Silent Killer (10 page)

“Merciful Lord, do you honestly believe that’s possible? Is that what has you so upset, why you had another one of those nightmares?”

“Tell me that I’m wrong.” Her nails bit into his biceps. “Tell me I have no cause to worry.”

He pulled loose of her tenacious grip, held her hands between them and said, “You’re wrong. You have no reason to worry. I’m safe. You’re safe. Your father’s death nearly twenty years ago has nothing to do with what happened to Mark or the others.”

I am right, aren’t I, dear Lord? Please, let me be right.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door,” Cathy said when Jack offered to help her out of the car, but she took his hand all the same.

If two weeks ago someone had told her that she would have dinner with Jackson Perdue at the Catfish Shack, she wouldn’t have believed it possible. But not only had she shared dinner with Jack, she had laughed with him and danced with him. And he had helped her hold back the memories that threatened her hard-won sanity, memories of the day Mark had died.

Jack had been true to his word. He had given her what she had told him she wanted—not to think about what had happened today or a year ago or eighteen months ago. She had desperately needed to forget about all of it, just for a little while.

They walked up the sidewalk, hand in hand, and then, halfway to Lorie’s porch, Jack stopped, looked up at the night sky and said, “It’s a beautiful night.”

Cathy gazed up into the star-studded sky and remembered a long-ago time when they had lain on a blanket in the park and gazed up at a night sky equally as beautiful. Was he remembering that night, too?

He slipped his arm around her waist but didn’t pull her against him. “I’d like to kiss you good-night, but you’ve already laid down the law about that. So how about a kiss on the cheek?”

“I think that after your playing my knight in shining armor and running away with me, you deserve a kiss on the cheek.” She lifted her hand and caressed the side of his face.

He tensed instantly and grabbed her hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He held her hand against his cheek, then eased it down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. Her fingertips encountered a rough patch of flesh at the base of his neck.

“Feel it? The doctors did a good job on my face, but my shoulder and arm and part of my chest aren’t so pretty.”

“Then you were badly wounded, weren’t you? Is that why you left the army?”

“I’m not the man I used to be. I wanted you to know, up front, that I’ve got battle scars on my body and, according to the psychiatrist, on my soul, too.”

“I’ve got my own battle scars,” she told him. “They’re invisible because they’re on my heart and my soul, so I truly understand.”

“We’re just a couple of wounded warriors, aren’t we, honey?” He lifted her hand away from his face and brought her open palm to his mouth.

When he kissed the center of her palm, she drew in a deep breath. “I—I’m not a warrior.”

“Yes, you are.” He released her hand. “You waged war in your own mind. You fought your demons and won.”

“For the most part,” she said. “Sometimes I still have to fight them. Like today. You helped me more than you can ever know. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “I know quite a bit about fighting demons. I have a few of my own. So anytime I can help you…”

Cathy stood on tiptoe and, without touching him, kissed Jack on the mouth. She had acted purely on instinct. When he kissed her back, she withdrew quickly and said, “I think it’s time for me to say good-night.”

Neither of them said anything else. He walked alongside her up the stone pathway and onto the porch. Just as they neared the front door, a dark silhouette rose up out of the porch swing.

“Where have you been?” Seth demanded as he emerged from the shadows. “And who is he?”

“Seth?” Cathy gasped his name. “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you,” he told her, but his gaze surveyed Jack from head to toe.

Jack held out his hand. “I’m Jackson Perdue. I’m the new deputy Sheriff Birkett hired.”

So this was Cathy’s son. She was right—he looked like her. Same glossy brown hair, same full mouth, same oval face. He was a handsome boy, tall and lanky.

Seth stared at Jack’s hand, then grabbed it firmly. They exchanged a man-to-man handshake.

“I’m Seth Cantrell. I’m her son.” He inclined his head in a quick nod toward his mother, then turned to Cathy. “Are you okay? Did something happen?” He looked at Jack. “Why is my mom with you? Is she in some sort of trouble or…?”

