Obsession

by Patricia Bradley

  Sam knelt and pressed against the side of her neck. Nothing. Gently, he turned Sandra over. No exit wound. He pressed two fingers against the inside of her wrist. His heart jumped. Was that a pulse?

  Someone screamed his name.

  49

  I can’t imagine what’s taking Sandra so long.” Mr. Selby glanced toward the back of the house, then turned back to Emma. “You ever had a feeling you should remember something but you’re not sure what it is?”

  “Absolutely.” Sam had been gone for a few minutes, and the older man had been staring into space. She wondered why he’d fallen silent. Emma glanced around the ranch-style house that looked as though it hadn’t been updated in twenty years, and noticed a potted peace lily blooming in the corner. “What a beautiful plant,” she said. “I have one but I can’t ever get it to bloom.”

  Mr. Selby snapped his fingers. “That’s it! There was this guy who sent flowers to Mary Jo’s funeral.” He swallowed hard. “At least Sandra thought it was a guy—there weren’t no card, but Sandra remembered someone giving her the same kind a couple of weeks before.”

  “Flowers?” It couldn’t be. “What kind?”

  He scratched his head. “Daisies—them fancy kind. You can ask Sandra about them when she gets here.”

  Emma’s breath stilled in her chest. Mary Jo had received daisies? That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Mr. Selby stood. “I’m going to make us a pot of coffee.”

  “Really, I don’t want any coffee,” Emma said. She wanted to know more about the flowers. And where was Sam?

  “Well, I do, and Sandra will want some, and maybe you’ll drink a cup once I get it made,” he said and walked toward the hall.

  “Wait, and I’ll help you.”

  “No, you sit right there. Won’t take me a minute to get it started. Sandra bought me a newfangled coffeepot. All I have to do is push a button and it grinds the coffee and then brews it.”

  Sounds of Mr. Selby opening a cabinet reached Emma as she picked at the Velcro on the brace. “Are you sure I can’t help you?” she called.

  “No, I’m—who are you?” Mr. Selby demanded, his voice loud. “No—”

  Thwock.

  Emma’s breath froze in her chest. She’d heard that sound before. Friday night.

  A crash came from the kitchen, and she jumped up.

  Run!

  Her feet wouldn’t move. She couldn’t leave Mr. Selby. She crept to the hall and listened. Silence. Did the intruder know she was here? If she called 911, he would hear her. But Adams County had recently gotten the text-to-911 capability, and Emma pulled out her phone and quickly shot off an emergency text.

  Intruder. 3544 Lake Road. Shots fired. Possible gsw.

  Footsteps, then a screen door slammed. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. When she didn’t hear another sound, she eased down the hallway.

  Pausing just outside the kitchen, she cocked her head, listening. The jackhammering of her heart overrode any other sound until a low groan raked her ears and she became aware of sirens approaching. How could they have gotten here so fast?

  “Help . . . please . . .” His voice sounded so weak.

  Mr. Selby. She scrambled around the corner and screamed for Sam.

  The older man lay face up on the floor. Emma’s head buzzed at the sight of blood staining the front of his shirt. She pressed her lips together and knelt beside his body. So much blood. She needed to staunch it. Emma frantically scanned the room.

  A towel hung from a hook by the door. She grabbed it and pressed it against his chest. Blood quickly saturated it, staining her hands. The room swirled. She could not pass out.

  “Police! Put your hands in the air!”

  “He’ll bleed out if I do!”

  Nate Rawlings pushed into the kitchen. “Emma? What happened?”

  “How’d you get here so fast?”

  “This case has been bugging me, and I was on my way to talk to George Selby when the call came in. Where’s Sam?”

  “He went to check on Mr. Selby’s daughter.” Relief made Emma’s arms like noodles. “Is the ambulance here?” she asked.

  “First responders just got here, but they’re looking for someone outside.”

  “Maybe something happened to the daughter.”

