“You know it makes a psychiatrist look incompetent if one of his patients commits suicide.” He nervously pressed his hand across his mouth, covering his mustache and disrupting the perfect grooming of his beard.
“It’s nothing personal, Doc. It’s not your fault I hit the peak of my life at eighteen and since then everything I touch turns to shit.”
“How do I know you won’t hurt yourself tonight?” Dr. Williams crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“My insurance agent is on vacation. I can’t change the policy for a couple of days.”
“I’m tired of you joking about suicide, Heather. You’re such a beautiful and bright woman. Why are you letting that fool of an ex-husband ruin your life?”
“I wasn’t good enough. He replaced me with a younger model.”
“You got it wrong, Heather. He wasn’t good enough. If a woman like you loved me I’d treasure her forever.” Moisture clouded his eyes.
“Doc…Paul, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Heather, I can’t be your psychiatrist anymore.”
“You’re going to desert me, too?”
His elbows bent on his desk and his hands massaged his forehead. “I can’t deal with your problems in a professional way because I’ve fallen in love with you.”
“Paul, I don’t know what to say.”
“All I need from you is a promise you’ll go inpatient for a month. I’ve already asked Dr. Lowery to take over your case.”
“I will. I need a couple of days to get everything in order. You know—the cat, the mail, and the life insurance policy.”
“If you start feeling depressed, you need to phone me. Can I trust you, Heather?”
“If a man like you can love me, then I must not be such a dud after all.” A hug was what she needed but he didn’t move from behind his desk, obviously embarrassed by his confession. She touched his hand and whispered, “I promise.”
Again she drove her car slowly, and now purposely, to her apartment.
Heather woke up the next morning with a certainty she hadn’t had in months. She was sure that she didn’t want to die. The ringing of the phone interrupted her packing.
“Heather, it’s Bud.”
“Bud, good grief! Talk about ancient history. What are you up to?” Heather found one empty spot on her bed and sunk into it.
“I’m in town for the day and I’m on my way to see you. After all, I haven’t bugged you in twenty years.”
Heather laughed. “Well, in that case, I guess I can spare the time. My address is 403 SW Expressway. Can you come this morning? I’m leaving on a trip tomorrow and have lots to do.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She fell back on her mess and stared at the ceiling. Something about reliving teenage memories made her feel special. Those really were her good old days.
She phoned Paul to tell him about Bud coming but the answering machine came on.
“I’m with a patient. Please leave a message.”
“Paul, it’s Heather. Just want you to know that I’m fine and getting packed. An old friend from high school is dropping by this morning. I’m so excited! I’ll talk to you soon.”
Fifteen minutes later Bud knocked on Heather’s door.
“You’re quick,” she said. “Most people get lost three times before they find my place.”
“I have great directionality.”
“Come in, stranger,” Heather said. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You, too. I heard you’ve had some tough times lately.” Bud’s words sounded accusatory.
“Sounds like I’m still on the gossip line.”
“I don’t mean to upset you.”
“You’re not. Yes, I’ve had some failures—even failed at committing suicide —twice. That should be the definition of a loser.” Heather laughed.
“I want to help you,” Bud offered.
“Thanks, but I don’t need your help. Today I’m the best I’ve been in years.”
“I don’t want to help you live. I want to help you die.” Bud’s face was blank.
“My psychiatrist was griping at me for making jokes about death. He’s right. It’s morbid. So let’s change the subject.”
“Your death is the only subject I’m interested in.”
“Cut it out! You’re not funny.” Heather stood, her hands firmly planted on her hips. “I need to run my errands, so leave.”
He wrapped his arms around her. Chills invaded her body from the creepy loose caress. She backed up. His grip immediately tightened. He plunged the needle into the back of her arm. One brief scream then her mouth froze.
