by Kay Hooper
“And afterward? When the killer is caught? What then, Cassie?”
“I don’t know.” There was something painfully honest in the apprehension in her gaze. “I don’t know how you’ll feel. How I’ll feel. I don’t even know if either of us will have the energy left to give a damn.”
“This is not going to just go away, if that’s what you think. Is that what you think? That I want you because we’re both involved in this investigation, that it’s propinquity?”
“Stranger things have happened,” she murmured.
Ben shook his head. “You’re wrong. For one thing, I’m not in the habit of coming on to the nearest available woman. Cassie, why are you looking for excuses?”
“Excuses?”
“That’s what it sounds like to me. One reason after another to hold me at arm’s length until—what? Until I lose patience and give up?”
Cassie was spared having to answer when the phone rang.
“Dammit,” Ben muttered, as Cassie answered the phone.
“I think the mayor wants to talk to you,” Cassie said, and both of them heard the relief in her voice.
Hannah Payne hummed softly to herself as she pinned the pattern to material spread out on the living room floor. She should have been in her sewing room, of course, the extra bedroom that Joe had fixed up for her. But he was napping in their bedroom right next door, since he had to go in to work that night, and she didn’t want to disturb him.
From time to time she felt a little chill of worry over that missing girl, but Joe had been right when he’d told her she would just upset herself if she listened to the radio all day waiting to hear about the poor thing.
There was nothing she could do to help, after all.
Snug in her own safe little world, Hannah worked contentedly, disturbed only when the phone rang just after two o’clock. She lunged to grab the receiver before it could ring again and wake Joe.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
Soft music began to play.
Hannah began to be afraid, even though she couldn’t have said why. It was a music box, she realized; nothing else had quite the same tinkling sound. Just a music box, and someone was obviously playing a joke on her.
“Hello? Who’s there?” She didn’t recognize the tune—
“Bitch.”
With a gasp Hannah hung up the phone. She sat there on the floor, feeling very, very cold. Just a joke, of course. Somebody was being bad, being mean, that was all it was. That was all.
Joe wasn’t going to like it when she asked him to stay home from work another night.
It was three o’clock that afternoon when Abby pulled her car to the curb in front of the Sheriff’s Department, left Bryce inside, and came up the walkway to the steps.
Cassie was sitting on the fourth one.
“Hi,” Abby said.
Cassie echoed the greeting, then added, “Matt isn’t back yet.”
“He’s still out there with—with the Ramsay girl?”
“Where she was killed, yeah. They sent her body back to town about an hour ago, but the crime scene unit is still out there collecting evidence. Or what they hope will be evidence.”
“That FBI agent still around?”
Cassie wasn’t surprised that the other woman knew. “Out there with Matt and the rest.”
“Word has it he’s from one of those serial killer task forces the FBI sends around the country.”
“He isn’t. Though I believe he spent some time in Behavioral Sciences at Quantico.”
Abby eyed her. “Then why is he here? Nobody believes Matt called the Bureau, least of all me.”
“He didn’t.” Cassie smiled and briefly explained her history with the agent, finishing with, “He’ll stick around, watching and listening and offering unsolicited advice. Probably drive Matt nuts—even though he really is pretty good at figuring out murders. But I guess you could say he’s here for me if for anything.”
“I see. And what does Ben say about that?”
“Not much so far.” Cassie jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “The mayor and three members of the town council are in there talking to him right now. I was just in the way, and the focus of intense curiosity, so I came out here for some fresh air.”
Abby sat on the step beside her. “Has Ben kept you hanging around here all day?”
“Well, I’ve suggested taking a cab home, and one of the deputies offered to drive me, but Ben needed to stay here until Matt gets back and he asked me to stick around.” She shrugged. “Maybe I can help.”
“And maybe he just wants you with him.”
Cassie turned her gaze out toward Main Street, absently focusing on a woman a couple of blocks down who seemed to be picking up litter from the sidewalk. “I don’t know why he would. We either spend our time discussing the finer points of lunatic killers and their methods or else end up in a—a senseless debate neither of us can seem to win. One of us pushes, and one of us backs away. It’s like some frustrating dance.”
“One of those, huh? I’ve been there.”
“He’s a very stubborn man. Not as stubborn as your Matt, maybe, but—”
“Nobody is as stubborn as Matt.” There was a touch of amusement in Abby’s voice. “As for Ben, the word I’d use to describe him would probably be ‘determined.’ ”
Cassie sent her a glance. “Yeah?”
“Definitely. As far as I can tell, nothing much has ever stood in his way when he wanted something.”
“I suppose that goes for women too?”
Abby pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I imagine so, though to be fair, he hasn’t exactly cut a heartless swath through the county. He’s usually had a girlfriend but seems to prefer them one at a time—and they seem to stay friendly with him once it’s over.”
“Figures.” Cassie sounded disgruntled.
Abby hid a grin. “Well, he’s a nice guy.”
“I know. I know he is.” Cassie sighed and watched her breath turn to drifting mist. It had warmed up during the afternoon and the skies had cleared somewhat, so sitting on the front steps of the Sheriff’s Department was actually rather pleasant, but it was still a winter day and there was still a chill in the air.