  Nate turned to his deputy. “Give them the okay to enter and see if you can find another victim!” He dropped to his knees beside her. “Man, he looks bad. Let me take over. See if you can find another towel.”

  She stood and jerked open drawers until she found dish towels and grabbed a handful.

  Nate pressed the towels against the man’s chest. Blood quickly soaked through, making her stomach heave. He was going to die. “I should have come to the kitchen with him.”

  “This isn’t your fault, Emma,” Nate said. “And you might have been shot too.”

  Before she could respond, paramedics burst into the room and immediately took over for Nate. He hustled her out of their way. Now that the immediate danger was over, the shakes took over and she hugged her arms to her waist.

  “We can’t do any more here. Let’s find Sam,” the sheriff said.

  She nodded, then followed him out the door. “D-do you th-think he’ll live?”

  “I don’t know. He’s lost a lot of blood,” Nate said, glancing at her. “You don’t look too good. Do you need to sit down?”

  Emma hugged her body tighter and forced air into her lungs. “I’ll be okay. It’s j-just I’ve n-never seen anyone sh-shot before.”

  “What happened?”

  The buzzing in her head had stopped, and she sucked in another deep breath. Her galloping heart slowed, and strength returned to her legs. “I wish I knew,” she said, glancing back at the house. “Sam had gone to see why Mr. Selby’s daughter hadn’t arrived. After he left, Mr. Selby went to make coffee. Someone came into the kitchen and shot him.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No, and they never spoke a word.”

  Nate hugged her. “Are you okay to stay here while I check on the daughter?”

  She did not want to be by herself. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Did you learn anything from Mr. Selby before he was shot?” he asked as they hurried down the path.

  Emma’s mind blanked. “I can’t remember one word of our conversation. Maybe in a few minutes,” she said as they rounded a curve. A second set of paramedics was bent over a woman, and Sam stood to the side.

  “How is she?” she asked when they reached him.

  “Not good,” Sam said. “She had a pulse, but it was weak.”

  “Is that Mary Jo’s sister?” Nate asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Emma turned toward the victim and gasped. “Sandra Selby is Mrs. Wyatt from high school?” she asked, pressing her hand against her chest. What little equilibrium she’d gained vanished. Her legs buckled and she sank into the dead grass along the path, unable to take her eyes off the paramedics as they worked on Mrs. Wyatt. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of her as Sandra.

  “You know her?” Nate asked. He pulled a pair of latex gloves over his hands.

  “Yes, but I didn’t know she was Mary Jo’s sister.”

  “How about you, Sam?”

  “She told me on the phone who she was and that she had taught Ryan at the high school. Before that, I never made the connection between Sandra Selby and Mrs. Wyatt.” Sam didn’t seem to be able to turn from the scene either. “She was bringing Mary Jo’s journal to show me.”

  “Maybe it’s here.” The sheriff picked up a coat the paramedics had removed from Sandra and felt the pockets. When he finished going through it, Nate shook his head. “Nothing in the coat.”

  “Her shooter must have taken it.”

  “Sheriff!” Nate turned as one of his deputies jogged toward them from the Selby house. “There’s been a four-car pileup on 61. Shut the highway down and three casualties so far.”

  Nate winced. “I need to go.�
�

  After the sheriff left, Sam helped Emma up from the ground. As he walked toward the paramedics, she dusted her pants off and glanced around at her surroundings. The path between the two houses looked well used. On one side, trees bordered the path, and on the other was a chain-link fence with a vine covering most of it. She caught her breath. The warmer weather a week ago had fooled the vine into blooming, and yellow jasmine peeked out from the green foliage.

  Flowers!

  “Sam!”

  He whirled around. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mary Jo received daisies, just like I did.”

  He hurried back to her. “What do you mean?”

  “After you left, Mr. Selby remembered that a bouquet of daisies was sent to the funeral home. There wasn’t a card.”

