Beverly Barton Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  “I don’t know if we’ve walked into a page of Gone With the Wind or a Victorian novel,” Derek said.

  “A combination of the two. What do you want to bet that the rooms are either called Rhett’s Room, Scarlett’s Room, and so on, or they’re named after flowers? You know, the Lily Room, the Gardenia Room, and the Rose Room.”

  Just as Derek opened his mouth to speak, they heard a voice from the hallway. “Hello there. Sorry to keep y’all waiting.”

  When they turned to meet the speaker, Maleah barely managed not to gasp aloud. The young man—not a day over twenty-five—was strikingly handsome. The only thing about him that could be described as average was his height and body build. Large blue eyes, edged with thick brown lashes, were set in a chiseled, lightly tanned face that would make any Greek god envious. A tangle of golden blond curls framed those too-perfect features.

  As he entered the room, he held out his hand to Maleah. “I’m Tyler Owens and you must be Ms. Perdue. It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

  My God, he was not only handsome beyond belief, but mannerly, too. Although she wasn’t sure being called ma’am was a compliment.

  “Maleah Perdue.” She shook his hand.

  He possessed a devastating smile.

  When he turned to shake hands with Derek, Maleah couldn’t help but notice the width of his shoulders encased in a soft, silk shirt and how tight his buttocks were in the faded, often-washed jeans.

  “I certainly appreciate y’all coming here to Danville,” Tyler said. “I could have flown to Knoxville next week, but this week, I simply couldn’t get away. We’re hosting a bridal tea Wednesday, a wedding rehearsal dinner on Friday, and the wedding on Saturday.”

  “Coming here wasn’t a problem,” Maleah assured him. “We’re interviewing anyone connected to the Midnight Masquerade movie who might be able to help us find out who has been sending threatening letters and, to date, has murdered four people.”

  Tyler’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed. “We’ve taken precautions for Mother. The rehab center where she is recovering has been alerted to the threat on her life and no one is allowed to see her except immediate family and the staff, of course.”

  “How many letters has your mother received?” Derek asked.

  “Three, that I know of,” Tyler replied. “I have them if you’d like to see them.” He glanced away, a melancholy expression on his gorgeous face. “I’m certain that those letters contributed to Mother’s stroke. She’s not an elderly woman by any means. She’s only forty-four.”

  “I’m very sorry about your mother,” Maleah said.

  He gave her another breathtaking smile. “Thank you, Ms. Perdue. That’s kind of you to say.”

  When Derek cleared his throat, Maleah interpreted the action as a criticism. She could almost hear him accusing her of being dumbstruck by Tyler Owens’s obvious physical beauty. Well, yeah. Duh. What red-blooded woman wouldn’t be?

  Tyler turned his attention to Derek, who got right to the point. “When you phoned us, you mentioned that you think you might know who the Midnight Killer is.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Well?” Derek asked.

  “Of course, you want to know, don’t you?” Tyler cast his sorrowful gaze toward the polished wooden floor, his actions bordering on the melodramatic. “I hate to accuse anyone.” He lifted his gaze and moved from Derek to Maleah.

  She wanted to scream, “For goodness sakes, just tell us already.” But she waited patiently, allowing him to garner whatever satisfaction he could derive from prolonging the moment.

  “I believe that it’s possible my father is the Midnight Killer.”

  Chapter 20

  Lorie had almost forgotten the sound of her mother’s voice. It had been nearly five months since they had spoken. Several times a year, usually on her birthday, at Thanksgiving, and at Christmas, her mother would call her and they would talk for five or ten minutes. Each conversation was precious to Lorie. She knew that her father had no idea that her mother kept in touch with her. Since her return to Dunmore nearly nine years ago, Lorie had visited her parents’ home once. Immediately after she came back to Alabama, she had gone straight home, hoping and praying for her parents’ love and support.

  But within minutes of her arrival, her father had made it abundantly clear how he felt.

