Читать книгу A Silent Terror & A Silent Fury: A Silent Terror / A Silent Fury - Lynette Eason - Страница 12

Thunder rumbled, shaking the air surrounding the mourners who’d come to the afternoon funeral to say goodbye to Suzanne Miller. Thankfully, heavy rain continued to hold off, but Marianna knew it wouldn’t hold much longer. The fine mist they’d started the service with had progressed to a steady drizzle; soon it would be a downpour. She clutched the curved handle of her umbrella and scanned the crowd.

She spotted Ethan and Catelyn a few yards away, looking alert and watching those gathered. Their diligent surveillance sent a shiver crawling up her spine to settle at the base of her neck.

The minister spoke but she couldn’t see his face clearly through the sea of shifting heads and the service wasn’t interpreted, so Marianna couldn’t actually understand much of anything being said. Which gave her time to focus on the people.

She knew a lot of them, their sad faces grabbing her heart. But it was Suzanne’s parents who speared her emotions and clogged her throat with tears yet again. Unmitigated grief, stunned disbelief and rampant rage alternated across their faces. Marianna could relate. She hoped they’d gotten everything they’d wanted from the house this morning. Suzanne hadn’t had a lot of things and as soon as the police had cleared the scene, her family had wanted to gather the last of their loved one’s items.

Marianna shivered again. When she took her focus off Suzanne’s family, became aware of her surroundings, she felt…watched. After finally admitting the unsettling sensation wasn’t just in her imagination, her stomach quivered.

And then she realized…he probably was here.

Suzanne’s killer might be somewhere in this crowd.

She’d heard of killers showing up at their victims’ funerals but couldn’t fathom that she might actually be standing somewhere near a murderer. Shuddering, she wrapped an arm around her middle in a one-arm hug.

Fear churned; she swallowed it down.

Ever since the viewing and short service at the church, and then upon arrival at the burial site, she’d felt someone staring holes in her back. Yet each time she turned, she saw nothing strange and no one out of place. At first, she chalked it up to being the dead woman’s roommate. Of course people would stare at her.

But maybe it was more than that.

As though in slow motion, she turned a full circle, examining every face, trying to see around hats, scarves and umbrellas.

Movement caught from the corner of her eye brought her head around. Ethan headed her way. Nerves cluttered up her stomach. If he leaned over and whispered in her ear, would she be able to catch the words? Pulling the collar of her coat snug around her neck, she stepped to the left to get a better view of the minister. She’d been invited to sit with the family, but the number of relatives in attendance had clearly been underestimated, so Marianna had surrendered her chair to an elderly aunt.

Ethan stepped next to her. She looked up at him. He smiled and mouthed, “Are you all right?”

She shrugged, ignored the threat of tears for the hundredth time that day, then dared to ask, “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Ethan didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t understand who she meant. She could see it in his eyes. “Probably.” Keeping his voice low, he looked over her shoulder and asked, “Do you see anyone who shouldn’t be here?”

Once again, Marianna let her eyes trail over the people. The minister had finished and the mourners started their exit. “There’re too many people, too many hats and umbrellas. I can’t see all of their faces.”

“I’m having that problem, too.” His eyes scanned the group, but his body remained relaxed, hands tucked loosely in his pockets. “Who did you come with?”

“Just myself. My parents didn’t know Suzanne very well, and my dad wasn’t feeling well anyway, so Mom wouldn’t let him come out in the cold.” She paused, bit her lip and looked away from him. “I spent the night at my parents’ house again last night. I just couldn’t…I guess tonight I’ll stay at my house.” Tears pooled and this time she couldn’t fight them. Several dribbled down her cold cheeks.

A warm cloth swept them away. Ethan had pulled out a handkerchief. Grateful, she took it from his hand and finished mopping up. “Thanks. I’m sorry. I suppose the tears will stop one day.”

“Let yourself grieve. It’s okay to hurt. And it’s okay to stay with your parents awhile. No one would blame you.” All gentleness and compassion, his eyes said he hurt for her.

She pocketed the handkerchief. “I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”

“No hurry. Come here.” He took her hand in his and urged her along behind him.

She followed, stopping when he placed a hand on her arm. Wondering what he was doing, she watched his face, waiting for him to speak. “Okay, now, you can see the people getting in their cars. Tell me if you see anyone who sticks out.”

Marianna turned. She and Ethan stood at the top of a gently sloping hill, making it easy to watch the crowd scatter to their various vehicles below. The rain had slacked off. People closed their umbrellas, affording Marianna a pretty good view of faces she hadn’t been able to see earlier.

