Serial Love: Saints Protection & Investigation (5 page)

Mr. Taylor was always so friendly and once he found out Bethany had been in advertising, he would corner her and talk business. The company he worked for was based out of Richland as well. His wife did not seem to like talking shop, so Bethany and Mr. Taylor would chat when they would visit.

A truck with a couple of men who had been out fishing for the day drove in, stopping in front of the women as Bethany waved them over.

“Have any luck?” she called out.

“Some,” one of them replied with a smile. “Went to Lake Abrell toward the end of the day and had better luck there.”

“Good. Just remember gentlemen, we have a strict nine p.m. quiet time.”

Nodding, the passenger grinned. “Yes, ma’am. You’ll have no trouble from us.”

Giving them a goodbye wave, she watched as their truck continued over the gravel road toward their cabin. The sun had made its final decent and the fireflies were out in number. Offering Gram a hand, she assisted the woman from her chair and ushered her inside.

It did not take long to settle her grandmother into her bed for the night, making sure she had everything she needed. Downstairs, she locked all of the doors after checking the security lights. She went through the motions automatically, her thoughts on the handsome neighbor. Gruff, yet gentle. Powerful, yet held her safely.

Who is he and what does he do?
she wondered.
Who guards their land with armed men ready to strike?
Shaking her head, trying to erase the path her mind was taking, she forced herself to think about work. Sitting at the desk, she ran through the website checking for updated reservations.

Horace Malinski.
Oh, he’s coming back. Of course, it’s been about two months.
Mr. Malinski had been staying at Mountville for almost four years. He would stay for a week, always keeping to himself. Painfully shy.
Or kind of creepy
, Bethany had to admit. He would hole up in the cabin, rarely coming out. But he was quiet. Paid in full when making the reservation. And when he drove away, she knew his cabin would be scrubbed clean. In fact Sally, the cabins’ housekeeper, would come away saying that his cabin was cleaner than she could have ever made it.

Continuing to check the reservations, she grimaced. Eight men sharing two cabins next month.
Great. Just great. A bachelor party.
Knowing how loud a group of drunk men could become, she clicked
confirmed
while planning on making them pay a security deposit as well as signing the lease agreement early.

Taking care of the reservations, she moved to the open lodge room. Sally had tidied the room before leaving and there was little for Bethany to do. She walked to the bookcase, filled with paperbacks that residents would read and leave, often adding to the pile with ones they brought from their homes. Finding a romance she had not seen before, she took the book upstairs as she headed to bed.

Once settled, she opened the book and was pleased to discover that it was good. Reading until her eyes began to close, she tossed it on her nightstand and turned off the lamp. As she drifted off to sleep, her dreams were filled with the handsome hero coming to rescue her. Unlike the Viking image on the cover of the book, her dream man was tall, broad, with dark brown hair and a beard. And she could feel his hard, strong body pressed against hers.

*

Jack sat at
his table, his laptop open in front of him.
Nothing. Nothing but the basic information.
He did not know what he hoped to find, but Bethany Bridwell was still a mystery. His searches came up with a few campus articles printed by her when she worked on the university newspaper. She had a Facebook page that had been posted to rarely since leaving college. Other than a few likes on some friend’s pictures, there was no activity.

He flipped through some of her last posted photos and saw a few of her with Ann and her grandfather from about five years earlier. Her tan face was beaming as she stood between them, arms around each one.

She had a business degree with a minor in marketing. Having been hired by an advertising company once she graduated, she quit her decent paying job six months ago to move in with her grandmother to help run Mountville.
Did she want to? Did she come willingly? Can she handle that on her own?

He dug into her finances, knowing she had taken a serious cut in pay when coming to Mountville. It appeared she had been frugal, having built up a bit in savings but that would quickly be gone if she put her money back into the business.
And from the looks of a few of the buildings, they seemed fine but some upgrading would be needed soon.

Giving himself a mental shake, Jack forced his thoughts back to the activity at hand. Her motives do not matter. All that matters is how she and her grandmother are as neighbors.
Can’t have snooping on my property.

But as soon as the dismissive thoughts flew through his mind, he was forced to admit she intrigued him. The women he dated, if an occasional dinner and fuck afterward could be called dating, had been educated and in careers that offered them stability and financial success. While there had not been many, he could not think of one that would give it all up to take care of an elderly relative and certainly not for the difficult labor of running a wooded cabin rental facility. In fact, the last date had ended after dinner, as the woman’s conversation became a list of the financial attributes she expected in a man and then devolved into her diatribe against men unwilling to commit.
No thank you, ma’am!

Bethany’s parents, Ed and Susan Bridwell, were professors at a small university in Arizona, but it appeared they kept up with their daughter and Ann.
So they offer emotional support, but not able to assist with the daily needs that Bethany has taken on.

After a few more detailed, yet unproductive, searches, he closed his laptop. Checking the security of his property, he headed to bed. Taking a shower, he could not get the thoughts of her off of his mind. The way his body responded to being held against hers. The protective stance she assumed when guarding Ann. The fierce glare in her eyes that could change to one of affection when aimed at her grandmother.
What would it be like to have those eyes turned to me? To harness that courage and passion.

His dick jumped to life at the thought of having her under him, and he knew his control was not going to make it better. Grasping his cock in his hand, he jerked off under the shower to the idea of making love to Bethany.
Making love? Nope, just fucking for me. No time for anything else!

But as he came hard, the hot cum shooting out against the tiled wall, he could not help but know that anything with the beautiful Ms. Bridwell would never be just a fuck.

