Читать книгу Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 26
ОглавлениеAbby Miller noticed the plastic bag hanging on the doorknob of the back entrance to the Kut and Kurl as soon as she arrived at her beauty shop on Wednesday morning. She and the other operators parked in the back, leaving the front parking slots available for customers. Only on Wednesdays did Abby arrive before the others, one of the perks of being the owner. But Amy Simms had a standing appointment at eight-thirty every Wednesday for a nail fill-in and a pedicure. The D.A.’s wife was a busy lady and couldn’t drop by just any old time, so since Amy was a regular customer who gave generous tips, Abby did her best to always accommodate her.
When she reached the door, she studied the bag curiously, wondering if one of her sales reps had come by after closing last night and left the bag. It was just a plain white plastic sack, no logo or print of any kind on it. Odd.
Changing her key ring from her right hand to her left, she lifted the bag from the knob, slipped it over her hand and onto her wrist, then put the key ring back in her right hand and inserted a key into the lock. Once inside, she closed and locked the door from within, then headed for the kitchenette/ lounge, one of two rooms in the beauty shop that were off limits to the customers, the other being the crowded storeroom. After dropping her key chain in her purse and depositing her purse and the plastic bag on the small dining table, she went about her Wednesday morning routine—making a fresh pot of coffee, checking the air-conditioning temperature and resetting it for the day, then unlocking the front door and removing the CLOSED sign. While the coffee brewed, she took a diet cola from the small, compact fridge, snapped the pop-up lid and took a deep swallow of the sweet liquid. In the winter, she drank coffee, but not in the summer. She preferred to get her caffeine from colas when the temperatures rose to about eighty. But she knew that Amy Simms expected fresh brewed coffee to be waiting for her when she arrived.
As Abby sat down in one of the comfy vinyl chairs and took another sip of cola, she eyed the plastic sack on the table. She reached over, grabbed it, placed it in her lap, and then opened it. There were two items inside—a small square envelope and a larger manila envelope. She removed the small envelope first. Her name graced the front, printed in large black letters—abby. She opened the envelope, slipped the one-page note out and unfolded it.
I worship you from afar, my beautiful Abby
A nervous tickle fluttered in her belly. How sweet. Did she have a secret admirer? It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that she did, was it? Ron Hensley wasn’t the only man in town interested in her. Guys flirted with her all the time. A few had even propositioned her since Ricky Wayne’s unit had been deployed to the Middle East. And doing her best to be the faithful wife, she had turned down every one of them—everybody except Ron.
She read the note again and wondered who had written it. Definitely someone with a romantic flair. After dropping the note and envelope back into the bag, she pulled the larger envelope out and ripped off one end. When she turned the envelope upside down and shook it several times, a single sheet floated out. She grabbed it before it hit the floor, then turned the blank side over and gasped when she saw the sketch on the other side. An ink sketch of her. A talented artist had captured everything about her, from the slight crook in her nose to the sultry way she smiled. Whoever had created the sketch was someone who knew her, had observed her, even studied her.
A gentle wave of apprehension washed over Abby, making her extremely curious about the author of the note—the artist. Her feminine instincts told her that this guy was no ordinary redneck good old boy, so that narrowed down the field considerably here in Adams County.
Abby folded the sketch and stuffed it and the ripped manila envelope back in the white plastic sack; then she opened her purse and put the sack inside, shoving it to the bottom of her large carryall shoulder bag. She took another sip of cola, then checked the wall clock. Eight-twenty-seven. Amy should be here any minute. Abby removed a lavender nylon work jacket from the pile of clean, protective shirts/ jackets, snapped it from midchest to just below her waist, and then picked up her cola and headed out into the shop to her workstation.
The telephone rang. Abby jumped.
Get hold of yourself. It’s just the telephone. Don’t let your imagination go haywire. Just because the unexpected note and sketch unnerved you as much as it flattered you, that’s no reason to be so nervous.
“Kut and Kurl. Abby speaking.”
“Hello, Abby.”
She didn’t recognize the voice and thought it sounded odd. “Hello. How may I help you?”
“Did you get my note?” The deep, muted baritone voice asked.
Abby’s heartbeat went wild. “Yes, I did. And the sketch, too.”
“Did you like the sketch?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you, but I had the perfect subject.”
A man who knows the right thing to say.
“Who are you?” Abby asked.
“I’m your secret admirer.”
Abby giggled. “I figured that out. But why? If you’re interested, then you should make yourself known. Stop by the shop today around six and introduce yourself. Or do I already know you?”
