin replied. “You take care of Mom and don’t worry about me.”
Jim and Kevin, each with a suitcase in hand, stood on the small front porch of Jim’s duplex and watched Allen Clark back out of the driveway and head off down the street.
“Come on in and I’ll show you your bedroom.” Jim opened the door and waited for Kevin to enter first. He wanted to reach out and hug his son, to tell him how glad he was that they were going to be living together, at least temporarily, for the first time since Kevin was six. But a boy of twelve-going-on-twenty probably didn’t want his dad hugging him.
Kevin hoisted his suitcase and laptop onto the bed and looked around at the room. Jim dropped the other suitcase on the floor beside the closet and tried to assess the room through his son’s eyes.
“It’s probably nowhere near as nice as your room in Huntsville,” Jim said.
“It’s okay, Dad. Really.”
“Hey, at least here you’ve got a room of your own. Back in Memphis, you had to bunk in with me in that tiny apartment I had.”
“Yeah, this is better.”
“Look, Kevin, I know this isn’t going to be easy for you, staying with me for several weeks when we haven’t spent more than a few days together since you were little. And I know you’re worried about your mom. I’m concerned about her, too. But if anybody on earth can lick cancer, Mary Lee can. She’s a real scrapper. Always has been. It was one of the things I always love—liked about her.”
“It’s just not fair, you know.”
Kevin looked as if the weight of the world was sitting heavily on his slender shoulders and Jim would give anything if he could lift that burden and carry it for him.
“I know,” Jim said.
“She’s really happy with Allen. And she’s different, you know. She stays at home more and she laughs a lot and—” Kevin choked up.
“Your mother’s going to come through the surgery just fine.”
“But it’s cancer. Cancer! She could come through the surgery okay and still die.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“How can you be so sure? Besides, I know you hate Mom. Why do you care if she lives or dies?”
Jim reached out and grabbed Kevin by the shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. “I don’t hate your mother.” No point in admitting to his son that he had hated her for years. “And I care because she’s your mother, because she was once my wife …”
Tears pooled in Kevin’s blue eyes. Norton eyes. Eyes like Jim’s. Eyes like Jim’s father’s.
Jim squeezed Kevin’s shoulders affectionately, doing his best to comfort his son. “You can call and talk to her every day. She’ll want to hear from you and know you’re doing okay.”
Kevin swallowed hard. “I can unpack and put everything away by myself.”
“Yeah, sure.” Jim understood that his son needed to be alone for a little while, that he needed to cry without his father watching him. “You unpack and get settled in while I make a few phone calls, then later we’ll go out for supper. How does that sound?”
“Fine.”
Jim nodded, gave Kevin a keep-your-chin-up look and made a quick exit. After closing the door behind him, he stood there in the small, square hallway between the two bedrooms and said a prayer, something he hadn’t done in a long time. He prayed for Mary Lee. And he prayed that he wouldn’t screw up this chance to be a real father to his son.
Knowing she couldn’t keep her terrible secret to herself any longer, Thomasina had called her sister and asked her to come over as quickly as possible. And when Amanda arrived, she had told her everything, starting with that first “love note” and ending by showing her the unopened manila envelope lying in the middle of the kitchen table.
“You shouldn’t have gotten rid of the other stuff,” Amanda told her. “You should have saved it for the police. They’ll need all the evidence they can get if they’re going to arrest Brandon Kelley.”
“I—I wasn’t thinking,” Thomasina admitted. “I just wanted all of it gone, out of the house, out of my sight forever.”
“Want me to open it?” Amanda indicated the manila envelope.
“No, I’ll do it. I just wanted you here with me before I did it.”
“Go ahead.” Amanda stood behind Thomasina’s chair and clamped her hands down reassuringly on her shoulders. “I’m right here.”
Her hands shook so badly that she paused for a couple of minutes after she picked up the envelope. “I’m a nervous wreck. This is what he’s done to me, and I let him do it. I’ve been so stupid.” Fueled with anger and indignation, she ripped open the envelope, turned it upside down and watched as two small envelopes and three pieces of art paper drifted out and floated down onto the table. She noticed that one of the small envelopes was flat and the other was puffy, as if it contained bubble wrap.
“He always sends a message.” Thomasina reached for the flat envelope first.
“Maybe you should open the other one first and look at the sketches, then read the note.”
Thomasina shook her head, ripped open the flat envelope and removed the note.
She read it to herself first.
I know that you love me and want to please me. Soon, very soon, we’ll be together and you’ll be able to show me just how much you care.