W
alking across the
Montwood College campus, Jack felt ill at ease. Blaise at his side appeared to be embarrassed by the attention he garnered. Giggles and winks followed them, as the girls strolling by looked at the tall, muscular blond.

Jack, glancing at his investigative partner, noticed that while Blaise smiled back, he was not encouraging the behavior.

“Fuck, it’s like being back in time,” Blaise said. “Hell, I almost failed out of my first year of college due to spending more time with pussy than I did studying.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Jack commented sardonically, “That’s a shocker.”

Chuckling, Blaise continued, “Hey, I got my shit together. Started hitting the books instead of the bars and once in Vet school I had no choice but to spend all my time studying.” Looking around at the young girls, he added, “Jesus, they look young. Were we ever that young?”

“About a thousand years ago,” Jack replied, knowing Blaise’s years being sent to shit-hole areas of the world as he worked against bioterrorism had hardened him.

Coming to the campus center, they saw two girls standing outside watching them warily. Jack, aware of his and Blaise’s size, stopped several feet away. “Sybil? Alice?”

The two girls nodded and he introduced him and Blaise.

“We know you have been interviewed by the police but thank you for agreeing to meet with us. Any information you can give us will help in finding your friend’s killer. Shall we go inside?” he asked, nodding toward the building behind them.

Once settled, he began with the basic questions he knew they had been asked before. Having read their police and FBI report, he knew what they had said and wanted to see what they could add.

After gaining the preliminary information, he asked, “What was she wearing?” Seeing the girls immediately stiffen, he explained, “I’m not suggesting anything inappropriate on her part. We’re looking into any similarity between the victims and it can be the smallest thing.”

Sybil nodded as she said, “She loved purple. She hated dressing up, but it was her birthday and we were going to a club. So she wore my purple top and a black skirt. She never wore heels, but she borrowed those as well.”

“She looked so pretty,” Alice added.

“What did she normally wear?” Blaise asked, noting the wistful look on the young woman’s face.

“She was always pretty,” Sybil stated defensively, looking at Alice.

“I know. I didn’t mean she wasn’t,” Alice defended. “But she normally wore longer skirts and she always had shirts that didn’t show her boobs.”

“Her parents were kind of strict,” Sybil added.

“Any special religious affiliation?”

The two girls pondered the question for a moment before Alice answered. “No, not that I can think of.”

“But,” Sybil added, “we were often hungover on Sunday mornings, so I can’t really tell you what she did. She wasn’t a drinker. Well, until the last night.” At that, her eyes teared up and Alice grabbed her hand.

“This was our fault, wasn’t it?” Sybil whispered, looking into the hard faces of the two men sitting in front of her. “We took her out. We took her to a bar. We left her alone.”

“Girls,” Jack’s voice softened. “The fault lies with the person who took her life. That’s where the blame lies. Squarely on their shoulders…not yours.”

“Tell us more about the man that was buying her drinks,” Blaise prodded, following Jack’s lead of having them focus on the killer.

Sucking in a huge breath, Alice said, “He was blond.” Looking up at Blaise’s hair, she added, “Not as blond as you. Kind of a sandy blond color.”

“And he had a mustache,” Sybil added.

“Did the hair and mustache seem the same? Were there any inconsistencies?”

Perplexed, both girls just stared, so Blaise continued. “Did the color look the same? Did the hair color match his face or did it appear dyed? Were the roots the same color as the rest of the hair? Was there white or gray mixed into the blond? Did he have wrinkles that seemed out of place with the blond hair?”

Sybil’s face scrunched expressively as she thought about her answer. Alice’s eyes glanced to the side in reflection. She was the first to speak.

“I admit that by the end, we were fairly drunk, but when he first came over…”

“Yes, go on,” prodded Jack.

“There was no gray nor the different colors you usually see in hair.”

“Different colors?”

Alice reached over to Sybil’s light brown hair and held a handful out to the men. “See. Look closely. There’s brown, a little red, and even some blonde.” The men eyed the strands with interest. “Most natural hair is like that,” she added. At the men’s silent question, she explained, “My mom’s a hair stylist. I grew up knowing about hair and coloring.”

Offering an appreciative glance, Blaise nodded for her to continue. “His hair was just all the same from root to tip. His mustache was exactly the same as well. I assume that it was freshly dyed.”

“Could he have been wearing a wig?”

Slowly Alice nodded. “Yeah. Now that I think back, it could have been. I just didn’t think of it at the time.”

“He was older,” Sybil added. The men’s attention jerked over to her as she continued. “When he laughed, he had little crinkles at his eyes.”

Alice looked at her friend. “Everyone’s eyes crinkle when they laugh. See?” she said while smiling large, showing the lines around her eyes.

“Yes, but when you’re young, they come right out when you stop smiling,” Sybil noted as she pointed to Alice’s face, no longer smiling. Gazing back at the men in front of her, she said, “When he was leaning over Tonya one time, I noticed the wrinkles around his eyes did not go away.”

Both girls appeared perplexed and Sybil said, “Why didn’t we think of these things right away? Why are we just noticing them now?”

Jack answered smoothly, “Most witnesses are upset, traumatized. The mind can blank out little details that later are able to be brought to the surface.”

After continuing their questions for a while longer, they stood, thanking the girls for their cooperation. Jack handed them a business card, saying, “If you think of anything else, here is the email where you can reach me.”

Alice took the card from his proffered hand, glancing down at the simplistic design. A saint’s symbol, along with an email address, were the only items on the card.