“Seth!” Cathy’s tone implied a mixture of censure and surprise.

Jack tried not to grin. He respected Seth’s protective attitude toward his mother. It was obvious that the boy loved her.

“It’s okay, son. Your mom’s not in any trouble,” Jack explained. “Your mother and I are old friends. We knew each other when she was a teenager. I took her out for dinner this evening.”

“You took her out for dinner?” Seth turned to Cathy. “Granddad said you were all right, but I worried all the same. I called Lorie, and she said you were out with a friend, but I had no idea you’d go out on a date. Not after what happened today.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Cathy said. “Not exactly.”

“You kissed him,” Seth said. “I saw you.”

“We weren’t on a date. Tonight was about a couple of old friends getting reacquainted,” Jack told him. “Your mother was upset and needed a distraction. She kissed me to thank me. That’s all there is to it.”

Cathy placed her hand on her son’s arm, which gained his full attention. “Do your grandparents know where you are?”

“No, ma’am. I slipped out after they went to bed.” He lowered his head. “I didn’t think Granddad would approve, but I had to make sure you were okay.”

“Why don’t you come inside, and we’ll talk,” Cathy said, then looked at Jack. “Thanks again for tonight.”

“You’re welcome. Any time.”

He guessed that was his cue to leave. Cathy needed time alone with her son, and he needed some fresh air to clear his head

As soon as Jack said good-night and headed for his car, Cathy rang the doorbell. Lorie, in her satin pajamas, opened the door, glanced from mother to son, then stepped back and waited for them to come inside.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Lorie looked outside to where Jack stood beside his car. He threw up his hand and waved before opening the door and sliding in behind the wheel.

After they entered the house, Cathy closed the front door behind her. “Jack was just dropping me off, and we found Seth sitting in the swing waiting for me.”

“Oh, I see. So Jack and Seth met, huh?”

“I think I just said that, didn’t I?”

“Who is that guy to you?” Seth asked. “I know he said you two were old friends, but I never heard of him. And why would you go out to dinner with him?”

Lorie’s eyes widened in an uh-oh gesture. “I think I’ll head for bed and give you two some privacy. Cathy, if you want to talk later, I probably won’t be asleep.”

Cathy nodded, and as soon as Lorie left her alone with Seth, she said, “Why don’t we sit down?”

“Answer my questions, will you?” Seth paced around the living room. “I thought after you heard about their finding that priest’s body today, you’d be all torn up because you’d be remembering the day Dad died and thinking about him and…But instead you went out on a date with a guy you knew when you were a teenager. I don’t understand.”

“Are you saying that you’re disappointed I didn’t fall apart?”

He glared directly at her face. “No, of course not. It’s just I don’t understand why you’d pick tonight of all times to go out on your first date since Dad died. It somehow seems disrespectful to Dad’s memory.”

Cathy heaved a heavy sigh. Her son’s words mimicked J.B. Cantrell’s sentiments. She didn’t like that. All the more reason to regain custody as soon as possible.

She approached Seth, who stood in the middle of the room, his gaze never leaving her face.

“I told you that dinner with Jack wasn’t exactly a date. Not the way you mean. It was just what he said. I needed a distraction, something—anything—to keep me from thinking about the day Mark died, from remembering how I’d nearly lost my mind in the weeks following his funeral and how I had a complete breakdown when Reverend Randolph was murdered.

“Jack and I were friends a long time ago. He moved away from Dunmore, and I haven’t seen him in nearly seventeen years. He’s renovating the house where he grew up, and he’s hired Treasures to act as consultants on the renovating and decorating. I’ll be seeing more of him in the future.”

“Just as friends?” Seth asked.

Good question. Did she think she could really be only friends with Jack?
“That’s all we are right now, just two old friends becoming reacquainted.”