  “I want you to leave,” he had told her. “I don’t ever want to see you or hear from you again. I don’t have a daughter. As far as I’m concerned, my daughter is dead.”

  Glenn Hammonds had been a good provider, a faithful husband, and a spare-the-rod-and-spoil-the-child father. Known as a God-fearing Christian, he prided himself on being the head of his household. His family had been expected to accept that his word was law and never question his authority over them. No doubt her father had chosen her mother as his partner not only because she was beautiful and he dearly loved her, but because she possessed a calm, sweet, easily manipulated nature. Sharon Hammonds had seldom disagreed with her husband and even when they had a difference of opinion, she always gave over to him in the end.

  Although Lorie had accidentally run into them a few times and had seen them at a distance on a number of occasions, she was not a part of their lives, nor were they a part of hers. A couple of years ago when she had learned her father had suffered a heart attack, she had gone to the hospital. But her mother had stopped her outside of his room.

  “I’m sorry, Lorie, but your father doesn’t want to see you.”

  She had never forgotten the look of sadness and regret in her mother’s eyes that day.

  So was it any wonder that the sound of her mother’s voice over the phone seemed almost unfamiliar to her?

  “Lorie, are you there?” her mother asked.

  “Yes, Mom, I’m here.”

  “We’ve heard about what’s happening, about your being on that terrible Midnight Killer’s list of people he intends to murder. You seem to be the main topic of conversation wherever we go lately.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am. I know how Daddy must hate that.”

  “He saw one of those flyers.” Her mother lowered her voice to a whisper. “You know, one of the pictures you posed for a long time ago.”

  “I’m sorry that Daddy and you have to go through this again,” Lorie said. “I’m sorry that you have to be ashamed that I’m your daughter.”

  “Oh, Lorie…I—I didn’t call about that. I called because I’m worried about you.”

  Emotion lodged in Lorie’s throat and for several seconds, she couldn’t speak. “I’m okay. Thank you for calling…for caring.”

  “Of course I care. No matter what you’ve done, you’re still my daughter and I love you.”

  “Do you, Mom?” Tears flooded Lorie’s eyes, blinding her with a watery haze. “Do you…really?”

  “It breaks my heart that you think otherwise, but I know you have good reason. Please, Lorie, don’t hate me.”

  “Oh, Mom…” She held the phone away from her and took a deep breath. When she realized she couldn’t stop crying, she held the phone to her chest.

  By the time she managed to control her tears and lifted the receiver back to her ear, she heard only a dial tone.

  “You think your father could be the Midnight Killer?” Maleah asked, slightly stunned by Tyler Owens’s accusation.

  Derek followed up immediately with another question. “What makes you think that your father is the killer?”

  “My father is unstable and has been for quite sometime.” Tyler looked from Derek to Maleah and remained focused on her.

  She suspected that Tyler sensed she was the more empathetic agent. “Is he mentally ill? Is he on medication?”

  “I don’t know. He has mental problems, but he’s never been diagnosed by a doctor for anything other than anxiety. I have no idea if he’s on medication or not. If he was, he’d hardly tell me. You see, we aren’t close and haven’t been for a number of years.”

  “Other than your f
ather’s mental instability, is there any other reason you think he could be the killer?” Derek asked.

  “I’ll have to give y’all some backstory,” Tyler said. “It’s the only way you can possibly understand.”

  “We’re listening,” Derek told him.

  “Maybe we’d better sit down.” Tyler issued the invitation with a sweep of his hand, indicating the plush velvet settee and chairs in the parlor. “Would y’all like some iced tea or lemonade? I can have Amelia Rose fix us—”

  “Nothing, thanks,” Derek replied.

  After the three of them were seated, Derek and Maleah on the settee together, posing a united front, and Tyler in a chair across from them, Tyler began his story.

  “My parents came from two of the oldest families in Danville. Their marriage was practically an arranged affair. Their parents were good friends and everyone pretty much expected the two of them to marry, which they did. Mother was only twenty-one when I was born eighteen months after they married and according to Dad, she soon felt trapped and wanted out of the marriage and out of Danville. When I was two years old, she just up and left one day. I didn’t see her again until I was six. She came back to Danville to see me. That was the first time my father threatened to kill her.

