Dead By Midnight (6 page)

He watched her as she made the rounds up and down the counter, making sure every customer was well taken care of with fresh coffee, tea, cola, and water. And when she brought his plate, she laid down extra napkins beside it.

“You seem to be very adept at your job,” he said.

“Thank you. I try my best.”

Before he could advance their conversation, she glanced down at her apron pocket. “Excuse me. I need to take this call.”

Undoubtedly she kept her phone set on vibrate instead of ring while she was at work.

She moved away from him to the end of the counter where no one was sitting, pulled her phone from her apron pocket, and said, “Hi, honey.”

He pretended to be engrossed in the chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, and the green beans on his plate. While eating, he listened carefully to every word Lily Wong said.

“Oh, Charlie, that’s wonderful. When do you start?” she asked. “Monday?”

Apparently Charles Wong had found a new job.

“We should celebrate this weekend, maybe Saturday night,” Lily said. “We can’t tomorrow night. Remember I’m doing that mother-daughter campout thing with Jenny and Jessica’s Brownie troop.” She lowered her voice to a soft whisper. He strained to hear what she said. “We’ll be home by ten Saturday morning and I promise that I’ll get a babysitter for the girls so that you and I can have our own private celebration.”

As soon as she returned her phone to her pocket, she walked over to him and asked, “Is everything all right? Do you need more rolls or coffee?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.” He offered her a big, friendly smile.

If Lily and her daughters wouldn’t be at home tomorrow night and Charlie would be, then tomorrow evening at midnight would be the perfect time to kill him.

The minute Maleah hung up the phone after her conversation with Sanders, she brought up Mike Birkett’s number from her list of contacts. When she had agreed to take Lorie Hammonds’s case, she had thought it a good idea to include both the sheriff’s private number as well as the department’s number.

During the four days she had been on the job, she had spent most of that time digging into Lorie’s past and present acquaintances. When she had lived in the LA area, Lorie had encountered a few unsavory characters and had even lived with one, a guy named Dean Wilson, who, under the stage name of Woody Wilson, had starred in a string of low-budget porno movies.

And as fate would have it, just that morning, she had received information via Powell’s investigative research department that Dean Wilson was dead. He had been murdered in January and his killer was still at large. His brother had discovered Dean’s body at the family mountain cabin outside Gatlinburg, a short drive from Knoxville.

She remembered that Lorie had mentioned the first threatening letter she received had been postmarked Knoxville. Before talking to Sanders, Maleah had thought perhaps it was nothing more than an odd coincidence that Lorie’s old lover had been murdered only a couple of months ago.

“These two murders—Dean Wilson and Hilary Finch Chambless—cannot be a mere coincidence,” Sanders had said. “Both were shot several times, both were stripped naked, both were wearing fancy masks. Add to that the fact they were both porno stars and had worked together in numerous films and you pretty much erase the possibility of coincidence.”

“What about threatening letters?” Maleah had asked. “Did Dean Wilson and Hilary Chambless receive letters?”

“Jared Wilson did not know anything about his brother receiving threatening letters. But Hilary Chambless received two letters, the wording identical on both and the same as the ones Lorie Hammonds received.”

“We have to take these threats seriously. Lorie told me that she made one porno movie, just a bit part, but the stars of that movie were Hilary Finch—better known then as Dewey Flowers—and Dean ‘Woody’ Wilson.”

“Notify the local authorities, as well as Ms. Hammonds,” Sanders had instructed her. “And I will call Derek Lawrence. He should arrive in Dunmore tomorrow. You will work together on this case and the two of you will share all information with Holt Keinan and with Ben Corbett and Michelle Allen. Holt is in charge of the Chambless case. Ben and Michelle start work on the Wilson case tomorrow. Since it is obvious the three cases overlap, this will be a joint effort, as of now.”

Maleah groaned silently. The last person on earth she wanted to work with was Derek Lawrence. The man was a cocky, egotistical know-it-all. He’d been an FBI profiler and now worked as a consultant for the Powell Agency. In the course of various cases, their paths had often crossed, but whenever possible, she avoided the man as if he was the bubonic plague.

Maleah tapped Mike Birkett’s private number when it appeared on the iPhone screen and waited for him to answer. Whether the man liked it or not, he was going to have to take Lorie’s death threats seriously. Unless she missed her guess, there was a serial killer out there somewhere.

Lorie took the one-serving freezer packet out of the refrigerator, opened it, and slid it onto a microwavable plate. She had prepared the lasagna two weeks ago and divided it into six servings, eaten one, and frozen the rest for future meals. Today had been a long and tiring day at Treasures. Not only did they sell antiques, their store had a home décor and gift section. With Easter just around the corner, quite a few customers were taking advantage of the pre-Easter sale that would run from today until the Saturday before Easter. With Cathy away on her honeymoon, Lorie was in charge of the shop. Unfortunately, their two part-time clerks had been unavailable today. One, a student at UAH (the University of Alabama in Huntsville), had Thursday classes and the other, a stay-at-home mom, had a sick child she couldn’t leave.

