by Rita Herron
“What evil? Who wants to hurt me, Lady Bella Rue?”
“I am not sure. But death is knocking at your door, and if you do not watch your back, if you trust the wrong person, you won’t leave Kudzu Hollow alive. Death will claim you as it did your mother.”
TOMMY WERTH SAW his mother’s ghostly face everywhere he went. Her mouth wide open with a scream, her bulging eyes, the horror in her face. And her hand trying to claw up toward heaven as she’d choked and died.
His own hands shaking, he jammed the crack pipe into his jeans pocket and strode through the woods. The last hint of daylight slid behind the storm clouds, shrouding the forest in murky shadows. Dammit. He didn’t know why he was so spooked, but ever since the sheriff had shown up at his door this morning, he’d had the uncanny sense that his mother’s ghost was whispering down his neck. Following him. Trying to drive him crazy enough to spill his guts about killing her. Maybe she was so mean she’d escaped hell to come back and haunt him. Maybe she was a witch like that old Lady Bella Rue. He could see the root doctor’s cabin from the woods where the cult had staked out for the night, knew the kids had stolen one of the chickens and some of her graveyard dust for tonight’s sacrificial ceremonies.
The bonfire flickered, the bright orange-and-yellow flames shooting toward the treetops where the river cult had decided to hold their ritual. The sound of the water racing over rocks mingled with the noises of animals scurrying through the wet leaves, and the chants that echoed from the embankment. He grinned and broke into the clearing. For a second, he stood in awe of the other kids who’d gathered.
All had painted their faces black and wore black clothing, although a few had added feathery head-dresses and beads. He paused and knelt, blackening his own face. Doing so offered them anonymity if a stranger spotted them. The group had decided to adopt the practices of the original Santerians and Rastafarians. Someone had brought a goat and chicken to sacrifice, one boy in dreadlocks threw himself into the water, shouting that he was possessed now by the river water, and several girls danced around the fire half-naked, their bodies gleaming with oils and paint. The scent of pot floated from the circle, drawing Tommy closer.
He joined the crowd, accepted a joint from one of his friends and inhaled, swallowing the smoke. The acrid burn in his throat sent a rush to his head, erasing the image of his mother’s face. Another toke and a mind-blowing buzz hit him. This was some strong-as-shit stuff. Must be from Ace’s stash. He’d started growing it himself two years ago, and supplied the group with it weekly.
His buddy Clete, aka Trash, clapped him on the back. “Come on, man, join in.”
They’d all adopted nicknames to add secrecy to the group. His was Snake.
“We’re going to cut the chicken’s head off now,” Ace said.
Tommy inhaled another hit, the haze of the drug making his legs wobble. The chicken clucked and pecked at the ground. Trash reached out and tried to grab it, but it strutted away from the fire in a flurry, and he chased it. Seconds later, they held it down as it squawked and flapped, trying to escape. With a grin, Ace raised the hatchet up to whack off its head. Several of the girls broke into a chant.
“Blood for the master
Feed our souls.
Straight to the devil
On the burning coals.”
Near the edge of the river, one of the girls suddenly screamed bloody murder. Ace paused, hatchet midair, and chaos broke out as the group ran toward her.
“Jesus! Look! Oh, my God, it’s a skeleton!”
“It’s a grave. Someone buried a body here!” the girl shouted.
Tommy followed the group, his heart pumping like crazy. Had they really found a body?
Trash released the chicken, ran to the woods, then dropped to the ground.
Tommy and Ace pushed to the front, watching as Trash dug away the wet dirt and leaves with his hands, slinging debris against the trees and everyone’s shoes. First a skull appeared. The eye sockets, nose, mouth. Next came the arms—skinny remnants of what was left of them. Then ribs void of skin. Tommy’s stomach lurched. Bugs had eaten away the flesh. Age and maggots had feasted on dry skin that had rotted and peeled away from the bone.
“Stop digging!” someone shouted.
“I’m gonna barf!”
“Man, those bones are gross!”
“Oh, God, look at his face. How long’s he been in the ground?”
“Who killed him?”