  “He was ashamed of the fact she had gotten involved in the pornography business and had posed in various magazines and had made several movies. They had an awful row and I heard everything. My mother left in tears and I didn’t see her again for years.”

  “Your father’s attitude was understandable, given the circumstances,” Derek said.

  “I suppose it was,” Tyler agreed. “But you have to understand that I grew up listening to his tirades about my mother, how she was a slut who didn’t deserve to live, how evil men had lured her into making indecent movies and all the actors in those movies should be taken out and shot.”

  “Those were his exact words—taken out and shot?” Maleah asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. His exact words. I thought once he remarried—a fine lady named Brenda Lee—that things would get better. And for a while, they did. Then Mother moved back to Danville a few years ago and my father did everything he could to run her out of town. They’ve had some horrible fights, but the harder Dad tried to make her leave, the more she dug in her heels, determined to stay.”

  “What you’ve told us may prove that your father hates your mother and is ashamed of how she’s lived her life, but not that he’s a murderer,” Derek said. “If he is a killer, then why did he wait all these years to start murdering porno actors and why only actors from that one particular movie? And why not start by killing your mother?”

  “Dad had settled down the past couple of years, at least to a certain extent, even though he never accepted the fact that I had made a place in my life for Mother. But then when Midnight Masquerade was released on DVD this past fall, that set him off again. I think he zeroed in on that one movie and became obsessed with the people who were in it. And as for why he didn’t kill Mother first—I don’t know. Maybe he’s saving her until last.”

  Silence fell over the parlor for several minutes and then Maleah asked, “You really do believe your father is the Midnight Killer, don’t you?”

  With a sheen of moisture dampening his big blue eyes, Tyler swallowed and said softly, “I don’t want to believe such a horrible thing about my own father, but yes, I think there’s a good chance that he’s the killer.”

  Feeling like a prisoner trapped in her own house, Lorie had decided she needed a project of some kind to keep her mind occupied. The idea of renting the empty store adjacent to Treasures of the Past and renovating the interior for use as a tearoom needed research and planning. When she’d mentioned this to Cathy, her best friend had agreed. So Lorie had spent most of the day speaking to a Realtor about the rental property and making various phone calls to suppliers and owners of teahouses in several different cities. And doing her best not to let her brief conversation with her mother this morning give her any false hopes about their relationship.

  Shelley was engrossed in reading a new paperback and Lorie was going through magazines, such as Tea Time, and cutting out articles when the doorbell rang. Since they weren’t expecting anyone, both she and Shelley froze for a couple of seconds. Then Shelley laid her book aside, got up, and headed for the front door.

  Shelley peered through the viewfinder and laughed. “It’s a couple of kids. They look like Mike Birkett’s children.” She opened the door.

  Lorie jumped up and hurried to meet Hannah and M.J.

  “We need to see Miss Lorie,” M.J. told Shelley.

  “Hey, you two, what are y’all doing here?” Lorie asked.

  Hannah came rushing forward, threw her little arms around Lorie, and then hugged her. M.J. stood less than a foot away and looked up at Lorie with wide, misty eyes.

  “What’s wrong? Has something happened—?”

  “Some kids at school were saying awful things about you,” M.J. told her. “I punched Payton Carpenter in the mouth when he called you a bad word.”

  Oh dear Lord! Lorie had thought, short of her actually being murdered, things couldn’t get much worse. But she’d been wrong.

  Hannah lifted her head from where she had pressed it against Lorie’s waist. “Jennifer Taylor said that you’re a bad woman. Her mama said so. And—” Hannah puckered her mouth as she began crying.

  “This is horrible.” Lorie felt at a loss as how to handle the situation. What could she say to Hannah and M.J.? How could she explain?