While the lasagna plate rotated inside the microwave, Lorie kicked off her heels—she wore heels almost all the time in order to add a few inches to her petite five-one height—and reached into an upper cupboard for a glass. Just as she picked up the wine bottle from the counter, she heard the doorbell ring. Checking the microwave clock, she noted it was six thirty-nine.

She padded through the house and to the front door in her bare feet. She hated panty hose and seldom if ever wore any. She looked through one of three small panes of glass in her front door and saw Mike Birkett and Maleah Perdue standing on her porch. With jittery fingers, she unlocked the door, opened it, and unlatched the storm door.

“What’s wrong?” Lorie asked. “Why are y’all here?”

“May we come in?” Maleah asked.

Lorie nodded and stepped back to give them room to enter. Once they were inside, she closed and locked the door.

“Come on in.” Lorie indicated the living room to the left of the small foyer.

With all three of them standing, Lorie glanced from Maleah to Mike, who lowered his gaze and refused to look directly at her.

“The news isn’t good,” Maleah told her.

Lorie’s heartbeat went wild. “The letters…the death threats…they aren’t a hoax, are they?”

“I’m afraid not,” Maleah replied. “It seems that, more than likely, whoever sent you those letters has already killed two other people.”

“I want to assure you that the sheriff’s department will cooperate fully with the Powell Agency and do everything we possibly can to keep you safe,” Mike Birkett said, his voice calm and even, showing absolutely no emotion.

“We have every reason to believe that you’re in danger,” Maleah said. “It’s imperative, now more than ever, for you to be extremely careful. I’m suggesting that you stay with me at Jack and Cathy’s, at least until they return from their honeymoon.”

“You think I need a bodyguard?”

“I believe it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“What led you to the conclusion that the person who is threatening me has already killed twice?”

“It seems that the brother of one victim and the husband of another have hired the Powell Agency to investigate their loved ones’ deaths. When Sanders—who is Griffin Powell’s assistant—discovered the similarity in the two murders, it was not a giant leap to connect them. And only today, the husband discovered two letters that his wife had kept hidden. The wording in those letters is identical to the wording in your letter,” Maleah explained. “And it really wasn’t a surprise to find out that the victims knew each other and they had worked together years ago.”

Lorie’s mind whirled with thoughts of how she might be connected to the other victims. Focusing her attention on Maleah, she ignored Mike completely. He was here only because he had to be, because he was the sheriff. She didn’t kid herself, didn’t for one minute think he gave a damn if she lived or died.

“Who were these people?” Lorie asked.

“The woman was Tagg Chambless’s wife,” Maleah said. “Hilary Chambless. She was the second victim.”

The name didn’t sound familiar to Lorie. “I don’t know a Hilary Chambless.”

Maleah nodded. “The first victim, at least as far as we know, was a guy named Dean Wilson.”

Lorie gasped. Her stomach flip-flopped. “Dean Wilson? In his late forties? Lived in LA? Was originally from Tennessee? That Dean Wilson?”

“Yeah, that seems to fit the info his brother gave Sanders. You knew him, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Her gaze zipped toward Mike. “I knew Dean Wilson. We were…uh…friends when I lived in LA. How…? Why…?”

“He was shot several times,” Maleah said.

“Poor Dean.” Years ago, she had loved him.

Mike looked at her, studied her face, and for a split second, she saw genuine concern in his eyes. But he glanced away hurriedly, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. Why did he have to act this way? Even if they could never be friends again, did he have to go on hating her forever?

“But you say you didn’t know Hilary Chambless. Is that right?” Maleah asked.

“No, I didn’t—Oh my God! Was her maiden name Finch?”

“That’s right. And she had a stage name, too. Dewey Flowers.”

Lorie wished that Mike wasn’t here, that he was not involved in this, that she didn’t have to talk about her sordid past in front of him. But what did it matter really? It wasn’t as if her past was a secret. He knew what she had done, who she had been, how she had lived those last few years in California.

“I knew Dean and Hilary,” Lorie admitted. “Hilary was just an acquaintance. Dean and I were…” She cleared her throat. “We lived together for a while.”

“Then you know they made several porno movies together,” Maleah said.

“Yes, of course I know. I told you that I had a bit part in one of those movies.” Lorie glared at Mike, who lifted his gaze from the floor and glared at her.

“When was the last time you saw either of them?” Mike asked.