“I will reveal my identity to you when the time is right. But for now … think about me and about what I long to do—touch you, whisper love sonnets in your ear, fulfill your every fantasy.”
Abby’s mouth gaped wide. She’d never had a man talk to her this way—romantically seductive. Guys usually talked dirty to her, told her they wanted to fuck her in no uncertain terms, but this guy—her secret admirer—was good. Hell, he was great. She’d be thinking about him all day.
“I wish I knew who you were,” she said.
“You will, very soon, my beautiful Abby.”
The dial tone hummed in her ear. Sighing, she returned the receiver to the base. Standing there daydreaming about her fantasy lover, she didn’t hear Amy Simms enter the shop. When Amy called her name, Abby jumped as if she’d been shot.
“What’s wrong?” Amy asked. “You’re awfully jumpy.”
“Sorry. Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking about a very special man.”
“Ricky Wayne, no doubt. You must miss him something awful. I know if my Jerry Dale was off a world away fighting in some horrible war, I’d be half out of my mind.”
“Hmm … I do miss Ricky Wayne.”
But there is no law that says I have to be miserable while he’s away. And if I can keep his mama from finding out about my affair with Ron, maybe I can juggle having two lovers at the same time.
Bernie sat on the side of her parents’ backyard pool, Kevin at her side, both of them drinking her mom’s delicious raspberry tea and absorbing the last rays of the early evening sunlight. Here in northeastern Alabama in July, it didn’t get good and dark until nearly eight-thirty, and it was just now six-thirty.
She remembered when her folks had put in the pool; it was the summer she’d turned eight and Robyn was a babe of barely four. She’d grown up swimming like a fish, getting brown as gingerbread in the summer, and she and Robyn being the envy of the other kids in the neighborhood. Almost every year, her mother had given her and Robyn a joint swim party for their birthdays. Bernie’s was May thirtieth and Robyn’s was June fifth.
“My dad’s got a date tonight,” Kevin said, his gaze fixed on his feet submerged in the water on the shallow end of the pool. “It’s not with your sister, Robyn. It’s with that woman deputy, Holly Burcham.”
“Yes, I know. Holly’s a lot of fun. Jim should have a good time.” A real good time. Holly had never met a man she didn’t like and she had a thing for her fellow officers. She’d been through just about all the single guys in the department and a few married ones, too. Lucky for Holly, none of the married men’s wives had complained. Either they didn’t know or had chosen to look the other way.
More than once, Bernie had wondered if she’d been able to just look the other way when Ryan had been unfaithful, would they still be married? Would they have a child or two by now? But there was no point in wasting time wondering about what might have been. She wasn’t the type to forgive and forget infidelity. She took marriage vows seriously and expected her husband to do the same. As for having children, that might not ever happen for her even if she did remarry one of these days. She’d had two miscarriages and the doctors couldn’t promise her that if she got pregnant again she could carry a baby to full-term.
“Bernie?”
“Huh?”
“I wish my dad had a date with you tonight.”
Bernie forced a smile. “Kevin, we’ve tried to explain—your dad and I are just friends.”
“Friends date sometimes, don’t they?”
“Sometimes.”
“I liked it when the three of us were spending time together. Didn’t you like being with us?” Kevin glanced at her, then looked away quickly.
Bernie set her iced tea glass down on the tiled patio floor behind herself and put her arm around Kevin’s shoulders. “If I didn’t like being with you, I wouldn’t be here right now. And I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”
“Honest?” Kevin lifted his head, looked right at her and smiled as if she’d just given him the greatest present on earth.
She hugged him to herself. “Honest.”
Kevin jumped up, bouncing with enthusiasm. “I’ll race you to the other end of the pool.”
Bernie leaped to her feet. “You’re on. But what does the winner get?”
“Hmm … What do you want if you win?”
She wasn’t sure exactly how to word her request. “I want you to stop being angry with your father. He loves you and he’d do anything for you. He’d be spending all his free time with you if you’d just stop pouting and go home.”
“Dad can be a real dope,” Kevin said. “If he prefers your sister or that Holly woman to you, he’s nuts. But what could I expect from him since he left my mom and she’s a wonderful …” Kevin swallowed and looked away.