“Are you going to date him again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. If he asks me.”

“I don’t have to like him, you know. And I don’t have to like the idea of your dating him or anybody else for that matter.”

“No, you don’t have to like him.” Cathy laid her hand on Seth’s arm. “But you don’t know Jack, so you have no idea if you’d like him or not. Once you get to know him—”

Seth yanked his arm away. “I may not want to get to know him. Doesn’t it matter to you what I think, how I feel?”

“Yes, it matters to me a great deal. But I thought I taught you better than to judge a person before you actually know them. If I choose to date Jack or someone else, it will be my decision. Not yours or my mother’s and certainly not your grandfather’s.”

“What if I told you that if you date that guy, I won’t ever come and live with you?”

“Is that what you’re saying? Do you think you have the right to make that kind of threat in order to force me to do what you want?” What would she do if she had to choose between her son’s wishes and remaining in control of her own life?

“No, of course not. It’s just…” Seth slumped down on the sofa and dropped his clasped hands between his spread thighs. “I want things back the way they were before Dad died. I want Dad.”

Cathy sat down beside her son and put her arm around his shoulders. “I know you do. And if I could give you that, I would.” She reached out and shoved back soft strands of hair from his forehead.

Seth turned around and went into her arms the way he had often done as a small boy. She held him close as he cried silently.

Bruce Kelley watched his wife of forty years as she prepared for bed. There was something comforting and reassuring in life’s little daily routines. Morning coffee while glancing over the newspaper. Lunch at twelve-thirty every weekday. Sunday dinner with their children and grandchildren. And Sandie’s nightly ritual. She always put on her gown and house slippers before smearing makeup remover from forehead to chin and then washing her face. After that, she sat at her small dressing table in the corner of their bedroom and brushed her hair. Her once strawberry-blond hair was now streaked with silver, but it was still long and silky, and he enjoyed the feel of it beneath his fingertips.

He walked over and stood behind her. She tilted her head back, glanced up at him and smiled. Her lovely smile had been the first thing that had attracted him to her when they’d first met forty-two years ago. They had both been students at the University of Alabama.

Today had been one of Sandie’s good days. Thankfully, she had more good days than bad, but Bruce knew that it was only a matter of time before that changed. She had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s three years ago, and the insidious disease had finally begun to alter her personality. Only recently their children, Kim, Kira and Kevin, had spoken to him about hiring a companion for their mother.

“You don’t want to wait until she wanders off one day and we have to call the police,” Kevin had said. He was their youngest and had just graduated from law school.

“Kira and I will find someone for you,” said Kim, their eldest, who taught mentally challenged children and adults and was the mother of three precious little girls.

“Even if you retire next year as you’re planning to do, you can’t look after Mama twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week,” said Kira, the middle child, with her mother’s beauty and tender heart, the artist who had chosen not to marry, as she had taken his hand in hers. “We’re as concerned about you, Daddy, as we are about Mama.”

He had resisted hiring a companion for Sandie, knowing that their comfortable, reassuring life would change forever when they brought another person into their home full time.

But their life had already changed. On the days when he had to be in his office at the church or when there were matters he couldn’t turn over to his young assistant minister, Bruce had to rely on ladies from the church to come and sit with Sandie while he was gone. He hated to impose on others, but his congregation had rallied around him in his time of need.

Bruce leaned down and kissed Sandie’s forehead. She sighed, then rose from the vanity bench and walked over to the bed. After she got in, he pulled the covers up above her waist and reached to turn off the bedside lamp. She grabbed his hand.

“I love you,” she told him.

“I love you, too, my darling.” Tears misted his eyes.

Their golden years were not supposed to be like this. They had planned to travel when he retired. Tour the country by train. Take an Alaskan cruise. Visit all the capitals of Europe.

“I’m going to stay up and read for a while,” he told her. “I’ll be in my study if you need me.”

She smiled, then closed her eyes and turned over on her side. He switched off the light and left her to rest.