“Not since I left LA and came home to Dunmore.”

“Heard from either of them since then?”

“No.”

“You’ve had no communication of any kind with either of them?” Maleah asked.

“None.”

“Do you know of anyone from the time y’all worked together who might have wanted to kill them?”

“No. I have absolutely no idea why anyone would want to kill either of them or kill me. And my only connection to either of them is in the past, nearly ten years ago.”

“I figured you’d have no idea who the killer might be,” Maleah said. “It could be something as crazy as an unbalanced fan who for some reason has decided to kill the actors from his favorite films.”

“Great. I had a bit a part in one adult movie ten years ago and now I’m targeted by some nut job who happened to like that stupid movie.”

“Karma’s a bitch,” Mike said, his voice a low grumble.

Lorie and Maleah snapped around and stared at him.

“That was a damn cruel thing to say,” Maleah told him.

A red tinge crept up Mike’s neck and quickly darkened his face. “You’re right.” He looked at Lorie. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she said.

He snorted and then looked at Maleah. “I’ll have a patrol car drive by Jack and Cathy’s every hour once Lorie’s staying with you and by Treasures when Lorie’s at work. If I had the manpower, I’d assign someone to her, but she’s got you so she really won’t need police protection on a twenty-four/seven basis.”

“Thanks.” Maleah grabbed Mike’s arm. “Let me walk you out, Sheriff.” She shot Lorie a quick glance. “I’ll be right back. Why don’t you go pack a bag?”

Lorie hated the thought of being forced to leave her home. But what if the person who had killed Dean and Hilary really did intend to kill her? Her best chance of survival could well be having Maleah Perdue as her bodyguard.

Maleah gave Mike a well-deserved tongue-lashing, reminding him that his actions toward Lorie Hammonds were completely unprofessional and most decidedly uncalled for.

“I don’t believe you’re naturally a cruel or vindictive man,” she said. “But you’ve treated Lorie as if she doesn’t deserve even common courtesy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed hurting her and that you don’t give a rat’s ass if somebody does kill her.”

“That’s not true. At least the part about my not caring if somebody kills her. I don’t wish Lorie dead.”

“Are you saying that you enjoy hurting her?”

“Yes. No.” He shook his head. “Damn, I don’t know.”

“What’s the matter with you? That woman in there”—she pointed to the front door—“is in danger. Some unknown person out there somewhere has targeted her as one of his victims. And what do you do? You act like a vindictive ex-lover. You know what that tells me?” When he didn’t respond, she elaborated. “It tells me that you still have some very strong feelings for Lorie, that whether you want to or not, you still care about her.”

“That’s a damn lie! I hate her.” Crap! He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. But Maleah had pushed the wrong buttons. Or maybe she had pushed all the right buttons to force him to admit his true feelings.

“I don’t have to deal directly with you from here on out,” Maleah told him. “When Jack gets back from his honeymoon, assign him to this case. Or go ahead and put one of your other detectives in charge. It’ll be better for everyone involved that way.”

“Good idea. You and Jack should work well together. But as the sheriff, I need to stay involved if one of our citizens is being threatened by a serial killer.”

“Fine by me as long as you can keep your personal feelings under control. I’ll report to you until Jack comes home.”

“Okay.” Mike stepped off the porch, but paused and glanced back at her. “By the way, how often does a serial killer forewarn his victims?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “But the Powell Agency is sending in a profiler first thing tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll have all the answers.”

“Derek Lawrence?”

“That would be
the
man.”

“Good. I got to know Derek last year when he helped us out on the Fire and Brimstone case. He and Jack got pretty buddy-buddy.”

“Yes, I believe they did.” She barely got the words out through her partially clenched teeth. “God knows why my brother took a liking to such an egotistical SOB.”

“Watch out, Ms. Perdue, now your unprofessional attitude is showing.”

Grinning, Mike walked off and didn’t look back. He got in his car and drove away, doing his best not to examine too closely his feelings for Lorie Hammonds.

Derek Lawrence had worked with Holt Keinan a couple of times in the past few years. He liked and respected the Powell agent who was a former sharpshooter for the Birmingham SWAT unit. Although they had little in common, their backgrounds as different as night and day, they had hit it off the first time they met.

When he saw Holt halfway across the bar at Logan’s Roadhouse, he held up his hand to acknowledge he’d seen Holt motioning to him. At seven-thirty on a Thursday evening, the bar wasn’t terribly crowded. He figured most of the customers were waiting to be seated in the restaurant.

He shook hands with Holt, then took the bar stool beside him.

“What’ll you have?”

Derek eyed the other man’s bottle of Guinness. “Same as you.”

Holt placed the order with the bartender, then turned back to Derek. “Our table should be ready in about ten minutes or less.”