Bernie knew he was on the verge of tears and would be terribly embarrassed if she saw him crying. “Your mom will call you when she feels better. She just doesn’t want you to hear her sounding weak and sick. That’s the way moms are.” Bernie was lying, of course. She had no idea why Mary Lee hadn’t spoken to Kevin since her surgery, which Jim had told them had been successful and the doctors had explained to Mary Lee’s husband that her cancer hadn’t spread. Despite how physically weak Mary Lee might be or how emotionally devastated she was at losing a breast and facing months of treatment, she was still a mother, with a son who needed her reassurance that everything would be all right. As far as Bernie was concerned, it wasn’t too much to ask that Kevin’s mother give him that reassurance.
Kevin cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know Mom will call. She’s got to take care of herself right now and not worry about me or anybody else.”
“And if you need anything, all you have to do is ask your dad. You know what—I love my mother very much and she’s the greatest mom ever,” Bernie said. “But I’m a daddy’s girl. My dad is my best friend. Your dad could be your best friend if you’d give him the chance.”
Kevin grunted. “Yeah, I guess so.” He glanced at Bernie and grinned. “Are you ready for our race?”
“I’m ready if you are. So, if I win this swim meet, you’ll go home and give your dad a chance to prove to you how important you are to him?”
“Yeah, okay. And if I win, I want you to ask me and Dad over to your house for supper again.”
Bernie blew out a deep breath in an exaggerated expression. “Well, I suppose I can agree to that, but you’re asking for an awful lot. It will be sheer misery to spend a whole evening with you and Jim.”
Kevin laughed and so did Bernie. “If it’s a tie, we’ll both be winners.” She winked at him, then dove into the pool, Kevin a millisecond behind her.
Bernie deliberately slowed when they reached the far end of the pool, just enough so that she and Kevin ended their race neck and neck. Without a photo finish, no one could say who came in first. Bernie lifted herself out of the pool and sat on the edge. Kevin came out right alongside her, smiling as if he’d won the race.
“It was a tie, wasn’t it?” Kevin said.
“I believe it was.”
“That means we both have to pay off on the bet. So I’ll go home with Dad tomorrow evening, and then you’ll invite us over to your house this weekend, right?”
“Right.”
Bernie ruffled Kevin’s dark, wet hair and had to restrain herself from encompassing him in a motherly bear hug. She had discovered one more thing Jim and Kevin had in common: Both Norton men were very easy to love.
Wearing a pair of khaki pants and a short-sleeved, navy blue polo shirt that he’d put on for his date with Holly Burcham, Jim stood on the Grangers’ porch and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he walked around to the side gate, opened it and entered the backyard. He saw Kevin first, sitting at the wicker and glass table under the huge umbrella. Before Kevin noticed him, Bernie called out from the back steps. Jim glanced her way and did a double take. She was coming out the backdoor and was carrying a tray laden with food. Jim couldn’t take his eyes off her—off every incredible inch of her five-nine body. She wore a red one-piece bathing suit that did absolutely nothing to disguise her knockout figure. She was a tall, large woman, with curves in all the right places. Long legs that went on forever. Full thighs and hips, narrow waist, and high, round breasts.
“Jim!” Bernie gasped. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a date with Holly.”
Jim swallowed hard. “Uh, I did. But I had to call her and cancel. Something’s come up. Sheriff’s department business.” Yeah, and something else is going to come up if I don’t stop staring at Bernie’s body.
She walked over, set the tray down on the table and glanced from Jim to Kevin. “It must be something … Oh, God, please don’t tell me that it’s about Thomasina.”
Jim nodded. “Kevin, maybe you’d better go inside for a few minutes.”
Kevin frowned. “Do I have to?”
“Please go inside and call my father’s cell phone and tell him to come home right away. Jim and I are going to have to leave in a few minutes.” Bernie looked from Kevin to Jim. “Right?”
Jim nodded. “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”
Kevin responded immediately to her request, and as soon as he went inside the house, she turned to Jim. “Did someone find Thomasina?”
“Yeah, a motorist crossing Sunflower Creek just happened to notice a body lying on the bank, about ten feet from the water’s edge. The deputy who took the call got in touch with me a few minutes after he arrived on the scene. He says he’s pretty sure it’s Thomasina Hardy, says she looks like the picture her mother gave us. She’s naked. Posed. Her throat’s been slit.”
Bernie clenched her jaw. “Give me five minutes to get on some clothes. Dad should be home by then. He dropped Mom by Wednesday night church services on his way to play pool with some of his buddies.”
Just as she started to walk away, Jim grabbed her arm to halt her. She spun around and gave him a questioning look.
