Awed by the transformation that had taken place - in his apartment, in her spirits - Lange did as told. He smiled at the new hand towel in the bathroom, deciding he liked the yellow and blue duck motif. It seemed he had been smiling since he stepped through the door.
When he returned, she had a half dozen dishes on the table. Grilled pork chops, stuffed red bell peppers, sweet corn, candied yams with marshmallows and pecans, fresh green snap beans, fried okra, and cornbread muffins filled every inch of the table. He could see dessert on the counter, some of her mouth-watering chocolate brownies with cashews.
“Lord, woman, did you think we were starving? You could feed the entire building with this spread.”
Ashli shrugged. “I find cooking very therapeutic.” She poured tea into his glass and took her seat across from him. “Today I needed a lot of therapy.”
He filled his plate with portions of almost everything. “So did it work?”
“It definitely helped.”
They ate for a while in silence, until he brought the subject back up. “You do realize you’re not to blame for any of what happened, right?”
“Yes, I do realize that now. Mr. Parnell’s obsession with Doris Day started long before I was even born. He was a very sick man.”
“And his dementia made his mental illness even worse.”
“I wonder if we’ll ever know how many women he truly killed. He told me about at least two others, but I’m sure there were more.”
“The police found a total of five chest freezers on the property. In time, after all the DNA testing is done, they may be able to identify more victims.”
Ashli pushed the food around on her plate, finding the topic less than appetizing. “I still don’t understand why he left the feet. He told me why he cut them off, his warped sense of reasoning, but not why he left some, and not others. Jasmine’s was the only one since all those years ago.”
“Sullivan and I talked about that. We think maybe it was his dementia kicking in. The foot is a signature. It’s a killer’s way of marking his work, taunting the police. For whatever reason, his killing activity seemed to slow down after the early eighties. Maybe it was the influence of his wife, maybe not. We’ll probably never know. What kills he did make, he stopped leaving his signature, until Jasmine. We think maybe he was confused, living in the past again, thinking he was still making his mark as a serial killer.”
“Yes, he thought it was 1986.”
“He was one sick son of a bitch.”
“I almost feel sorry for him,” she admitted.
“Ashli, he killed women. He mutilated their bodies and used them as fertilizer. He killed your friend, and he would have killed you. Don’t waste your sympathy on his sorry soul.”
“They said he repented in the end,” Ashli murmured. “Asked for God’s forgiveness. And for mine.”
“Who told you that?” Lange asked with a frown.
“The medics from the ambulance. You were out of the room, talking with Sullivan. They told me he left me a message, said he was sorry, that he never wanted to hurt me.”
“Ashli, don’t do this to yourself. Don’t make excuses for him. He’s not worthy of your forgiveness.”
“The forgiveness is for my sake, Lange, not his,” she said softly. “I can’t let bitterness control me.”
“How can you possibly have sympathy for that man?”
Ashli put down her fork and looked him in the eyes. “The same way you have sympathy for Diane.”
Lange squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “That’s different,” he murmured.
“Not really. You had a relationship with her. I had a relationship with Mr. Parnell. Yours was physical, mine was emotional. They were both relationships, and both people were a part of our lives for a very long time. Even though they both turned out to be sick, mentally unstable, they - they weren’t all bad, not always.”
Lange pushed his plate away. “I always knew Diane had emotional issues. I thought she was bipolar. I never dreamed she could go so far off the deep end.”
“I know what you mean. She had such a distinguished career. Who would have ever believed she would unravel so completely?”
Ashli carried her plate to the sink, even though it was still half-full. She cut into the brownies and dished out a portion for each of them. Like an old married couple familiar with the other’s ways, Lange automatically began to make coffee. In tacit accord, they turned toward the living room as the continued their conversation.
“It’s a shame, a brilliant career over, just like that. She really was a very good lawyer,” Lange said.
“You know, I didn’t understand at first,” Ashli admitted.
“Understand what?”
“That you were just being a good friend.” She took a seat on the sofa, curling her feet up beneath her. “I thought you were choosing her over me.”
“How could you even think that?” The pain was evident in his dark eyes.
“I know. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I doubted you. When she said all those things . . . when you first came in the door and I couldn’t see you, could only hear her side of the conversation, she made it sound as if . . . And when I looked, you were kissing her.”
“Ashli, she threw herself at me. She was kissing me.”
“I realized that, later. But she said you had called and wanted to see her, and that was . . . that was the same night you were going to sleep on the couch.”
“But I ended up sleeping in your bed that night. We may not have made love, but we held each other all night long. We were connected.”
Ashli settled in against his side. “Yes, it all became clear to me while I was cooking. That’s when I realized most of what she said was lies, or at least just her twisted version of the truth. I also realized that as her friend, you couldn’t just leave her. Not when she obviously needed help.”
“Don’t make me sound too noble,” he grumbled. “Mostly I was just worried about you. All I could think about was getting you out of danger, and out of her reach.”