  “I told Jennifer that her mama was a liar.” Hannah looked up at Lorie, her little tear-streaked face breaking Lorie’s heart.

  “I’m so sorry this happened.” Lorie took Hannah’s hand and held out her other hand to M.J. “It’s very sweet of you both to defend me, but…I don’t want either of you getting into fights with your classmates because of me. What is your father going to think about all of this?”

  M.J. took Lorie’s hand and as she led the children into the living room, M.J. said, “They said some bad things about Daddy, too.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, Colby Berryman said Daddy has the hots for you and he’s letting his other head think for him.” M.J. stood on tiptoe in order to reach her ear and then whispered, “I know what that means, but Hannah doesn’t.”

  Crap! This was worse than awful. It was bad enough that Hannah and M.J. had to hear their classmates repeating the awful things their parents had said about her, but to have their father talked about in such a derogatory manner was shameful.

  Lorie sat the children down on the sofa with her, one on either side. “I’m going to get Miss Shelley to call your father. He needs to know what’s happened.” And I need him to help me explain to both of you why your classmates said the things they did about me and your dad.

  Up until that moment, Lorie had been so concerned about what had brought the children to her house this afternoon, both of them nearly in tears, that she hadn’t thought about how they had gotten there.

  “How did you two get here?” she asked. M.J. and Hannah exchanged guilty looks before M.J. answered. “We sort of told a fib.”

  “What sort of fib did you tell and who did you tell it to?”

  “Grams plays bridge on Monday afternoons, so when Dad can’t pick us up from school, we ride home with Mrs. Myers. She’s got kids our age and…well, I told her that Grams wanted her to take us to Mrs. Shelby’s house, because that’s where they were playing bridge.”

  “My neighbor, Irene Shelby?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I knew Mrs. Shelby lived down the road from you and that we could walk from her house to yours.”

  “Is your Grams playing bridge at Mrs. Shelby’s house?”

  “No, ma’am,” M.J. admitted. “I told a fib. I guess I’ll be in trouble for doing that, but we just had to see you.”

  Hannah cuddled up against Lorie. “We wanted you to know that no matter what anybody says, we don’t believe you’re a bad person.
You’re a nice person, Miss Lorie, and we like you. We like you a lot.”

  Lorie barely managed not to burst into tears. She put her arms around the children’s shoulders and hugged them to her, then glanced across the room at Shelley, who shook her head and offered an understanding smile.

  “Miss Shelley is going to call your daddy and let him know where y’all are. And I want you to tell us where your grandmother is so that she can call her, too. Nell is probably worried sick about you two.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re sorry if we did something wrong.”

  “It’ll be all right,” Lorie assured him. “Your dad will understand.”

  Mike would understand, all right. And he would blame her. Well, better he take his anger out on her than on his kids.

  He opened the briefcase that he had sent FedEx to himself from Atlanta and looked at Ebony O’s bloody clothes. A slinky red dress that had accentuated her abundant curves. No bra, since she hadn’t been wearing one. A pair of gold high heels. And a lacy red thong. He had not removed her ruby earrings and her gaudy three-carat diamond solitaire from her body. Jewelry was of no importance.

  He fingered the red lace forming the V of the thong, lifted it carefully, and crushed it in his hand. Once a slut, always a slut. Shontee Thomas might have gotten out of the porno business, but she remained a worthless piece of trash until she took her last breath.

  The others were no different.

  Wicked. Immoral. Perverts. Tempting good men to think and do evil.

  He brought the thong up to his face and buried his nose in the alluring scent of the whore’s sweet pussy. A shiver of sexual excitement rippled through him. Even in death, a woman like that still held the power to entice a man.

  He lifted his face and looked at the four windowless walls surrounding him. Photographs of each person who had performed in Midnight Masquerade had been centered on individual cork boards. And attached to the boards beside each nude photo was a single article of clothing. Underwear. Dean’s boxer shorts. Charlie’s white briefs. Hilary’s bra. And now Shontee’s thong. He had acquired quite a collection in the past four months.