As soon as he entered his study, he walked over to his desk and picked up the phone. He dialed Kim’s number and waited.

“Daddy?”

He could hear the panic in her voice. “Everything is all right, sweetheart. I—I wanted to ask you to go ahead and look into finding a companion for your mother.”

“Did she have a bad day today?”

“No. Today was a good day.”

“Oh, Daddy…”

“Find someone kind and caring, someone your mother would like.”

“I’ve already found somebody,” Kim told him. “I’ve just been waiting for you to say the word.”

“Who is she?”

“Mirabelle Rutledge. She’s one of my students.”

“You want to send me a young woman who is retarded to look after your mother?”

“Mirabelle is simply a little slow, Daddy. And you know how I hate the word
retarded.”

“I’m sorry I’m not being politically correct. In my day, calling someone who was retarded retarded wasn’t an insult.”

“I know, but times have changed. And words can and do hurt.”

“Tell me something—how can she take care of your mother if she can’t take care of herself?”

“She can take care of herself,” Kim assured him. “She’s perfectly capable of cooking and cleaning, and she can read and write. Besides that, she’s young and strong and…and she needs a home. She needs you and Mother as badly as y’all need her.”

Bruce sighed. “Then why don’t you bring Mirabelle to dinner this coming Sunday, and we’ll see how she and your mother interact.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you. This will be good for Mother and for Mirabelle. Just you wait and see.”

Felicity hated sharing a room with her older sister. Charity was such a neat freak. She loved pastel colors and ribbons and lace and disliked everything Felicity liked, especially her music and her clothes. Charity was such a goody-goody, Mama and Daddy’s perfect darling. If Grandma didn’t live with them, she could have her own room. But her mom’s mom had lived with them as long as she could remember. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Grandma. She did. Even if the old lady disapproved of everything about her, from her dyed hair to her violet contacts and dagger tattoos.

“Are you going to stay up all night?” Charity, who was curled up in her twin bed, looked over at Felicity, a frown wrinkling her forehead.

Felicity, still wearing her black jeans and dark purple T-shirt, eased the earphones connected to her iPod down to hang around her neck. “I can’t sleep. I’m worried.”

“What are you worried about? Afraid Seth Cantrell likes Missy better than he does you?”

“What a hateful thing to say. Besides, Seth can like whoever he wants to like. It’s not as if I own him or anything.” Felicity glowered at her sister. “And for your information, I’m worried about Daddy.”

“Why would you be worried about Daddy?”

“Because of what happened today. You know, they found that priest’s body in the park, and he was burned alive just like Seth’s father was.”

“What has that got to do with Daddy?”

“Somebody has murdered three preachers—well, two preachers and a priest. Daddy’s a preacher. What if that person tries to kill Daddy?”

“Nobody is going to hurt Daddy. He’s a good man. There’s no reason why anyone would want to harm him.”

“Everybody thought Seth’s father was a good man.” Felicity laid a pillow against the headboard and sat up straight. “And I’m sure everybody believes that those other two men were good, too.”

“Maybe they weren’t as good as everyone thought they were,” Charity said. “You never know about people.”

“Do you think whoever murdered them did it because he thought they had done something wrong?”

Charity groaned. “How should I know? I just said that to get you to shut up and go to sleep. I have to get up at six in the morning. I start my summer job tomorrow.”

“It would make more sense, wouldn’t it, if they’d all done something terrible, something that made the killer think they deserved being punished.”

“Oh, shut up, will you, and go to sleep. You’re talking nonsense anyway.”

Felicity stuck out her tongue at her sister.

Charity just rolled her eyes and shook her head, then reached out, turned off her bedside lamp and closed her eyes.

Sometimes Felicity wondered how she and Charity could be sisters. They were so different. But when she’d mentioned this to her father, he’d smiled indulgently and told her that Charity took after Mama and that she took after him.