  “Maybe this is the break we need.” He rubbed his jaw. “When I get back to town, I’ll check the florists and then enter what information I have on Mary Jo’s murder into an information sharing system. If there are any similar cases, they’ll pop up.”

  “You think whoever killed Mary Jo killed someone else?”

  “It’s possible. I want to talk to the paramedics, and then we’ll leave.”

  He walked to where the medics were loading Sandra onto a gurney. Emma couldn’t hear their words, but she imagined he was asking her condition.

  How many people would die before they caught this person?

  50

  Adrenaline pumped through his body as he jogged through the woods, dodging low-hanging limbs. His truck was half a mile away, parked at an abandoned old barn he’d found years ago when he spied on Mary Jo. He heard sirens and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one chased him. He was good, but then a thin limb slapped him and anger spewed out of him.

  He hated Sam Ryker. The ranger had forced him to kill. Why couldn’t he leave the investigation like it was? Ryan was dead and that couldn’t be changed, so why not let him take the blame for Mary Jo’s death?

  Ryan was to blame. If it hadn’t been for him, Mary Jo would be with him now.

  No. Mary Jo wasn’t right for you. She never would have made the perfect wife. Not like Emma.

  Emma. He was doing all this for her. So they could be together.

  His truck came into sight, and he slowed to a walk. He had plenty of time to get in and drive away before anyone came looking. Everyone was too busy taking care of the chaos he’d left behind.

  He opened the truck door and tossed the black journal on the passenger seat. Sandra Wyatt had been carrying it, presumably to hand over to Ryker, but the ranger would never see it. Within seconds, he pulled out of the gravel drive and turned toward the highway.

  Once he was miles away from the area, he pulled over and opened the journal. Mary Jo Selby. 2011. Good thing he took it. No telling what Mary Jo had written about him.

  But his and Mary Jo’s secret was safe now.

  51

  It was three thirty when Sam escorted Emma to her apartment and walked through to make sure it was safe.

  “You want a sandwich?” she asked. “I know you’re not hungry, but . . .”

  “That sounds good.” Neither of them had eaten lunch, and hungry or not, they needed to eat.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?” Emma asked as she took meat from the refrigerator.

  “I’d like to stay here, but I need to pick up my computer and find a quiet place to upload everything in Mary Jo Selby’s file into the Regional Information Sharing System, including the daisies.” Especially the daisies. “But I don’t want to leave you alone, so while you’re making our sandwiches, I’ll phone Brooke to come and guard the apartment building until I can return.”

  “Thanks. I wonder if that’s necessary.” Emma palmed her hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I know we’re dealing with a dangerous person, but he could have killed me at the Selbys, and he didn’t.”

  She had a point. “Maybe so, but I’d feel better if you had someone here.”

  A quick call to Brooke revealed she was up near Jackson, and so was Clayton, so they were out. His next call was to Pete Nelson.

  “I have three officers out with the flu and I’m short-staffed,” the chief said after Sam explained the situation. “The best I can do is have an officer drive by every hour.”

  That beat nothing. “I appreciate that. Have you received the license plate readers?”

  “A deputy just dropped them off this afternoon. They should be installed by tomorrow,” Nelson said.

  “Why don’t I pick them up and hang them myself? I’ve installed the cameras before.” Anything to get them in place.

  “That would be great.”

  Sam ended the call and dialed Nate. “Do you have a deputy you can spare? I don’t want to leave Emma unprotected, and the Natchez PD are short-staffed and Brooke is two hours away.”

  Nate was silent for a second, then he said, “Let me call one of the constables. I’ll get right back to you.”

  They had almost finished eating when Nate called and Sam put the call on speaker. “Jay Blackwell is on his way to her apartment.”

  “I know him,” Emma said. “He goes to my church.”

  Sam thanked Nate and hung up. “I’ll wait until he gets here,” he said.

  “This regional sharing system. Once you enter the data, what kind of information will you get?”