“And not at all bad looking,” Abby went on, warming to her theme. “Of course, some women don’t care for dark men, and I suppose it could be argued that since he’s still single at—let’s see, he’s Matt’s age, so he must be about thirty-six or -seven—then he probably has a few intimacy issues lying about. But maybe I’ve seen too many talk shows.”
Cassie smiled, continuing to watch the woman moving slowly toward them along the sidewalk, bending from time to time to pick up something from the pavement. “Intimacy issues, huh? Yeah, well, he isn’t the only one.”
“You can tell me it’s none of my business if you like, but which one of you is backing away?”
“Me, at the moment.”
“Ah. You don’t like dark men?”
Cassie kept it light. “It’s lawyers. I mean, I know he’s been a judge, and now he’s a prosecutor, but all those lawyer jokes just get to you after a while.”
“And he’s a politician too,” Abby noted sympathetically.
“Worse and worse.”
“I suppose you could try reforming him.”
“Oh, no. Any woman who tries to reform a man deserves everything she gets.”
Abby laughed.
Cassie smiled, then said, “Abby, who is that woman? The one coming toward us?”
Abby looked. “Oh. That’s Lucy Shaw, poor thing.”
“What is she picking up? I thought it was litter, but—”
“Nobody knows what she thinks she’s picking up. Whenever she manages to escape her son’s watchful eye, she ends up roaming the streets picking up invisible things until he comes looking for her.”
Remembering, Cassie said, “Oh, yes, Ben told me about her. And nobody knows what did this to her?
”
“Not that I’ve ever heard. I just assumed it was Alzheimer’s, even though she couldn’t have been much past forty when I first noticed her roaming the streets.”
“She looks about seventy now,” Cassie murmured.
“I know, but she’s younger. When she was a young woman, she was famous for her needlework. Apparently she still does some in lucid moments, because her son usually sells a few pieces at the church bazaar every year.” Abby paused, then added, “I should go call him now. She never seems to wander into traffic or get hurt in any way, but she isn’t dressed warmly enough to be out here.”
Lucy Shaw was wearing faded jeans neatly rolled up above her ankles and a cotton cardigan over a T-shirt. Untied and ancient Reeboks flapped on her sockless feet. Her mostly gray hair was untidy but not witchy, and she was almost painfully thin.
She turned up the walkway that led to the Sheriff’s Department. She had been moving steadily and straight down the street, but now she moved much quicker, bending only once to pick up whatever her mind told her was so important. She held one hand cupped close to her body, as though holding small items, and her other hand curved around it protectively. She stopped near the foot of the steps, straightened, and stared at them with vacant eyes.
Gently Abby said, “Miss Lucy, you shouldn’t be out on such a cold day.”
Those faded blue eyes sharpened, stared at her for a moment, then shifted to Cassie. “They’re all over.” Her voice was paper-thin and whispery. “Scattered all over. I have to pick them up.”
“Of course you do,” Cassie said quietly.
“You understand?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“It wasn’t my fault. I swear, it wasn’t my fault.”
“No one blames you,” Abby soothed.
“You don’t know.” The faded eyes returned to Cassie’s face. “But you do. You know the truth, don’t you? You can see the face he hides from everybody else. His true face.”
Cassie and Abby exchanged glances, and then Cassie said, “The face who hides, Miss Lucy? Who are you talking about?”
“Him.” She leaned toward them and whispered fearfully, “He’s the devil.”
“Miss Lucy—” Abby began.
Lucy Shaw reached out suddenly, one hand gripping Cassie’s knee with unexpected strength. “Stop him,” she hissed. “You have to.”
Cassie caught her breath and stared into the old woman’s eyes.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, Lucy Shaw’s moment of lucidity was over. Her eyes seemed to film over, and her hand fell away from Cassie. She stepped back, her hands cupped protectively once again near her middle, and said fretfully, “I have to pick them up. All of them. I have to….”
Quick footsteps thudded up the walkway, and a thin man of about forty-five who bore an unmistakable resemblance to Lucy Shaw caught her arm. “Mama. Come along home, Mama.”
“I have to pick them up,” Lucy told him anxiously.
“Yes. We’ll pick them up at home, Mama.”
Abby said, “I was about to call you, Russell.”
“She didn’t mean to bother you.” His voice was a bit rough, his tone defensive.
“We know that, Russell, we were just worried about her.”
“Thanks,” he said, but he was scowling. His eyes shifted away from Cassie and his grip tightened on his mother’s arm. “Come along now,” he said gently enough.
“They’re scattered all over,” she murmured sadly.
“Yes, Mama. I know.”
The two reached the end of the walkway and turned back the way Lucy had come. When they reached the corner, they turned and vanished.
“Where do they live?” Cassie asked.
“Two streets back from Main. Close enough.” Abby looked at Cassie curiously. “You went white when she touched you. Did you—could you see anything?”
Cassie didn’t reply for a moment, and when she did her voice was abstracted. “Have you ever tried to see something in the face of a shattered mirror?”