She gasped, “There’s Bryson.”

“The ex-boyfriend, right?”

“Yes. I mean, I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s here. It was a mutual breakup without any hard feelings. Of course he would be here. I’m sure Suzanne’s death came as a shock.”

“I still want to talk to him and maybe catch him off guard so I’ll see a true reaction. Excuse me, okay?”

Marianna watched the good-looking young attorney head for his black BMW. Ethan set off after the man, leaving her trailing slowly behind and watching the two of them. Then the feeling of being watched caused her to glance over her shoulder once more. Nothing and no one around her stood out as suspicious.

Her BlackBerry vibrated. Shoving her hand in her pocket, she kept her eyes on Ethan as he approached Bryson. When the device hummed again, she glanced at it. And groaned.

Curt Wentworth. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?

She flipped the cover and read his text.

“We need to talk. Stop being so stubborn and meet me this evening for dinner.”

Not in this lifetime, buster. What would it take for him to get the message she wanted nothing more to do with him? He’d put his hands on her in anger and left bruises on her. He’d also been verbally abusive. He was the last person she wanted to have dinner with. For at least two minutes, she stared at it, debating what to say. Unable to come up with anything she wouldn’t regret, she closed the unanswered message and the machine, clenching her fist around the device.

A gentle hand covered hers. Startled, she realized Ethan had come back. She shivered. And realized something else. The feel of his hand on hers felt right.

“Problem?” His brows climbed to reach into the shaggy blond hair that lay across on his forehead.

“What?” She’d missed what he’d said. Trying to speech read through a red fog of anger didn’t come in her little bag of tricks.

“Is there a problem?” he repeated.

“Oh. Yes. But nothing I can’t handle.” And she would handle it. Just as soon as she figured out how.

“I don’t mind helping out.”

“I said I could handle it.” She appreciated the offer but didn’t need another person in her life trying to take care of her. Winning her independence had been a tough battle, but she’d done it.

Hands held up in a gesture of surrender, he backed up a little. “Gotcha.”

Feeling a tad guilty at her snappiness when he’d been nothing short of wonderful, she bit her lip and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little…”

“…stressed,” he finished for her. “Understandable.”

“So, what did Bryson have to say?”

* * *

“I get the impression he was truly upset.” Ethan recalled the man’s red-rimmed eyes and genuine air of grief. “He said something about the fact that they’d been talking about getting back together.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“I asked him if he’d be willing to give us a DNA sample so the crime scene investigators could compare it with anything they found…if they find something. He said he’d go down first thing Monday morning.”

“I always liked Bryson. I’m not exactly sure why they broke up, but I think he was pressuring Suzanne to get married and she wanted some space. She never really talked about it, though, even with me.” She shrugged. “I didn’t push, figuring she’d tell me if she wanted to.”

Ethan watched her features, marveling once again at her physical beauty. And yet she was so much more than just a pretty package. In just the short time he’d known her and under the worst circumstances, she’d shown herself to be the epitome of…what? He searched his brain for the right adjective.

Class. The woman was pure class.

Shadowed dark brown eyes stared at him, and he realized he hadn’t responded to something she’d said. “Sorry, my mind went wandering.” No sense in telling her where.

Marianna flashed a dimpled smile, brief but sincere. “It’s fine. I was just saying that I needed to get…home.” She grimaced, and he knew she wasn’t excited about the idea. After a minuscule hesitation, she took his hand between hers and gave it a quick squeeze, her closeness and light, fruity perfume scrambling his senses. Biting her lip, she gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you for everything. I hope you’ll keep me updated on the case.”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

Marianna left the cemetery and began the short drive home. She dreaded going into her house alone, yet had turned down several offers of accompaniment. Not exactly sure why, she just knew she didn’t want to be around a bunch of people, including family. She knew she faced a lot of cleaning up and most likely more uncontrollable tears. Better to do that without an audience. Ethan had started to insist that he follow her but had gotten a call and had to leave. That had been fine with her.

She’d texted Joseph, asking him to bring Twister home so the dog would be there to greet her. He’d agreed against his better judgment, arguing she didn’t need to be by herself.

She pulled into the driveway and turned the car off. The house loomed, small and empty. It shouldn’t seem particularly scary, yet a tremor shook her at the thought of walking up the path to her porch. Memories almost overwhelmed her, tempting her to once again run home to her mom and dad.