“But you were the one who ended up getting hurt,” she said softly, tracing the edge of the bandage where it bulged beneath his jeans.
“I’d do it all again - anything - to keep you safe.” He set his mug on the coffee table and gave her a stern look. “You know, yesterday only proves the point I’ve been trying to make all along. I lost my objectivity because I got too close. I never saw the danger coming, and it was literally in your own backyard.” He intertwined his fingers with hers and admitted in a low voice, “I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for not being there to protect you.”
“But you were there! You came, even though you were injured. You literally jerked an i.v. out of your arm and rushed to my rescue.”
“Some rescue. You’d already taken care of the situation, no help from me needed.” Despite his rueful smile, his eyes held the unmistakable shine of pride. “Have I told you how proud I am of you? You handled yourself like a real pro yesterday. Both times.”
Leaning her forehead against his, she drew an unsteady breath. “I’m not ashamed to admit how scared I actually was.”
“Neither am I.” He gently kissed her lips. “I was scared out of my mind.”
“You haven’t said anything about my little shopping spree. You don’t mind, do you, that I bought a few things to warm the place up?” Ashli waved a hand toward the pillows and rug.
“I think I could get used to it.” He pretended to scowl, but she could see the smile hovering just beneath the surface. Looking down at the hand he still held, he admitted, “I could also get used to having you here. For the first time since I’ve moved in, the place doesn’t feel like a hotel room. I liked coming through the door, hearing you moving around, knowing you were cooking our supper, knowing I wouldn’t be eating alone.”
“You know,” Ashli said softly, nervously, “our situation has changed. I no longer need a private investigator. A pessimist might say we no longer have a reason to b
e involved.”
“But you’re not a pessimist, are you?” he murmured, bringing his dark eyes up to her hopeful blue ones.
“No, I’ve always been an optimist. And an optimist would say there’s no longer a reason why we can’t be involved.” She drew in a deep, steadying breath before taking a huge risk. “What about you, Lange? Are you a pessimist or an optimist?”
He was slow in answering. So slow, in fact, that her heart sputtered and stopped at least three times before he spoke. It thumped in triple time when she heard his gravelly reply. “Before I met you, I was a pessimist. I would have come up with a hundred reasons why we couldn’t get involved, case or no case. But then I met you, with your sunny smile and your cheerful ways. Your goodness.” He swallowed hard, summoning the courage to continue. “I want to be an optimist, Ashli. I want to believe in the good things in life. I want to believe in us. Later, I want to think of a hundred reasons why we should be involved. But right now, all I can think about is one.”
“And-And what is that?” She dared to breathe the words, afraid she might shatter this fragile spell he was spinning with his raw but eloquent prose.
“Because I love you, Ashli.”
Sunshine had never been brighter. A radiant smile broke across her face, lighting her eyes to a shade of purest blue, warming her paled skin with an effervescent glow. “I love you, too, Lange,” she whispered. “I love you, too.”
Three little words. Three little words, and his life fell into place. When she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, he knew he was holding his entire world in his arms.
After several kisses, and a few shared silly smiles, Lange tucked her against his side once more. “So did you figure that out during your therapy/cooking session?”
“Oh, no, I’ve known that for weeks now.”
“Oh you have, have you?”
She nodded vigorously, her blond hair bouncing around her shoulders like dancing rays of sunshine. “Probably since . . . the first night you fell asleep on my couch and I covered you with a blanket,” she decided thoughtfully.
“Bringing me in from the rain,” he muttered, an old flash of irritation creeping into his voice.
“Huh?” She frowned.
“Nothing.” He pushed the irritation away. Thank God she had rescued him. “I was just wondering what took you so long. After all, I fell in love with you when I woke up on my couch and saw you peering down at me with those big blue eyes.”
“That was the first time you met me!”
“Exactly.” He dropped a kiss into her halo of gold. “So, your cooking therapy. Do you do this often?”
“Whenever I have a problem I need to work out. Or when I’m particularly depressed. And when I’m really worried about something.”
“So what you’re saying is, by the time I’m 60, I’ll be as big as a house?” His words were light, but Ashli caught the implied significance. “You know, I went on a little shopping spree of my own today.”
“You did?” She just assumed he had gone to check on Diane.
“I remember you telling me about a little strip mall. Sparkle Station, you called it. Where there’s all these jewelry stores lined up in a row. Turns out having all those stores together makes them very competitive.” He tried to keep his tone casual.
Her heart sped up, thumping in triple time again. “I- I never knew you were a bargain hunter.”
“I’m not, really. When I see something I want, I don’t worry about the cost.” His tone turned sensual, and a sexy light came into his dark eyes as his gaze fell to her lips. Damn, but her habits were rubbing off on him. He was about to get distracted by her tempting little mouth.
Forcing himself to focus, Lange cleared his throat and took the biggest risk of his life. Reaching into his skirt pocket, he hooked the ring onto his finger and presented it with a flourish.