* * *
Bud hated it when the saliva spilled out of her mouth. Seeing her turn blue was enjoyable though, because it meant the poison paralyzed her lungs. He filled the tub with water, then pulled Heather’s body into the bathroom. He removed his leather gloves and forced her body face down into the water.
He cocked her head to the side and stared into the darkness of her eyes. “Congratulations, Heather. You’re finally a success. Me, too. Three down and four to go.”
Chapter Ten
Lexie waited for Tye on the sidewalk outside the office door.
“Are you my welcoming committee?”
“I just need to talk to you without Ronald hearing.” Lexie continued, “I know you want to help him but we don’t have any jurisdiction in his case. Even if we did have the right to interfere, we don’t have the money to go out of state to investigate. I’ll talk to Stan. It’ll be his decision as to whether or not he pursues the leads.”
“So now he’s Stan. Well, Sheriff, I hope you can convince Johnson, because if you can’t, an innocent man is going to rot in prison. His ten-year-old son will be left without a father and a mother.” Avoiding a response, he turned and walked into the office.
“Lexie,” a masculine voice called from across the street. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
Lexie answered with a wave.
Two elderly men sat on a bench outside the restaurant. They eyed Stan and Lexie walking up the short path to the old brown rock building.
Lexie forced herself to be friendly. “How are you doing today?”
“My arthritis always acts up on these cold damp days,” Ruben complained.
“I’m okay,” Sam responded. “Sad day for the town though.”
“Sure is sad,” Ruben added, as he squinted his eyes at Stan. “You know that boy Ronald ain’t no murderer.”
“No, I don’t know that,” Stan retorted then moved toward the steps with Lexie trailing behind.
The restaurant was half full of people dressed in dark church clothes, obviously stopping to eat breakfast before going to Terri’s funeral. The chatter in the room subsided when she and Stan entered. She made herself speak or nod to people as she walked toward an empty booth in the far corner of the restaurant.
For a couple of minutes, it felt like a magnifying glass was focused on her. No one had seen her in a dress and with her hair down since she’d come back to run for sheriff. Maybe some of them have enough sense to realize I’m going to a funeral. The gossip will be that I was trying to impress the hunk of a detective. Just the thought of it irritated her. After she ordered her breakfast, she went into sheriff mode.
“I talked to Ronald last night and I think he’s innocent.”
“No offense, but your objectivity is questionable since he‘s a hometown boy.”
“I barely knew him and even if I did, I wouldn’t let it influence my judgment.”
“So what did he tell you?” Stan took a gulp of coffee.
“That he walked into Terri’s room and immediately yelled for help. There was a man in the hall who could verify it was a matter of seconds between Ronald passing him in the hall and the yells. Ronald described him as a tall man with a gray toupee and beard.”
“So a mysterious man is his alibi. Let me guess. Ronald doesn’t know who this guy is.”
“No.�
�� Lexie ignored his cynical tone. She took a bite of eggs so she wouldn’t be tempted to tell him she didn’t appreciate his attitude.
“I don’t have time to chase imaginary witnesses.” Stan pointed his slice of bacon toward her like it was an instruction stick. “Your guy left the syringe in the sharps container. Don’t you think a different killer would’ve taken the evidence with him?”
“Not necessarily. If he was stopped for some reason, he would’ve immediately been implicated if he had the syringe in his possession.”
“Maybe.” Stan seemed to consider the possibility. “When I get back I’ll see if any of the hospital staff know who Ronald’s mystery man is. I’m doing this to ease your mind.” He looked directly into her eyes and said, “Not because I think he’s innocent.”
Lexie’s gaze moved to the red gingham tablecloth. “I appreciate you doing it regardless of your reason.”
“It’s time to get the prisoner,” he said abruptly before half his breakfast was finished.
“I’ll put a deputy at each door of the church so you won’t need to handcuff him.” Lexie said the words with authority, but she looked at the ruffled gingham curtain on the window instead of Stan’s face. She didn’t know if his lack of response meant he agreed, or was going to put up a fight.