At least the door was closed today. Please, God, take this fear away. I know it’s only natural after what’s happened, but I don’t want to be afraid. Help me trust You.

The curtain in the window to the right of the door moved; a black nose pressed against the glass. The familiar sight caused her to release a relieved breath.

Twister’s welcome home. He was waiting for her.

Marianna scrambled from the car, grabbing the overnight bag Joseph had packed for her the day of the murder, and headed for the door.

Climbing the steps, she paused, noticing the footprint had disappeared. Someone had scrubbed it away. Shuddering, unease still very much present, she unlocked the door and pushed it open.

And gaped.

Her house sparkled, from top to bottom. Someone had scrubbed, mopped, vacuumed and more.

How…what…who?

Ethan.

She frowned. Now why did she automatically assume it was him? It could have been Joseph or some other member of her family.

Someone had hired a professional to clean up the mess left by the criminal and the crime scene investigators. Her heart warmed at the thoughtfulness as grateful tears blurred her vision. A piece of paper lay on the table just inside the foyer. Picking it up, she read, “I didn’t want you to come home to a mess. Hope everything is better than when you left it. Ethan.”

“Thank you, Ethan,” she whispered.

Twister nudged her hand and whined. Absentmindedly, she scratched his head as she went from room to room, examining everything.

A lump clogged her throat as she moved, sensing Suzanne’s presence even though she was now with the Lord.

When she reached Suzanne’s room, the door stood open, inviting. Hitching her breath, she stepped in and looked around. It, too, had been scrupulously cleaned.

And stripped bare. Suzanne’s family had come and gone, leaving not even a trace of their presence. Or Suzanne’s. Unable to stop herself, she looked to the spot where her roommate had died.

Even the stain was gone. It was as if Suzanne had never been there. Marianna walked over and knelt, running her hand over the area, feeling the carpet spring back beneath her palm. Anger, fear and a troubled helplessness burned within her.

Help the police find her killer. And help me deal with this, Lord. Please give me peace.

Tired beyond belief, Marianna called to Twister and stepped from the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

Entering her bedroom next door, she stared at the familiar sight of her haven that was supposed to offer comfort and knew she couldn’t sleep here tonight. Her stomach rumbled, but she had no energy to fix anything to eat. Doing a one-eighty, she trod the short distance to the small living area and crashed on the couch. She pulled out her hearing aids and laid them on the end table beside her.

All sound ceased to exist for her, and all she wanted to do was snuggle into the silence.

Twister settled on the floor beside her and she let her hand dangle over the edge to rest on his back as she stared at the ceiling, thinking, praying, drifting….

With a start, Marianna’s eyes popped open, confusion holding her captive until her brain caught up. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. But something had awakened her. A vibration: Twister?

Darkness blanketed the room broken only by the glow of the night-light coming from the hall. The clock on the DVD player read 3:18 a.m.

What had awakened her? Rubbing her face, then running a hand through her tangled hair, she swung her feet to the floor, eyes probing the blackness. That was odd. Where was Twister?

Uneasiness swept over her. The hardwood floor beneath her trembled. No doubt the vibrations had awakened her. Fingers groped the table beside her, grabbed up her hearing aids and shoved them in her ears.

Still, mostly silence surrounded her.

Again the floor shook. As though cushioning a footstep? Uneasiness climbed into fear. She strained to hear something, anything. Her breathing quickened as spider feet scrabbled up her spine. Her stomach cramped with a sudden thought, what if the killer had come back?

Would he do that? But why?

Adrenaline pumping, she fumbled to remember where she’d left her purse, which held her BlackBerry.

The recliner. In the corner by the fireplace. Guided by eyes adjusting to the darkness and the dim hall light, she crept across the floor to the chair and shoved her hand into her purse, located the device and snatched it out.

She realized she still had her shoes on: low-heeled black pumps she’d worn to the funeral. Sliding them off, she set them aside and tried to think of a possible hiding place. The kitchen pantry? Or should she try to slip out the front door?

Lord, what do I do?

A sense of urgency caused her hands to shake. She felt more vibrations and a hard thud sent her adrenaline into overdrive. Was that a muttered curse she picked up? She inched the volume up on her hearing aid but had to be careful not to bump it up too far or it would start whistling.

Then she tuned in to Twister’s furious barking, causing her to flinch. He’d probably been barking for a while if he’d already reached the pitch she needed to hear him.

With her heart thudding and her blood pounding, her brain switched to survival mode. Her fingers found the numbers on her BlackBerry and punched Send.

She needed help fast.

Someone was in her house.