She handed the note to her sister. “Should we be wearing gloves or something? If there are any fingerprints—”
“Just read the damn note, will you?” Tears swam in Thomasina’s eyes.
Amanda took the note, being careful to hold it by the edges, then read it. “Open the other envelope.”
Thomasina opened the puffy envelope and removed a small square of bubble wrap. She tore apart the padding to reveal a gold ankle bracelet. She dropped it on the table as if the touch of it burned her fingers.
“Now the sketches,” Amanda told her.
Thomasina turned them over and looked at them one at a time, then handed them to her sister. Just looking at the sketches made her sick to her stomach.
“Oh, Thomasina, these are awful,” Amanda said. “If Brandon Kelley drew these, he’s crazy. And if he wants to do these things to you, he’s dangerous.” She waved the third sketch in the air. “This picture shows you with your throat slit and blood dripping down on your breasts.” Amanda tossed the sketch aside, then rushed across the kitchen, picked up the telephone and said, “I’m calling Chief Nichols right now. If he can’t arrest Brandon Kelley on any other charges, he can arrest him for harassing you.”
“Wait,” Thomasina called to her sister.
“No, I’m not waiting. I’m calling the police. It’s something you should have already done.”
“We’ll call the police and tell them everything,” Thomasina said. “But … but I have no way to prove that Brandon is the one who sent me the notes and gifts and sketches.”
“Who else could it be? He’s an artist and it would have taken a very talented artist to have drawn those wicked, sickening pictures. And he’s flirted with you for months now, hasn’t he? And when he got your message today, he didn’t come to you and deny he’d been the one sending you this stuff, did he?”
“No, he didn’t, but—”
“We’ll call Chief Nichols, tell him everything and let him take it from there. Just tell him that you think these things are from Brandon Kelley, but you can’t be sure.”
“That’s just it, Amanda. I’m not sure. Not now. What if it was someone else all along?”
“Then the police will find out who.”
“Will they? How? How will they find out? What if he keeps sending these things? What if—”
“First things first. Let’s get the police involved and go from there.”
Thomasina nodded. “I have to be back at school by seven.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s already after six. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow to call the police.”
“No, you will not wait. Call and cancel your class tonight.”
“I can’t. I’m giving a major test tonight. I have to be there.”
“Okay. We’ll go to the police station first. You take your car and I’ll follow you in mine. We will talk to the police, tell them what’s happened, leave this stuff”—she glowered at the envelope’s contents lying on the table—“then whatever paperwork needs filling out, you can do tomorrow. But the sooner the police know, the better for you.”
Thomasina gathered up the items, shoved them back into the ripped envelope and said, “Let’s go.”
Bernie arrived at Robyn’s new apartment, located on Main Street in downtown Adams Landing directly above the town’s only bookstore. Many of the second levels of the downtown buildings had been converted into apartments over the past ten years, and since living so close to her fitness center was ideal for Robyn, she’d jumped at the first available apartment. After getting out of her Jeep, Bernie walked across the sidewalk and opened the street-level door that led up the stairs to the second floor of the building. As soon as she headed up the stairs, she heard voices and recognized two of them—her sister’s and her mother’s. Both women were talking at the same time, both issuing orders. Then she heard the shuffle of feet, several pairs of feet, and the sound of furniture being dragged. There was no telling who all was up there. Between the two of them, her mother and sister had probably invited half the people they knew to “come over and help us.”
If it wasn’t for the fact that she’d never hear the end of it if she didn’t show up this evening, Bernie would have gone straight home. She was physically and mentally exhausted, having put in a ten-hour day. Despite the evidence the ABI had collected, they were no closer to discovering the identity of Stephanie Preston’s killer than they had been nearly a week ago when her body had been discovered. Everyone working on the case was becoming frustrated, and frustration led to squabbling among her deputies—especially between Ron and Jim. Charlie had refereed several sparring matches between them in the past few days, but after tomorrow Charlie would be gone, back in Huntsville at the ABI substation. He’d done all he could do here in Adams County and although he would continue to be in charge of the case, he’d simply drive back and forth whenever necessary, instead of staying in town. After all, it would probably be several months before all the DNA evidence was processed and unless new evidence came to light before then, they had hit a dead end in their investigation.