Back at her office, they found Ronald wearing a suit and tie, sitting in an open cell, talking to Clay, Tye and Delia.
“Where’s the prison uniform?” Stan’s irritation was evident.
“In the john,” Tye answered loudly.
“Delia borrowed a suit for me to wear,” Ronald interrupted the verbal sparring.
“The pants are a little short,” Delia said, “but the best I could find on short notice.”
“How sweet!” Venom oozed from Stan’s voice.
Lexie quickly spouted out her directions. “Clay, you answer the phone while we’re gone so Delia can go to the funeral. Tye, you’ll stand by the front door and I’ll stay posted by the back door. Detective Johnson can sit in the pew behind Ronald.”
Johnson added his orders to Lexie’s. “As soon as the funeral is over, I’ll bring the prisoner back here to change clothes and we’ll leave. There won’t be any graveyard visit or family dinner for this murderer.”
Lexie nodded. She wanted to argue the point, but at least Johnson was allowing Ronald to go without the cuffs, which was just short of a miracle.
Chapter Eleven
Jamie flung her pinstriped jacket over the back of the recliner and rolled up her shirtsleeves. She propped herself against the throw pillows on Abbey’s flowered sofa with her shoeless feet planted on the edge of the table. “Don’t you think Terri looked a little pale and stiff?”
Loretta shook her head in exasperation. “Well, shit! What do you expect from a dead person?”
“Not a hell of a lot, but you’d think that someone could’ve commenced the funeral before the body corroded.”
Beth clutched a throw pillow as she spoke. “Delia told me that Terri’s death is being investigated.” Everything Beth wore was black, which was in distinct contrast to her light skin and prematurely white hair. “The police think that Ronald couldn’t bear to see her suffer.”
“You’re a regular volume of information,” Jamie said.
“Why does Beth know this stuff, Jamie, and you don’t? Perhaps you and Tye need to have a little pillow talk on your sleepovers,” Loretta teased.
Listening to the conversation from her kitchen, Abbey was glad to have lunch prep as an excuse. Gary took their kids to his parents so the friends could have time alone to deal with Terri’s death.
Abbey doubted that Jamie—the basketball coach, Beth—the porcelain doll, Loretta—the social climber, and herself—the farm mom, would ever have been friends if their championship basketball team hadn’t linked them forever. She told her husband that she didn’t know if she could handle spending over two hours with the boss, the bitch, and the meek. Gary agreed to come home at 2 p.m. to cue the women to leave.
Nothing motivated Loretta to move faster than a toddler wanting to sit on her lap, or a little hand reaching toward her perfectly styled blonde hair. Nicky had run Loretta off in the past and Abbey’s little wild boy could do it again if his services were needed.
Abbey was surprised Loretta showed up after the funeral. She had hesitated when invited.
“At your farm?” Her tone was acid. “I guess I’ll come if you’ll keep those animals away from me.”
“I’m sure we can find a fenced-in area for you,” Gary inserted.
“Didn’t you say you redecorated? I’d love to see what you’ve done with your little house?” Loretta added, after a piercing look at Gary.
Abbey stabbed the tomato and began slicing it viciously at the memory.
Beth joined Abbey in the kitchen. “How can I help?”
“Just tell them lunch is ready.”
Jamie admired the bay window as soon as she walked into the kitchen. “I love the new window. Did Gary put it in?”
“Yes. The man can build anything.”
“It’s sweet with the white ruffled curtain.” Loretta pushed the panels apart. “But you’re not getting enough light. You should have picked blinds. They’re so stylish now.”
“I think it looks perfect,” Beth said.
“No offense, dear, but style has never been your thing,” Loretta scowled.
Abbey hoped to get Loretta out of bitch mode by changing the subject. “I’ve been thinking we should do something to honor Terri.”
Between bites, Jamie managed one word, “What?”
“Not sure, but it needs to be related to basketball since that was her claim to fame in Diffee.”