“If this guy holds true to form since he killed Stephanie Preston, he’ll start a new courtship soon,” Jim said. “He might have already chosen his next victim.”
“Oh, God, I know.” Bernie closed her eyes, absorbing the knowledge that another woman had been murdered and yet another unknown woman was in mortal danger. “I’m the sheriff. It’s my job to protect the people of Adams County. I’m doing a hell of a job, aren’t I?”
“Stop beating yourself up, honey. Nobody could do a better job.” Instinctively, without thinking about what he was doing, Jim slipped his hand around Bernie’s waist and pulled her into his arms. She went willingly and even allowed him to hug her for a few seconds before she pulled away from him.
“Come on in and talk to Kevin while I get out of this bathing suit.”
“I’m not sure Kevin will talk to me. He wasn’t very responsive when we tried to talk to him last night.” Jim followed Bernie, appreciating the view from behind. He’d never noticed how her hips swayed, how her butt moved up and down, how downright sexy she was.
But she’s not interested in you as anything other than a friend. She’s made that perfectly clear. A few minutes ago, when you had her in your arms, she could have stayed there a while longer, but she couldn’t wait to get away from you. Face it, Norton, you couldn’t get to first base with Bernie if you wanted to.
And strangely enough, he suddenly realized that he wanted to.
* * *
County coroner, Morris Claunch, confirmed what Jim and Bernie already suspected—Thomasina Hardy had been raped, tortured and ultimately murdered. The killer’s MO seemed identical to Stephanie Preston’s murderer. No surprise there.
Bernie had called in six deputies to protect the crime scene and keep onlookers at bay. Word had spread quickly in Adams County, and by the time the ABI Crime Scene Response Unit arrived, Bernie estimated that the crowd on and around the bridge crossing Sunflower Creek had grown from half a dozen when she and Jim had arrived to probably forty people now. After this, there would be no way to keep the general public from knowing that there was a serial killer loose in northeast Alabama.
Charlie Patterson drove up around eight-forty and officially took over the investigation. R.B. Granger showed up around nine.
“You’ve got a real circus on your hands, gal,” her dad told her. “You might ought to call in a few more deputies for crowd control.”
“I will, if I think we need them. But right now, we have everything under control.”
“Just making a suggestion.” R.B. turned from her and shook hands with Agent Patterson. “We’ve been seeing way too much of you lately, Charlie.”
Charlie grimaced. “Yeah, it’s bad, R.B. No way we can deny the facts. We’ve got ourselves a psychopath on our hands.”
Bernie suddenly felt insignificant, as if she were nothing more than R.B.’s kid and he was still the sheriff. Her father didn’t mean to undermine her authority, or by his mere presence here at the crime scene imply to everyone that his daughter couldn’t handle the situation without his help. He thought he was helping, that he was being supportive. After all, why shouldn’t she appreciate him sharing his vast knowledge and years of experience with her on a major case such as this?
“Sheriff,” Deputy Dennison called.
“Yeah?” R.B. and Bernie responded simultaneously.
“Over here.” Bernie motioned to the deputy who was bouncing his gaze back and forth between her and her dad.
“Sorry.” R.B. chuckled. “I keep forgetting my kid’s now the sheriff.”
Deputy Dennison smiled and nodded at R.B., then made his way straight to where Bernie and Jim stood with Ron Hensley, the three of them watching the ABI Crime Unit at work.
“What’s up?” Bernie asked.
“There’s a reporter and a photographer here from the Daily Reporter and crews from two Huntsville TV stations have shown up. How are we supposed to handle them? What do you want us to do?”
“Great, just great,” Bernie mumbled under her breath. “Don’t let any of them get beyond the barricade, and do not answer any questions.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Deputy Dennison stood there fidgeting, apparently not knowing whether to stay or go.
“And tell them that the sheriff’s department will make a statement at”—she glanced at her watch—“I’ll brief the press no later than eleven o’clock, before then if possible.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s all, Deputy.”
Dennison all but clicked his heels as he turned and headed toward the barricade up above the creek near the roadside. Bernie groaned silently when she looked at the crowd again.
“They’ll be coming in by the busloads if we don’t do something,” she said.
“Why don’t you order roadblocks half a mile in each direction?” Jim suggested.
“Good idea.” Bernie looked at Ron. “Go up there and announce to all those concerned citizens that we’re blocking off a one-mile section of County Road One-fifty-seven immediately, and if anyone doesn’t want to get delayed leaving later, they’d better go now.”
