They both laughed and Spencer sat up and handed her a drink.
“I take it barbeque is one of your favorites?”
“This ain’t just any old pulled pork on a plate. This is Mac’s. It’s the best. And, it’s actually right on the other side of those shops over there.” He spread the food out on the blanket. As she took her first bite, a look of pure pleasure spread over her face and he smiled, pleased. “Now you know where to go to taste a little slice of heaven.”
“Thank you for lunch. This was a really good idea. It beats the cold sandwich I had waiting for me in the fridge.”
“You’re welcome.” A moment of silence passed and then Spencer decided to take the plunge. “So, tell me about Chicago.” He kept his tone light.
There was only a brief hesitation from Sam, and he took it as a good sign.
“What do you want to know? It’s a big city with lots of fine dining.”
“Not as good as Mac’s though, right?” he interrupted.
“Of course not.” She grinned. “There are also shows, you know, stage shows and dance clubs. Lots of charity and political events. We were always going somewhere to shake hands or raise money.” She paused for a moment and twisted her hands together.
He didn’t risk asking who the ‘we’ was because she was talking freely and she never explained, but it didn’t matter. He loved the sound of her voice, the rise and fall of it, without the southern accent, but with an accent all her own. They talked for the rest of the hour at complete ease with one another. Spencer told her about growing up in Warm Springs and riding tractors, and even getting caught racing them once when he was a teenager.
“Well, I guess I better get back to the shop. Mary is probably wanting some lunch, too.” She stood and helped him fold the blanket.
He put it in the empty basket and they headed for the store. On the short walk back over the porch, Spencer felt the need to walk a little slower. He didn’t want their time together to end. The boards under their feet creaked in the same familiar way they had since he could remember, and the cars on the street up ahead passed as usual, but Spencer felt as if he were walking there for the first time.
At the door, Spencer turned to her, “When will I see you again?”
She twisted her hands together again and glanced over her shoulder into the shop. He shifted his feet and looked out over the road. He cursed himself for how he’d asked. He should’ve taken it more slowly. He could see her searching for an excuse to put him off.
Sam stood there taken aback. She wanted to see him too, but it wasn’t a good idea. She enjoyed his company and looked forward to seeing him, which was a complication she needed to avoid.
“I do owe you a meal.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. “You could come by the house for dinner this weekend. Saturday, around seven thirty?” What was she doing? She couldn’t even cook. Why on earth had she invited him over?
He took a minute to mull it over. “That sounds good. Seven thirty then.”
He grinned and turned to go, sending a little thrill through her. Sam tried to hide her smile as she went back inside to finish working. It was starting to feel as if they were dating. And, they most certainly were not. She couldn’t.
She threw her things in the back and returned to the register. Fingers tapping, she stared at the door, willing a customer to walk in. If the store were busier, she could keep her mind from wandering to Spencer. He had looked perfect in his scuffed boots and tight jeans, sprawled out on a blanket with his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled at her from under his Braves hat. The same way he looked perfect without a shirt, swinging a hammer.
Sam took a step back and began to fiddle with jewelry in the case to try to distract herself from her own imagination. She straightened the sliver chain of a necklace with an amethyst flower hanging off the end and moved to a bracelet with a sapphire stone. The light glittered off the deep blue stone and reminded her of Spencer’s eyes. The way they sparkled like he was up to no good and looked at you like you were the only person in the room. It was easy to lose yourself in them. And, his grin. The one that showed a dimple, but only on one side. She shook her head and snapped the jewelry case shut. She knew she was in serious trouble when it came to Spencer.
Chapter 10
She had moved and left no forwarding address. He knew she’d run, the same way he was sure she knew he would come looking for her. They had a special relationship and she couldn’t leave him. Her life belonged to him. She was a fool to think she could outrun him. There was nowhere she could go that he wouldn’t find her.
And, he knew where to go to get answers. He turned the service van into the parking garage and waited for the yellow barrier arm to rise. The attendant pressed the button and waved him through with little more than a glance at the borrowed cable company van.
He licked his lips in anticipation as he rode up the elevator from the garage into the lobby. He was looking forward to the game he was about to play. After all, he did like a good game. His reflection in the elevator’s doors showed the man everyone would see, a man in a repairman’s uniform. Unimportant, ordinary, forgettable. The door chimed and opened to the lobby. A jolt of adrenaline surged through him. He stepped onto the marble floor with his tool box and crossed to the security desk, careful to turn his face away from the camera mounted in the corner to his right.
“Good evening, sir. May I ask who’s called you this evening so I can check our records?” The middle aged man at the desk studied him over the rim of his glasses.
“George Davis in room 812.” He waited while the guard clicked the computer mouse and compared the information.
“Very good, sir. Please use the elevator on the right and go straight up.”