“Is that what a broken mind looks like to you? A shattered mirror?”
“Hers does.”
“Did you see anything in it?”
“No, nothing clearly enough to identify. Except—” Cassie looked at Abby, frowning. “Except kittens.”
“Kittens?”
“Yeah. Kittens.”
Abby had intended to tell Matt about the phone call she had received, but she was reluctant to hang around the Sheriff’s Department, waiting for him. When he still hadn’t returned by four o’clock, when the clouds began rolling in and the chill in the air deepened, she decided enough was enough.
“I’ll tell him you were here,” Cassie said, then eyed her in sudden realization. “Why were you here? I mean, considering how careful you two usually are to avoid attention.”
“No reason.”
“Uh-huh. What is it, Abby?”
“I got a call. Just some nut breathing heavily into the phone, that’s all.” And whispering her name. “It was probably just Gary playing games. Look, I don’t want to worry Matt. I just wanted to see him.”
“I’ll tell him about the call,” Cassie said. “Abby, this is no time to hold back when something spooky happens. Even if it is just your ex tormenting you, Matt needs to know. In the meantime, you keep Bryce with you.”
It was good advice, and Abby took it.
She drove back home, not quite as restless or uneasy as she had been earlier, but not entirely calm either. She wanted to see Matt. And she was reasonably sure she would see him that night; she knew him, and knew he would come as soon as possible after Cassie told him about the call.
Besides which, they hadn’t seen each other since those tense few minutes at the mall the previous day, and Matt seldom let two nights pass without them being together.
He would be upset after the day he’d had, and he would be tired. And hungry. Abby raided her freezer for the ingredients for a stew, and within an hour had it bubbling on the stove.
When the phone rang, she didn’t hesitate to pick it up.
She never got the chance to say hello.
“You bitch!” Gary snarled. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out about him?”
SEVENTEEN
Cassie came downstairs and announced as she entered the living room, “I’ve made up the bed in that other front bedroom.”
Standing by the fireplace, Ben scowled. “You shouldn’t have bothered. I told you the sofa in here would be fine.”
“If you insist on staying here, that’s a perfectly good guest room, and you’ll use it. You can’t have gotten any rest at all on that sofa last night. It isn’t comfortable for sleeping, and it’s inches too short for you.”
Ben considered telling her that since he had been unable to sleep anyway and had gone to check on her an average of once an hour all night, the comfort of the sofa had not been an issue. But she had been distant and distracted since they returned to her house, and he was wary of saying the wrong thing.
Finally he quietly said, “Thank you.”
They had brought Chinese takeout food with them from town when Matt’s return to the station around six had allowed Ben to leave, and he still hadn’t gotten over the fact that Cassie had not argued when he stated his intention of spending the night.
Cassie had merely nodded acceptance. She even went with him to his apartment, looking around curiously while he repacked his overnight bag.
He had no idea what she’d thought or felt about his place; she had made no comment.
Now, with the remains of their meal cleared away and sleet rattling against the dark windowpanes as a long evening stretched ahead of them, he was as uncertain of her mood as he had been all day. The only thing he was reasonably sure of was that she was far away from him.
She curled up in the armchair she seemed to favor, glanced toward Max lying in his accustomed spot and working on the nightly rawhide bone, and said idly to Ben, “I don’t know how you usually spend y
our Saturday nights, but there are lots of books here, and movies on tape. There’s even a stack of jigsaw puzzles in that front closet. All pretty tame, I guess.”
Ben put another log on the fire, then sat down on the sofa a couple of feet away from her and gazed at her steadily. “I’d rather just talk. Unless you’re too tired.”
“Talk about what?”
“You.”
She smiled. “You know all about me. You had your secretary research me, remember?”
“Tell me what she didn’t find out,” he invited, refusing to be discouraged.
“There’s nothing to tell.” Cassie looked back at the fireplace.
Ben tried to keep it casual. “I don’t even know what your major was in college, or how you supported yourself in the years since.”
“Double major, psychology and English lit. I had some income from Mother’s estate, I told you that. It was enough to live on.” She was matter-of-fact, almost indifferent. “To supplement that, I read scripts. Easy work that let me stay home and avoid people.”
“Except when you helped the police.”
“Except then.” A slight frown disturbed her face. “I was never career minded. I just wanted to be left alone.”
“And now?”
“And now I have this.” She gestured at the room around them. “Thanks to Aunt Alex. And she left me lots of books and tapes and craft kits to occupy my time. If I’m very lucky, when this killer is caught there won’t be another murder in these parts for years and years.”
“So you’ll be left in peace.”
“Is that too much to ask?”
“What about a family, Cassie? What about that psychic daughter you could have one day?”
“No. No family. No daughter. Pass this curse on?” Her smile was twisted, more with regret than with conviction, Ben thought. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe she wouldn’t consider it a curse.”
Cassie shrugged. “Maybe. And maybe the world would be different. Maybe people wouldn’t be driven to hurt each other. Maybe a cure would be found for insanity, and there’d be no more monsters cutting up teenagers. And maybe the sun would rise in the west.”