When Bernie reached the top of the stairs and moved down the hallway to the first apartment, she found the front door open, making it unnecessary for her to knock. She glanced inside and saw a crowd of people, along with her immediate family. Paul Landon lounged on a bright yellow leather sofa. Yellow was Robyn’s favorite color. The others were working like little solider ants, each one following the queen’s and the princess’s instructions. Brandon Kelley was in there and at this precise moment he was helping her mother hang a painting over the fireplace. Raymond Long and his mother, Helen, were also inside the apartment, along with Reverend Donaldson, Ron Hensley, and Scotty Joe Walters.
Bernie released an exasperated huff and shook her head. She was surprised that Jim hadn’t come over and brought his son with him. It seemed that most of the good-looking, single men in Adams Landing were in her sister’s apartment.
Her father came toward her, stepped outside into the hallway and closed the door behind him. “If I don’t get out of there for a few minutes, I’m going to have to shoot somebody and I don’t want it to be your mother or your sister.”
Bernie chuckled, then rose on tiptoe and kissed her father’s cheek. “Rough day, Dad?”
“If your sister ever wants to move again, I’ll hire professionals to move her.” He motioned to the apartment. “There are half a dozen men in there and each one of them is showing off for Robyn. Hell, they’re like a bunch of little boys wanting to be chosen for a team. They might as well be screaming, ‘Choose me! Choose me!’”
“Robyn has that effect on men.” Bernie shrugged. “She can’t help it because she’s beautiful like Mama and men find her irresistible.”
“Yeah, but she could put a stop to all of that nonsense if she’d narrow the field down to one man at a time. Your mother never dated half a dozen guys at the same time, I’ll tell you that.”
“Things were different when Mama was dating.”
“If you’re about to tell me anything about your sister’s love life, don’t.”
Bernie put her arm around her father’s waist and hugged him. “She’ll eventually settle down, find herself a husband and give you and Mama some grandkids.”
Her dad hugged her. “What about you, honey?”
“What about me?”
“When are you going to find yourself a nice guy, get married and have some kids? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
Bernie sighed. “I’m thirty-two, Dad, not fifty-two.”
“What do you think of Jim Norton?” R.B. asked.
Bernie eyed her father skeptically. “What’s Jim Norton got to do with—”
“I like him, Bernie. Don’t you?”
“Well, yes, I like him. But I’ve only known him for a week.”
“So, get to know him better. Ask him out. Women do the asking now, don’t they?”
“He’s not interested in me. Besides, Robyn already asked him out. They went to dinner at River’s End this past Monday.”
Brenda Granger opened the door from inside Robyn’s apartment, stuck her head out and called to them. “There you are, R.B. And Bernie … when did you get here? You two come on in. We’ve just about got everything finished and I’ve unloaded all three picnic baskets and put out paper plates so everybody can start eating.”
“We’ll be there in a minute,” R.B. said. “I’m sure you won’t run out of food. You brought enough to feed a small army.”
“Well, we are feeding a bunch of strapping young men and I’m sure they all have healthy appetites.” Brenda slipped out into the hall and pulled the door almost closed. “Bernie, Raymond is here. He was asking about you. You should go in and make a point of talking to him.”
Bernie groaned. “Mama, Raymond Long did not come here tonight to see me or talk to me. He’s here for the same reason all those other men are here—because of Robyn.”
“Nonsense. I’ve told Robyn quite specifically that Raymond is yours and she’s to keep her hands off him.”
“Mother, you didn’t!” Bernie wished a hole would open up in the floor and swallow her.
“Brenda, for goodness’ sake.” R.B. glanced sympathetically at Bernie.
“I have two unmarried daughters and no grandchildren,” Brenda said. “Robyn has too many men in her life and Bernie has none. I have to do something, don’t I?”
“You can stop playing matchmaker,” Bernie told her mother. “Stop interfering in our lives. Robyn likes being single and playing the field. She loves being the belle of the ball and keeping half a dozen guys dangling on a string. And I like my life just the way it is, too, so butt out!”
Bernie turned around and headed down the hall.
“Bernadette Granger, you come back here,” her mother called after her.
Bernie paused when she reached the stairs, glanced over her shoulder and said, “Tell Robyn I’ll stop by this weekend and see her new place.”
As she headed down the stairs, she heard her mother say, “R.B., go after her. Talk to her.”
When Bernie reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard her father’s footsteps behind her. She opened the door, walked outside and waited for him on the sidewalk. When he caught up with her, he grinned sheepishly.
“I guess I’m as guilty as your mama, aren’t I? I was trying to hook you up with Jim Norton.”
“It’s okay, Dad. And you can tell Mama later that I’m sorry I lost my temper with her.”