  “The program will tell me if any part of the information fits other murders in this region. If I don’t get a hit, I’ll enter the file into the national database.”

  “So you really don’t think Mary Jo’s murder was an isolated case?”

  Sam lifted his shoulder slightly. “I don’t know, but after learning she received daisies from an unknown admirer, I have to wonder. Daisies aren’t your typical flower to send to someone you love.”

  Emma shivered and rubbed her arm just as Sam’s phone rang. It was the constable and he was parked out front. After Sam disconnected, he turned to Emma. He shouldn’t have made that comment to her about the daisies. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Go. You have work to do.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And if I’m going to my dinner with Corey, I need to get ready.”

  Sam caught himself before he reacted. And it was not a jealous reaction. Then what was it? The question was in his mind before he could blink. He’d checked Corey Chandler out and discovered the man was a respectable attorney and involved in several worthwhile charities. In fact, he seemed perfect. Maybe that was Sam’s problem with the man. No one was perfect.

  “You sure you’re up to it?”

  “No, but it’ll be better than sitting here, dwelling on what happened this afternoon.”

  Sam agreed but wished it were him she was going out with. “Do you think Corey will tell you his client’s name?”

  “That’s my whole purpose in agreeing to the meeting.”

  “Please be careful around him. You don’t know him that well.”

  “He’s a respected member of the bar, so I figure I’ll be perfectly safe,” she said, smiling. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

  The image of Sandra Wyatt’s bloody body lying on the path ambushed him. If that happened to Emma . . . “I know you can, but whoever killed Mary Jo and attacked her family is smart, and that makes him dangerous.”

  His caution drained the levity from her face, and Sam pulled her into his arms, feeling her body tremble. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but . . .” He looked down into her emerald eyes, and his world tilted.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “I have to go catch a killer.” He’d rather stay with her, hold her in his arms.

  “And I have to get a shower.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Stay safe.”

  “That goes double for you.”

  Sam waited until Emma locked the dead bolt after him, then he descended the stairs, his heart light. At the bottom of the steps his lightheartedness crashed as his conscience whispered in his ear. You didn�
�t tell her your secret.

  He almost turned to go back and tell her the truth about the night her brother died. No. She was probably halfway to the shower already. He had no excuse for not already telling Emma that he’d lied to her, but in his wildest dreams he never thought he would let himself fall in love with her again. Besides, there hadn’t been an opportune time to tell her. Really?

  Maybe now was the time Sam would have to trust God that the right time would come up and she would forgive him. At least he still believed in miracles. He pushed through the front door onto the porch. A late-model Impala with a constable emblem on the door sat parked in front of the apartment. Sam hurried over. The man who climbed out of the car had a couple of inches on Sam and his handshake was firm.

  “I’m Jay Blackwell,” the constable said. “And I’m happy to help out. Emma is one special lady.”

  Sam agreed. “She’ll be leaving around six, and I’d appreciate it if you could follow them to the Guest House downtown.”

  After Blackwell assured him he would, Sam walked to his SUV and surveyed the surrounding area. Nothing looked out of place, but then nothing had looked out of place at the Selbys.

  52

  Emma took a ragged breath and hugged her arms to her waist as she stared out her living room window into the waning sunlight. The images of Mr. Selby and his daughter lying in pools of blood haunted her. Why were they shot? Did their digging into Mary Jo’s case trigger the shootings?

  Suddenly cognizant that she was a perfect target, Emma backed away from the window and pulled the curtains. The clock over her fireplace chimed five times. She should be getting dressed for her dinner with Corey. Even though she’d told Sam keeping the date would be better than dwelling on the shootings, maybe she should cancel it. She took out her phone and scrolled to Corey’s number. When he answered, she said, “I hate to cancel on you this late, but I’m just not up to going out to eat.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you ill?”

  The concern in his voice almost undid her. “Not exactly. It’s . . . just been a horrible day.” And even worse for the Selbys.