“Who do you think it was?”
Tommy suddenly saw his mother’s face hovering above the rotting bones and flesh. A rustle of leaves jerked his eyes toward the woods. Someone was out there. Watching them. And if whoever it was reported this to the police, they’d probably all get in trouble. The sheriff would question them. Tommy sure as hell didn’t need that.
No way could he give the cops a reason to grill him.
Nerves pinched his neck. He’d find the person spying on them and make sure he stayed quiet. Even if Tommy had to kill him and put him in the ground himself.
IVY STARED AT THE SCENE in horror—kids dressed in black, their faces and bodies blackened with paint. A bloody goat lay dead by the river. Fire crackled, flames rippling upward toward the treetops, too close for comfort. Too close to Lady Bella’s Rue’s wooden shanty.
The smell of marijuana engulfed her, thick and pungent, mingling with the scent of burning wood and smoke. Ivy’s eyes watered and her throat burned.
Had those kids just said they’d found a body?
She had to tell someone. Report what they were doing.
Suddenly the underbrush rustled, and a youth shot through the woods racing toward her. The leafy shadows of the trees hid her, but he seemed to sense exactly where she stood. The stupidity of venturing into the forest alone slammed into her. But she’d seen the fire and had worried that it would spread to Lady Bella Rue’s place.
Dear Lord, she had to get out of here. Ivy clenched her purse strap, reached inside for her cell phone, then backed away.
“I know you’re watching,” he said in a low ominous voice. “And I’m going to find you and shut you up.”
Panicking, Ivy raced back through the woods toward her car. She had to call the sheriff. No, Matt. Tell him what was happening. Protect Lady Bella Rue.
Briars stabbed her legs, tree branches clawed at her thighs and her hair caught on a low branch. She yelped and had to stop to yank it free.
Voices echoed in her head. Hurry, Ivy. Run. Run like the wind. Daddy’s going to get you. And so is the monster who killed your mama.
Her heart tripped in her chest, and she heaved for air. She lurched forward and stumbled over a rotting stump. A hand clamped around her wrist. Fingernails dug into her skin. He had her now.
And judging from the feral look in his glazed eyes, he was going to kill her.
KILLING IVY MIGHT BE the only answer. The only way out.
But he had to think. Do it right. So nobody would know.
If he lost courage this time, everything he’d worked so hard for all these years would come crashing down. And all of it would have been for nothing.
He closed his eyes. Saw an image of her soft green eyes looking up at him. Heard her wispy voice crying out that night so long ago. Saw the rise of her chest with her breath. The pale white of her throat.
More recent images of Ivy replaced those of her as a child. The throat he’d wanted to kiss. The mouth he’d wanted to possess.
His body twitched with anger. And arousal.
His hands tightened around the phone, and he slammed it down. Dammit, he should have gotten rid of her years ago. Shouldn’t have let her get to him.
He paced, restless, scraping his hand through his hair. And even now…now when he had no choice, he still wanted her. Wanted her alive. Wanted to have her just one time. Feel her lie beneath him. Touch her skin. Have her open to him while he slid inside her.
Make her come just like he had her mother.
But time had run out.
&nbs
p; It was too late for that. Just like it was too late for Ivy…
CHAPTER NINE
THE FACT THAT LUMBAR, the man who’d arrested him and put him in jail, was visiting Matt’s mother gnawed at Matt on the short drive into town. For a brief second, he’d entertained the idea of stopping and confronting the two of them together, but sanity had grabbed hold of his balls and yanked hard. For all he knew, his mother had called Lumbar to inform him of Matt’s visit. Except that Lumbar wasn’t sheriff now, A.J. was.
So why had the man been at his mother’s?
Stewing over the possibility that the two of them had a personal relationship turned his stomach. Maybe Lumbar intended to try to put Matt back in jail. He had wasted no time in slamming the cuffs on Matt years ago, and railroading him off to prison.