Crafted in platinum, the half carat solitaire sparkled almost as brilliantly as his eyes. Three smaller teardrop diamonds fanned out on one side, almost like petals. When fitted with the matching wedding band, a perfect flower would be formed. He had known the daisy design was for her, the moment he saw the ring.
“Ashli Wilson, will you marry me?” he whispered.
She simply nodded. For once in her life, she was speechless. Then she started crying, as she reached for the ring and him, all at the same time. With his one hand totally bandaged, Lange had trouble holding her hand steady enough to put the ring on her finger. Tears streaming down her face, she laughed at her own clumsy attempts to help. Finally they had the ring secure on her left hand and were sealing their promise with a salty kiss.
“I never thought I’d see the day when you were speechless,” he teased.
“Me, neither,” she managed to say. She squeezed his neck tightly, knowing there were not enough words in her vocabulary to express how happy she was. “Give me time. I’ll think of something to say.”
“As long as you say yes, I don’t care.”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes.” She pulled back and took his handsome face into both her hands. “A million times yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, I’ll share my life with you. Yes, I’ll cook away our worries until you’re as big as a house. Yes, I’ll follow you to the moon and back if that’s what you want. Yes, I’ll grow old and gray with you. Yes, yes, yes.”
Lange chuckled as she rambled the happy words. “That’s more like it.”
Jumping up unexpectedly, Ashli hopped off the couch. “Stay right here,” she instructed. She disappeared for a moment, returning with a large gift-wrapped box.
“What is that?” he asked. She never ceased to surprise him.
“I bought one other thing today. A housewarming gift.”
“This isn’t a new house,” he reminded her.
“No, but it’s a new home.” She emphasized the last word softly, handing him the box.
Lange tore away the wrappings. She was right; with her here, it was a home. He lifted the lid and, with her help because of his bandage, took out a large wooden art object. His first thought was that the creation had been carved by man, but closer inspection proved the intricate tendrils were a deliberate pattern of nature. Twisted and gnarled but somehow beautifully simplistic, the piece was preserved with a shiny lacquered finish.
“For my coffee table?” he guessed.
She knew he didn’t understand. Tracing a finger along one of the spindly wooden threads, she explained. “They’re roots, Lange. A foundation to build on. Something to keep you grounded.” Blue eyes swimming in tears, she said softly, “I’m giving you roots, Lange.”
Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly love her more, she proved him wrong.
Lange gathered her into his arms, the best he could with a tree’s life source between them. She was crying again, and he suspected his own eyes were dangerously moist.
“You’ll never be alone again, Lange,” she whispered. “I love you so much. I want to build my life with you. These are the roots for your home. Our home. Our future.”
“You are my future.” He pressed the insistent words into her mouth, his breath hot and moist and full with emotion. He cupped her face with his large palm. “You are my home.” These, he pressed into her heart.
“I’m finally home, Ashli.” Another kiss, then another.
“Honey, I’m home,” he murmured. “I’m home.”
A Note from the Author
Thank you for reading my book! If you enjoyed this story - and even if you didn’t- I would love to hear from you. Feel free to contact me at [email protected]. I promise I will personally respond. Your comments, suggestions, and even your criticism will help me write the stories you want to read. Reviews on Amazon and Goodreads are always helpful.
You can also find me at www.facebook.com/beckiwillis.ccp, http://www.beckiwillis.com or on Twitter https://twitter.com/beckiwillis15
Thank you for allowing me to entertain you through the pages of my imagination. Happy reading!
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Also from this author…
Chicken Scratch
The Sisters, Texas Series
Book One
By Becki Willis
CHAPTER ONE
Finding a dead body was not a good way to start a new job. Finding the dead body of your newest client was decidedly worse.
Ten minutes after making the horrendous discovery, Madison Reynolds sat outside the commercial chicken houses, waiting for the police to arrive. She was still trembling, but the shiver working its own down her spine had nothing to do with the wind whipping around her. Never mind that she had spent the entire morning sweating profusely; thermostat-controlled heaters kept the inside of the houses at a balmy eighty degrees. The cold seeping into her bones now had less to do with temperature, and more to do with shock. She could still see his face, so gruesome and distorted in death. And with that chicken perched upon it so proudly, as if staking its claim…
Madison shivered again and forced the image from her mind. She considered calling her best friend for some much-needed support, but the wail of an approaching siren drew her attention. She struggled to her feet, found that her knees were too weak to support her, and fell sharply back onto her rumpus.
Less than a minute later, a fire truck arrived on the farm amid a swirl of white dust and red lights. Madison was thankful to the driver for turning off the siren and strobe lights as he approached where she sat in front of House 4.
The truck barely stopped before the driver opened the door and jumped out.
“Are you all right?” the man demanded immediately, his eyes already probing the area for potential danger.
Madison opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. With eyes that were large and swimming with sudden tears, she merely nodded.
The firefighter seemed to recognize her distress. The quality of his voice changed, as if he were speaking to a frightened child. He even crouched down in front of her to be at the same eye level. “You’re Miss Bert’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” he asked.
He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not Page 25