“It’s this Stephanie Preston murder case, isn’t it? It’s got you all tied in knots.”
“It’s bad,” Bernie said. “It’s not just having no real leads in the Preston case that has me so concerned, it’s the fact that I’m worried sick the murderer will kill again.”
R.B. glanced up and down the sidewalk, then said, “Let’s go into the bookstore and sit in the coffee shop and get ourselves something to drink.”
Bernie glanced upward toward the second story of the building. “You’ll be missed.”
“Your mother told me to come talk to you and that’s what I’m doing, aren’t I?”
“She meant talk sense to me about Raymond Long, not discuss business with me.”
“I won’t tell her if you won’t.” R.B. put his arm around Bernie and led her to the front entrance of the bookstore.
Once they were seated at a table in the back, they ordered two decaf coffees and a couple of cheese Danishes. The coffee shop was empty except for the cashier cum waiter, so they had plenty of privacy.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” R.B. asked. “Why are you concerned there will be another murder?”
“Because Jim thinks we may have a serial rapist/murderer on our hands.”
“And he thinks this because…”
“Because we found out that there was another woman, Jacque Reeves, over in DeKalb County who was raped and murdered about three months ago.”
“And?”
“And her physical description was similar to Stephanie Preston’s. Long dark hair, slender, young, pretty. She came up missing and sixteen days later, her body was found out on a lonely country road. Her throat had been slit and her body posed, with one hand covering her … down there … and her other arm draped over her breasts.”
“What about sketches, photos, gifts, notes?”
Bernie shook her head. “If there were any, they weren’t found.”
“So maybe it’s just a coincidence that there are some similarities. Maybe it was two different guys who killed Stephanie and the Reeves woman.”
“And what if it’s the same guy? He could kill again and soon. How am I going to stop him if I have no idea who he is?”
“What does Jim think? And what about Charlie Patterson’s opinion?”
“Charlie is going to look into the case over in DeKalb, check all the records, interview Jacque Reeves’s parents and siblings and ex-husband,” Bernie said. “And Jim thinks we need to start treating our case as a potential serial killer case.”
“And you don’t?”
“I do not want to jump the gun and create panic in town. And you know word of this would leak out no matter what precautions I took. People are upset and worried enough as it is, but what if Jim’s right? My God, Dad—”
R.B. reached out across the table, grabbed Bernie’s hands and held them in his. “Now, you listen to me, Bernie Granger, you’re the sheriff and you have all the right stuff in you to handle this job. Follow your Granger instincts. They won’t let you down.”
“Dad, I—” Her cell phone rang. Her father released her hands. She yanked her phone from the belt clip and answered it. “Sheriff Granger.”
“Sheriff, this is Roy Lee Nichols. You remember me, don’t you?”
“You’re the police chief in Verona.”
“Yeah, that’s right. And I’ve got some information I think you might find interesting.”
“Do you? And just what would that be?”
“Well, it’s not that I know all that much about the Stephanie Preston case, since y’all have kept most of the info confidential, but word gets around within the law enforcement community and I’ve heard things.”
“Chief, I don’t mean to be rude, but could you get to the point?”
He chuckled. “Sorry, I tend to go on and on. My wife’s always fussing at me about it.” He cleared his throat. “We got us a stalking case over here in Verona. Seems somebody’s been sending notes and gifts and some ugly drawings to one of our nice young ladies.”
“Gifts and notes and—what kind of ugly drawings?”
“Sexual drawings,” the chief said. “Pretty rough stuff.”
A chill raced up Bernie’s spine. “The gifts—what kind of gifts?”
“She brought in an ankle bracelet, but said she threw away the other things.”
“Did she say what they were?”
“Yeah, just a minute. I wrote it all down.”
R.B. looked inquisitively at Bernie. “I think we may have gotten our first real break on the Preston murder case,” she told her father.
“Sheriff?” Roy Lee Nichols said. “Those other gifts were a pearl necklace, a bottle of perfume, a tube of lipstick, and a bottle of fingernail polish.”
“Do you have the young lady there with you now?” Bernie asked.
“No, ma’am. She and her sister came in and told us what was going on and she’s coming back in tomorrow to file a formal complaint against a guy she works with over at the community college.”
“What’s the woman’s name and who is the man she works with who she believes sent her those items?”
“Her name is Thomasina Hardy. She’s a teacher over at the college. And the guy’s name is Dr. Brandon Kelley. He’s not a real doctor, just a fellow with one of those PhDs.”
