Caterpillar, a Paranormal Romance With a Touch of Horror (20 page)

“You were already insane.  This just made you see it.” 

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, please stop.” 

“Well, maybe all your messages will cheer you up.  I think you’ve got a fan club, Cat.  Everyone who calls the office wants you to show them some houses.  I’m not sure they’re all legit, though.  I mean, how can you tell?”

Of all the ways you dream of becoming famous when you’re a little girl—being a world famous ballerina, an award-winning actress, a Pulitzer-winning writer, burping the alphabet, finding the Elvis shaped Cheeto—being the person to discover multiple homicides had never made my list.  “How many are there?”

“About thirty.  You got some mail, too”

“Hopefully nothing that ticks.”

“No, nothing like that.”

“I don’t suppose anyone dropped off my stuff from the open house yesterday, did they?”

“Actually, just before we closed yesterday, Detective Hottie brought your case thing and a couple boxes full of all sorts o’ crap.”

“Did you put it back in my office?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she mocked.  I wished her playfulness could drown out all the drama in my life, but I doubted a team of comedians could accomplish that.

I thanked Rainn and told her I’d be in around eleven.  I decided to take a little extra time that morning.  Rushing around didn’t do good things for me on a good day, much less a bad one.

I pulled on some socks and went out to the curb, retrieving the newspaper, which was rolled up like a burrito and stuffed into the paper box.  As I worked the rubberband off the paper, I looked up and met the curious green eyes of Aunt Jillian’s cat.  It didn’t appear to have moved an inch since the previous night.

Its sleepy green eyes watched me as I walked toward the porch.  “What are you staring at?”  The presence of the cat was not helping my disagreeable disposition.  The cat growled at me, as if his mood was no better.

Once inside, after I’d gotten the cat a dish of milk and grudgingly taken it outside, I unfolded the paper.  The above-the-fold headline read, “
She Sees Dead People.”
 

Shaking the paper open, below the fold was a picture I recognized.  It was the gazebo where I’d found Jessica.  Dread bubbled up in my stomach like noxious sewer gas. 

I refolded the paper and cautioned myself, “Don’t read it.  You know you’ll regret it.”  But, as usual, I completely ignored myself. 

I unfolded the paper again and read:

The Bethel Community was saddened by the tragic passing of local resident, Jessica Ann Nolan.  Her mutilated body was found on Wednesday in the gazebo at a multi-million dollar estate in Atlanta.  Another local, Catherine Deen, was preparing for an open house at the property when she discovered Nolan’s body.

This crime scene was the third such situation Ms. Deen purportedly “stumbled” upon in houses listed with Pinnacle.  Two of the three victims were known associates of Deen’s brother, Carter Deen, also of Bethel.  No connection has been made with either of the Deens and the second victim, Kenneth  Jacob Wallace, although authorities are in search of Carter Deen for questioning, citing him as a person of interest in the investigation. 

The Atlanta Police report that Catherine Deen’s alibi for the time during Nolan’s murder was verified, but insist she will remain a suspect in the first two murders until the cases are solved.  The police refuse to speculate as to why, if the Deens aren’t involved, the murderer is focusing on Ms. Deen as the person to whom he or she wishes to reveal the victims. 

Local psychic, Sally Ann Rhodes, has reportedly been in contact with the Atlanta Police Department, claiming she has information pertinent to the cases, but refuses to reveal that information to anyone other than law enforcement.  Rhodes did state, however, that she believes an Atlanta-based Wiccan group to be involved in the slayings.

The article ran on with a few more sentences, but I stopped reading after the bit about Sally Ann.  I knew Sally Ann.  Everyone knew Sally Ann.  She was the town fruit loop.  After reading her close-to-the-mark comment, though, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she’d been misjudged, maybe she really was legit. 

I tried to imagine how an unbiased, uniformed party might interpret the article.  Not quite damning, but the piece was certainly suggestive that Carter and I, together or separately, were somehow involved.  If nothing else, it would definitely plant a seed of doubt in the minds of the undecided. 

I opted to put the article out of my mind and get ready for work.  I did my best not to worry about it.  I mean, it wasn’t like I could ever tell people the truth anyway.  I’d just have to wait and see what the police came up with when all was said and done, see how they explained it.

Once I’d arrived at work, I was ready to get busy and stay busy.  I knew it would help take my mind off everything else, at least for a little while. 

Rainn had left my messages stacked up in the center of my desk so I set about returning the calls.  Most of them were interested in previewing homes.  By two o’clock, I had scheduled showings and office appointments almost two weeks into March.

I was relieved when I heard a faint knock and Rainn poked her head in.  When she didn’t attempt to come any further, I became immediately suspicious.  “What’s up?”

She opened the door further and I saw that she held a vase of flowers.  Black roses.  “These just came for you.”  The look on her face plainly said she thought the same thing I did—
not good.

“Is there a card?”  I dreaded reading the card when the flowers themselves spoke volumes.

“No.”  She walked over, set them down on my desk and brushed her hands together like she was ridding them of something unclean, something she was leaving with me.