“Maybe a gift to the town?” Beth suggested.
“Well, I think all our names should be on any gift. She didn’t win that championship by herself,” Loretta commented as she spooned sandwich components into separate piles on her plate.
Jamie’s voice warbled, “I’ve got it! Let’s have a fundraiser and use the money to renovate the inside of the old gym—new paint, bleachers, and refinish the floor. If the superintendent agrees, we’ll call it the ‘Terri Womack Memorial Gymnasium.’”
Beth chimed in, “We can make the game part of our twentieth high school reunion. That way we’ll raise more money. ‘Killing two birds with one stone’ as the old people say.”
“You need to stay away from old people if you’re repeating weird things about birds.”
Jamie curled her lip at Loretta.
Abbey ignored the pair. “So who will we play?”
“How about Jamie’s college team? She can make them take a fall for us.” Loretta raised her eyebrows in anticipation of Jamie’s reaction.
“Not in this lifetime. My girls aren’t taking a fall for anyone.”
“Keep in mind,” Abbey said, “it’s twenty years later and I’m fifteen pounds heavier. We need to play a team that’s not very good.”
Jamie laughed, “The nursing home doesn’t have a team.”
Abbey stuck out her tongue.
“The high school team is lousy,” Loretta said. “Let’s play them.”
“Beth, since you teach at the high school will you ask the superintendent?” Abbey continued, “I’ll phone Tina, Mariah and Heather and talk them into playing.”
“I bet Mariah won’t come. Rumors are circulating that her war hero husband is the dark horse for the Republican presidential nomination.”
“Wow, Beth! But just think of the money we can bring in if the wife of a political candidate plays.” Abbey’s eyes brightened at the prospect.
Loretta shook her head. “No way will someone of her stature make a spectacle of herself.”
Racket from the front porch signaled Abbey that her family was about to save her from a dismal conversation.
“I need to go–things to do.” Loretta stood quickly as Nicky made a beeline for her lap. He grabbed a leg and hung as she walked toward the door. Gary unclasped his giggling
son from the irate woman.
“That boy needs to grow-up,” Loretta panted.
Gary followed her out to the porch. “Kids aren’t grown-up by thirteen months.”
Loretta made a noise that sounded like a ferocious animal and stomped to her BMW.
“I’ll start making calls in the morning,” Abbey promised Beth and Jamie after their good-bye hugs.
“Gary, there’s nothing like spending a couple of hours with my teammates to help me remember how lucky I am to have you and the kids.”
“If I’m so damn wonderful why aren’t you giving me a big smooch?” Gary puckered his lips like a fish. Abbey reached over and grabbed him around the neck and planted a long kiss firmly on his lips.
Chapter Twelve
Abbey pushed aside the breakfast dishes and started her ‘to do’ list. The sun from the bay window left streaks of light on her short brown curls. She was wearing her favorite clothes—old sweatpants with a t-shirt. Her bare feet under the table touched something sticky. “Oh, the joy of motherhood.”
“What’d you say?” Gary hollered from the family room.
“I have sticky toes from your little guy dropping jelly on the floor. I’m going to have to scrub the floor again today.”
Gary leaned against the door facing. “If you wore shoes you wouldn’t feel the jelly, so you wouldn’t need to scrub the floor.”
“Sounds like male logic to me.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “That’s the best kind.”
“You go do man stuff. I need to get the game planned.”
“Yes, my queen.”
“I like the sound of that,” Abbey laughed.
Abbey dialed Heather’s phone number. “May I speak to Heather?” Abbey asked the man who answered the phone.
“Who’s this?”
“I’m Abbey King. I went to high school with Heather.
“This is Heather’s dad.”
“Mr. Hobart, it’s been a long time.”
“I’m here moving Heather’s stuff out of her apartment. She died.”
“Died?!” Abbey gasped.
Killing the Secret Page 3