“Sure thing,” Ron said. Then just as he walked off, he stopped dead still and cursed. He turned around and came back over to Bernie and Jim. “Thomasina Hardy’s sister and brother-in-law are up there in that crowd. I just saw her sister.” Ron gritted his teeth tightly and took a couple of deep breaths. “When I dated Thomasina, I got to know the family pretty well. They’re good folks.”
“Look, why don’t I handle explaining to the crowd about the roadblocks while you make arrangements to get them set up,” Jim said to Bernie. “And since Ron knows Thomasina’s family, let him talk to her sister and brother-in-law.”
Bernie nodded, then as Jim turned to leave, she called, “Wait just a minute, Jim.” She looked at Ron. “If the sister wants to speak to me personally, let me know and we’ll work out something. We’ll need someone to ID the body. See if the brother-in-law will do that.”
“I dread talking to her sister. Amanda and Thomasina were really close.” Ron cleared his throat. “Thomasina deserved better than this. She was a nice person. Too good for me, that’s for sure.”
Bernie patted Ron on the shoulder. As soon as he headed up the embankment toward the bridge, she turned to Jim.
“I have to decide what to tell the press. How much information do I release to the public? Where do I draw the line between what the public needs to know and what I need to keep under wraps?”
“Good question.” Jim glanced over at R.B., who was dogging every step Charlie Patterson made, then looked at Bernie. “You’re second-guessing yourself because your father is here. Stop doing that. You don’t need his opinion or his approval to make a decision. Trust your own gut instincts.”
“Can I do that—trust my own instincts?”
“I trust your instincts,” Jim told her. “I trust you.”
The power behind his statement overwhelmed her. She didn’t know how to respond. Get a grip. He didn’t say I love you. He said I trust you. But she knew, deep in her soul, that trust between two people was the second most powerful emotion. You could love someone, but if you didn’t trust them, you had nothing.
Tears threatened the false calm she tried so hard to project, not just to Jim, but to everyone here tonight. “Thanks.”
Jim looked at her as if he wanted to touch her, as if he’d like to hold her, comfort her, reassure her. And oddly enough, she felt his caress—the tender touch that he expressed through his gaze.
“I won’t share any specific details,” Bernie said. “I’ll say that we suspect a link in the murders of Jacque Reeves in Jackson County and the murders of Stephanie Preston and Thomasina Hardy. I’ll try to avoid the use of the term serial killer. I don’t think the fact that all three were young, attractive brunettes is a secret, so I’ll mention that.”
“Reiterate that the ABI is in charge of this investigation.”
“Right. And I’ll stress that there is no need for panic, but everyone should err on the side of caution.”
“They’re going to want to know about suspects.”
“Of course they are.” Bernie felt the beginning of a stress headache. “And all I can tell them is that although we interviewed several people of interest in the Stephanie Preston case, we do not at this time have a suspect and it’s too early in this new case to make any other comments.”
“I believe you’ve got it down pat.”
“Oh, God …” Bernie’s stomach churned. She felt like she was going to vomit.
“What’s the matter? You look green.” Jim held out his hand, as if to grab her arm.
She jerked away. “I’ll be okay. I’m just sick to my stomach and I’ve got a headache coming on, but I don’t want to announce to the world that the sheriff is so emotionally wrung out that she can’t handle the job she was elected to do. I’ll give female law enforcement officers a bad name.”
“You’re only human,” Jim told her. “You haven’t eaten since lunch, have you? That’s part of what’s wrong. And just a little while ago, you had to take a look at a pretty young woman who was brutalized and murdered. The second woman in your county this month. There’s a serial killer out there, probably getting ready to strike again, and we don’t have a clue who he is or how to stop him. And I said we. Both Charlie Patterson and I have had experience with serial killers before, but neither of us can come up with a suspect.”
When she tasted the salty bile that rose up her esophagus, she forced it down and read herself the riot act. You’re not going to get sick. You’re not going to cry. You’re not going to act like an emotional female. Remember, you are the sheriff. You’re strong and tough and in control.
A hundred tiny drummers beat a fast-paced tune inside her head.
“I’m okay,” she said. “You go up there and handle the crowd while I get the roadblocks set up.”
He gave her another one of those tender, concerned looks that made her feel as if he’d wrapped his arms around her. She turned and all but ran from him, knowing that if she didn’t get away from Jim Norton, she was liable to fall smack-dab into his big, strong arms.