Sweat beaded his neck as another possibility registered. What if Lumbar had pinned the crime on Matt because he’d known Lily Stanton? Lumbar might have been one of her clients. As sheriff, he sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know he was getting his kicks on Red Row. If Lily had decided to blackmail him, maybe he’d lost his temper, killed her and Stanton, then used Matt as an easy patsy.
No one had suspected Lumbar, especially with the circumstantial evidence against Matt and his history of being a troublemaker.
Adrenaline surged through his veins. He had to dig deeper, find out if Lumbar had visited Lily. For a brief second, he thought about Ivy, wondered what she was doing, was tempted to go back to the cabin and check on her. But if he did, he’d want to kiss her again, but that would only make him want another kiss and another.
No, he’d shared his last kiss with Ivy.
The wooden sign for the Ole Peculiar swayed in the wind as he swerved into the parking lot, killed the engine and climbed out. This being Friday night, the lot was full. Country music wafted from the place, cutting into the howling wind. Thick cigarette smoke mingled with the fresh air and scents of rain and mildew as he opened the wooden door.
Locals overflowed the red padded booths and bar stools. Beer bottles and mugs clinked, laughter flowed, and in the back corner a jukebox blared out tunes, while a rowdy pool game drew onlookers. Matt didn’t expect to know anyone, but he did recognize Buck Potts, the owner, and his son, Nemo. Matt wove through the crowd and dropped onto a bar stool.
“W-what do…you want?” Nemo asked, his stutter an indication of his impairment since his accident.
“A beer. Whatever you’ve got on draft is fine.”
Nemo squinted as if he thought he recognized Matt, then reached for a mug. Buck shouldered his way through the crowd to stand beside his son, as if he needed protection. “What are you doing in here, Mahoney?”
Matt forced himself not to react, although Buck’s distrust rankled him. “Enjoying Friday night, just like everyone else.”
“We don’t want trouble,” Buck snarled. “Me and my boy don’t need it.”
“I just want a beer and some answers.”
Buck dried a mug with one hand while cutting Matt a suspicious look. “Then ask what you want and get out of here.”
Matt accepted the beer from Nemo, thanked him, then leaned forward, elbows braced on the bar. “I want to know about Lily Stanton.”
Buck scrubbed a scarred hand over his chin. “What makes you think I’d know anything about her?”
“You’ve been running this place for years. Guys mouth off after a few rounds.”
“No one has been bragging about a murder, if that’s what you mean.”
“How about bragging about sleeping with her?”
The man threw his head back and laughed, his belly jiggling. “That was a long time ago. What does it have to do with anything now?”
“Just a hunch,” Matt said with a shrug. “Tell me who liked her back then.”
Buck polished the counter with a cloth. “Half the men in this bar slept with her.”
Matt grimaced. “Did anyone mention that she’d grown too attached to him? That she wanted more?”
A frown drew Buck’s thick eyebrows into a solid line. “No.”
“Anyone hint that she might be blackmailing him?”
Buck worked his mouth from side to side. “Don’t recall anyone talking about blackmail.”
“How about Sheriff Lumbar? Did he frequent Red Row?”
Buck shifted his eyes toward the door, looking nervous. “He didn’t want folks to know, but yeah, I seen him there a few times.”
“With Lily?”
“I don’t know which one of Talulah’s girls he liked. But if I had to guess, I’d say Lily was one of them.”
Matt nodded. He’d have a conversation with the former sheriff, maybe push Talulah again.
“I heard Lily’s daughter’s back in town,” Buck said. “Is she anything like her mother?”
Matt swallowed, his hand tightening around the beer mug at the lascivious look in Buck’s eyes. “No. And she doesn’t know what her mother did, and it had better stay that way.”
Buck shot him a curious look, but Matt flashed him another warning, letting him know that Ivy was off-limits.
HE WAS GOING TO KILL HER.
Ivy kicked and fought back, but the boy wrenched her hands behind her, threw her down on the ground and crawled on top of her, pinning her face in the wet leaves. She screamed and bucked, trying to jab him with her elbow, but his weight had knocked the breath from her, and she couldn’t move.
“Get off of me!” Ivy shouted.
“Shut up, you bitch. You shouldn’t be nosing around out here.”