“Sounds good.” The bartender handed Derek his drink. He turned up the bottle and swigged down several large gulps before setting the bottle on the bar. “I interviewed Jared Wilson, the other victim’s brother, this afternoon and the Sevier County sheriff’s office sent me copies of Dean Wilson’s case file. I thought we could go over whatever you’ve got on the Hilary Chambless case after dinner tonight and then compare the two cases. In the morning, I’ll head out for Dunmore, Alabama, where Perdue is working on a case that involves a potential victim.”

Holt grinned. “Perdue? You two still locking horns?”

Derek chuckled. “No doubt she’s told everyone that I actually do have horns and a tail and carry a pitchfork as well as breathe fire and eat live rattlesnakes.”

Holt almost choked on his beer. Instead he spewed it into his hand, then wiped his hand off on a cocktail napkin. “Damn it, man, warn a guy next time, will you? Whatever you did to her, it must have really pissed her off. As long as I’ve known Maleah, I’ve never seen her react to anybody the way she does you.”

“Maybe I remind her of somebody,” Derek said. “To my knowledge, I’ve never done anything to the lady. Perdue stays as far away from me as she possibly can.”

“Hmm…Who knows? She’s a woman and there’s no use trying to figure out how a woman’s mind works. But you know, you might ease the tension between you two a little if you’d start calling her Maleah instead of Perdue.”

“Nope. She’s Perdue to me. And I’m that cocky, know-it-all SOB as far as she’s concerned.”

“Whoa there. Did she actually call you that—to your face?”

Derek took another swig from his bottle. “Not to my face. I happened to overhear her a few months back when she was talking to Nic Powell about me.”

The buzzer Holt had laid on the bar went off, red lights blinking and the black disk vibrating. “That’s us. Our table’s ready.”

An hour later, with steaks, baked potatoes, and half a dozen yeast rolls consumed, Derek and Griff compared notes over after-dinner coffee. The loud shit-kicking music and the din of customers provided audio camouflage for their conversation, but they were both careful about mentioning any names in such a public place.

“The murders are too similar to be a mere coincidence,” Derek said. “If we knew for sure the mountain cabin victim had received threatening letters, it would erase any doubts I might have. But the truth of the matter is the bodies being nude and their having been shot several times wouldn’t link them, but the fancy masks being placed on their faces tells a different story.”

“The nudity and the masks are part of the killer’s MO, right?”

Derek grinned. “Went through the training course at Quantico, huh?”

“Yep. When I was with the Birmingham PD.”

“Then you know two murders don’t make a serial killer,” Derek said. “But the fact that the UNSUB has threatened a third person—one connected to the other two victims by past association, if nothing else—indicates this guy has the potential and if he isn’t stopped, he’ll go on killing.”

“Seems he definitely has a hard-on for former porno stars. No pun intended.” Holt grinned.

“Yeah, seems so. But my gut tells me that there’s more to it than that.”

“Like what?”

“Not sure yet.”

“This Hammonds woman in Dunmore—seems she’s Maleah’s new sister-in-law’s best friend, so the case is going to get personal, at least for Maleah.”

Derek nodded. “If I were Sanders, I’d take Maleah off the case and assign an impartial agent. But I’m an easygoing kind of guy and not prone to rocking the boat by questioning the captain’s orders.”

“I know Sanders,” Holt said. “If Maleah can’t do her job, he’ll replace her.”

“Any chance you could persuade him to do that before I arrive in Dunmore tomorrow? It would save me a hell of a lot of trouble if I didn’t have to deal with her.”

Holt chuckled. “Something tells me that if there’s a man alive who can handle Maleah Perdue, it just might be you.”

Mike kissed Hannah’s forehead, said good night, and closed her bedroom door. He moved to the next room, peeked in, and grinned when he saw that M.J. was already asleep, his long-legged little body sprawled across the rumpled covers. He tiptoed across the floor, lifted M.J. just enough to grab the covers with one hand, and pulled them up and over his son.

As he headed toward his small home office, an eight-by-eight space that had once been a walk-in-pantry, he thought about what a lucky man he was to have two great kids, a loving and helpful mother, and a job he truly liked. If Molly were still alive, his life would be damn near perfect.

Even after four years, he still missed her as if she’d left them only a few months ago. His sweet Molly. She had been everything a man could ask for in a wife. They’d had a good life. They’d been happy.

He knew that when Lorie Hammonds had come back to town, Molly had worried about how he would react, but she had never brought up the subject. At least not to him. He might never have known about her insecurities where Lorie was concerned if his mother hadn’t come to him.

“You need to make it perfectly clear to your wife that Lorie Hammonds is your past and that she and the kids are your present and future,” his mother had told him.