“Well, thank you.”  It wasn’t her fault.  She was literally the messenger.  “I think.”

Rainn looked at me, concern and sympathy mingling in her curious expression.  “You know, you should be careful, Cat.”   

“Why do you say that?”

“Stuff like this brings out the crazies.  You know what kind of freaks are out there.  Read the papers.  Watch the news.  All they need is a face and a name and suddenly you’re like Charles Manson’s pinup girl.”

“Do you remember what flower shop these came from?”  With no card, it was a crapshoot.  There were literally dozens within walking distance of the office.

“No, I didn’t see the van.  The delivery boy was kind of cute so I didn’t even notice if he was wearing a shirt, much less what the pocket said.”  As a witness, Rainn was totally unreliable.  It was a good thing she didn’t have to identify a criminal.  I could just hear the APB going out for a tall, cute male with an award-winning butt and a nice package. 

“Since we’re talking about being careful, could you make a point to notice in the future, in case I get any more of these?”  That was probably like asking her not to breathe, but a girl can always hope.

“You got it, Kitty Cat.”  She squeezed her eyes shut and stomped her foot, muttering an explicative.  “I’m gonna kill Merv.”  And then she was gone. 

I sat behind my desk, staring at twelve black roses.  They were beautiful in a dark, wicked way.  I had to get rid of them, though, before Audrey saw them and freaked out.  I took them out back and tossed them in the dumpster then dusted my hands off like Rainn had. 

The afternoon came and went in a flurry of new business.  I’d been absorbed in looking up houses for a client when a shadow darkened the open doorway.  It was Rainn, with flowers again, only this time the vase held twelve crispy, brown buds dangling from twelve black stems.  The dead roses were even surrounded by dead baby’s breath. 

“What kind of freaky flower shops do we have around here?”  My eyes met hers and I saw concern.   “Was it the same delivery guy?”

“These were at the front door.  They must’ve been left while I was out for lunch.  I came in the back door so I just now saw them.  These have a card.  That’s how I knew they were for you.”  She handed me the small white card with one word typed in the center.  Cat. 

“Of course they’re for me.  Has anyone else around her been getting threatening floral arrangements?”

“Good point.”

After Rainn dusted her hands off and left to go back to the front, I walked the latest roses out to the dumpster.  I was surprised to see that it was already dusk. 

As the back door shut behind me, I could hear Rainn paging me.  I hurried into my office and picked answered the page.    

“Mr. Perfect’s on line two for you, Cat,” she called.  “Girl, you’ve
got
to tell me what kind of perfume you wear.  I need to get me some so I can
get me some.”

“Cat nip.  What else?” 

Before she could comment, I picked up on line two. “This is Cat.”

“Hey, stranger.”

“Scott,” I said, already feeling guilty over what I planned to do.  “Are you home already?”

“Yeah, but I need a favor.”

“Like what kind of favor?”

“Would you mind too much if we did dinner and a movie Saturday night instead?  I’ve got this golf thing.”

“Maybe you could just come over after your ‘golf thing’.  We don’t have to go out.”

“I guess I could do that.  I can bring a couple of DVDs and—”

I cut him off.  “Don’t worry about the movies.  Maybe we could, uh, just talk,” I said slowly.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence while Scott digested the meaning of what I said.  He was too smart not to realize what was coming.

I heard him sigh in the distance, as if he’d tipped the phone away from his mouth.  Finally, he responded, “Alright.”

My heart was already breaking, knowing that I was about to hurt him.  “Just call and let me know you’re on your way, ok?”

“Alright,” he said again.  “See ya.”  And with that, he hung up. 

I packed up my bag and left, knowing I wouldn’t get any more productive work out of the day after that.  On the ride home, I consoled myself with the knowledge that Scott didn’t need trouble in his life and that was what I’d likely bring him.  And he deserved someone who could have the deep, solid feelings for him that I just wasn’t capable of feeling. 

Serious blue eyes drifted through my mind.  I corrected myself.  I
could
have feelings like that, just not for Scott.

The vision of a large man on my front porch interrupted my thoughts.  Cloaked in darkness, I couldn’t make out any features at all even though I could clearly see his face.  It was as if I was sitting on my front porch looking up at him.  Intuitively, I knew by the build and gait that it was a man—large, square, thick.  Huge mitt-like hands reached toward my vantage point and I felt a thrill of anxiety that wasn’t quite my own.  And then it was gone.

Confused and a little concerned, it didn’t help that darkness had fallen by the time I reached the house.  Cautiously, I got out of my car and walked slowly toward the gate that opened onto my walkway.  I looked around me as I went, listening for sounds of an intruder.

I neither saw nor heard any strange noises.  As quietly as I could, I shuffled through my keys until I found the house key.   Gingerly I climbed the front steps, still looking all around me for signs of an ambush.  I reached to insert the key into the lock and noticed something dangling from my door knob. 

It was a small sack with something black on it.  I took the tie off the knob and held up the bag to get a better look.  It was dripping more black stuff.  The familiar coppery tang of blood tickled my nostrils.  I dropped the bag.  It wasn’t dripping black.  It was dripping blood.