“Let me go!”
She kicked out again, but her legs met air. He slid his hands around her neck, his fingers digging into her flesh, cutting off her windpipe. She tried to scream, but he pinched her harder, digging into the column of her throat. She gagged and clawed at the ground in mindless panic, desperately searching for a rock, a stick, anything to fend him off. Finally she latched onto a stick and tried to swing it high enough to jab his eyes. But he cursed and choked her so hard she bit her tongue and tasted blood.
Suddenly something else rustled the trees and leaves behind her. Dear God, maybe it was one of the other kids. Maybe they’d stop him. A low growl echoed behind her, and the boy’s grip loosened slightly. Her heart slammed ninety miles an hour in her chest as she tried to take advantage of the moment and move. But his knees dug into her again, sending shards of pain throughout her lower back and numbing her legs.
“Be still,” he mumbled. “There’s a fuckin’ wolf stalking us.”
Ivy wheezed out a breath, spitting blood onto the muddy ground as the boy released her and stood.
“That’s it, fellow, don’t attack.” His shaky voice vibrated with fear. “Just trot on your way.”
Ivy rolled sideways to see the massive animal behind her. A thick gray pelt gleamed, his eyes two yellow orbs shining in the darkness. He growled and bared his jagged teeth. She forced herself not to make any sudden movements, either. If the wolf was hungry, he might attack her. But instead of stalking toward her the wolf paused beside her, and tilted his head, looking right at her. For a moment, a sense of peace washed over her as if they’d connected, as if he actually meant to protect her.
Then he snarled, flashing his fangs and leaped toward the boy. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled. Abandoning caution, the youth took off in a sprint. The wolf growled and chased him through the woods. Ivy levered herself up and ran toward her car.
Seconds later, she climbed inside her Jetta, started the engine and sped toward town. She had to find the sheriff, tell him what the kids were doing. What if they hurt Lady Bella Rue? Or what if they set the woods on fire and it spread?
Still panting, she whipped the car over the potholes, speeding past the junkyard toward the jail, then the diner in town, then the Ole Peculiar. Her heart tripped when she spotted Matt’s Pathfinder in the parking lot.
Not bothering to question her sanity, she jerked the car into the lot, fumbled with her keys and purse, then climbed out and dart
ed toward the door. A thick fog of smoke encompassed her as she entered, blurring her vision, and her eyes watered as she searched the room. Several men turned to stare, and a chair scraped across the wooden floor. Tim McGraw’s voice crooned in the background, and the sound of pool balls clanging together mingled with conversation and laughter.
Heaving for control, she staggered forward, but her legs buckled and she nearly slid on the sticky floor.
“Damn,” a husky voice muttered, “if it ain’t Lily Stanton all over again.” A beefy man suddenly rose from his chair and grabbed her.
In the next second, Matt’s voice echoed over the din of confusion. “Let her go.”
She clung to Matt’s arms, hanging on to him as if she’d collapse if he released her.
He shook her slightly. “What in the hell are you doing here, Ivy?”
It was so dark and smoky she could barely see his face, but anger glittered in his eyes.
“I…had to see you,” she choked out. Tears suddenly burned her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “Matt, someone tried to kill me.”
“WHAT?” MATT’S hands tightened around her as he dragged her outside. Watery light from a streetlamp illuminated her face, but shadows filled her eyes and her breathing sounded erratic. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“I went out to Lady Bella Rue’s,” Ivy blurted. “And when I left, I saw a fire by the river, so I walked a few feet into the woods to see—”
“You went into the woods alone?” he barked. “What were you thinking, Ivy? For God’s sake, someone threatened you yesterday.”
“It was just a bunch of kids with a campfire. I was worried they’d let it get out of hand and the trees would catch on fire and spread to Lady Bella Rue’s house….”
Matt exhaled, struggling to control his temper as he noticed the blood dotting Ivy’s forehead. He reached up to touch it, slid her hair away from her forehead and examined the scrape. Dirt and leaves clung to her long, tangled tresses, and mud caked her cheek and clothes.
“Then what happened?”