Didn’t he ever get tired of waiting on these people with their money and meaningless little lives? Besides what was the point of having a security guard there? “Tell them what they’ve won, Johnny. Your spacious condo comes with a window and a false sense of security.” It had been so easy to get in. Once around the mail boxes, a simple phone call, and he was on his way.
When the elevator doors slid open on the desired residential floor, he stepped off and headed for the end of the hall. The hall was deserted. The only sounds were his own faint steps on the carpet. After knocking and waiting a moment, he opened his tool box and proceeded to let himself in. He knew her routine, but better to play it safe. He didn’t have time for such inconveniences as nosy neighbors.
He studied her apartment. Clean, no doubt by the hands of someone other than the owner. He felt a sharp pang in his chest as he thought of his mother spending her entire life on her knees cleaning up after these yuppie scums. As the anger began to take control, he took a deep breath and relished in the thought of what he was about to do.
He stepped down into the open living room with its fireplace at one end and overpriced furniture throughout. To the right was the kitchen and on the left, a hallway leading to the master bedroom.
He took his time searching through her personal things before moving to her bedroom, but he didn’t sit on the bed. He didn’t want to leave any evidence. He looked in her closet, smelled her clothes. They stank of money. He let his disgust fuel his rage. Next, he went through the drawers in her dresser and slid his hands over her silky negligee. He sneered at the thought of some man wanting to see that middle-aged cow in something with lace.
The stupid bitch, all the nice things in the world wouldn’t be able to make her tolerable again after he was finished with her. Shutting her lingerie drawer, he moved to the nightstand. It held all the usual things, a flashlight, magazine, lotion and then he saw her address book. He studied it line by line, not only the ‘P’ section, but every letter, until he found an unnamed address tucked in the back. He tore out the page and replaced the book back in the drawer. After he had what he wanted, he moved back to the living room to prepare.
He covered his shoes, clothes, hands, and all of his f
ace except for his eyes. He was pleased when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Solid white. Perfection. Then he heard the sound of her boisterous voice outside the door.
“I would just love to meet you for lunch. We never get to see each other anymore.” Her voice was pouty, like an overindulged child’s.
A key turned in the lock and she was there. “Love you, mean it, bye.” She tossed her cell phone on the counter as she walked to the refrigerator. He knew the instant she saw what he’d done. Her hand froze with a water bottle halfway to her mouth and she spun around in alarm. Confusion was etched in every line of her face as she tried to make sense of what she saw. Her furniture was rearranged, pushed haphazardly to the side and replaced by a large tarp with a chair in the middle. She stepped around the bar and out into the living room.
“Hello, Denise.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?” She backed away, but kept her eyes on him. “I’m calling security.”
He moved silently toward her.
“I mean it. You need to leave.” Her voice lost some of its confidence. She lunged for her phone on the counter, but he was behind her.
The sound of her body hitting the floor filled him with pleasure. Finally, the anger found an outlet.
She moaned and her head bobbed as she came to in the chair in the center of the living room. He had tied her hands and feet to the arms and legs of the chair with zip ties. A more than efficient tool for resisting force and keeping her in place.
Her eyes opened and she looked around the room, unsure about what was happening. She tried to move her arm and began to struggle when she realized she was trapped. She stopped suddenly, a look of terror twisting her features when she saw him watching her.
He stood across from her holding his tool box. Waiting. He’d waited months to carry out his plan and it was finally time. Time to make her pay, to make them all pay. Without a word he knelt down, opened his tool box, and began arranging tools on the plastic covering the carpet.
“You can have whatever you want. There’s jewelry in the bedroom.” She stammered when he didn’t respond. “All the cash I have is in my wallet on the counter.”
He remained quiet, focusing on his tools, letting the anticipation build. Her voice escalated with fear as she continued to plead with him.
“What do you want?” She still didn’t understand.
He looked up and stared at her. His eyes boring into hers. It was the only part of his face that she could see, but it was enough. Her face crumbled and she began to sob.
“You remember me now, don’t you? I remember you, too.” He slid a red bandana over her mouth. “I’ve been thinking about you while I’ve been away.”
Denise gasped for air, then her eyes widened as he bent over and picked up one of his tools. When he clamped the metal down, she screamed until her voice cracked and he smiled behind his mask. Her head bobbed back and forth, from one shoulder to the other, and then her eyes locked on something across the room. He followed her gaze and a rush of hate surged through him. Tucked behind several knickknacks on a shelf, stood a wooden framed picture of Denise standing next to a smiling Samantha. He gritted his teeth and tore his eyes away from the picture.
Blood dripped from Denise’s fingers while she cried and begged him to stop. He reached for the wire cutters again. He slipped them around her middle finger at the joint and squeezed. Her bone crushed beneath the pressure, but he could barely hear the sounds of bones grinding over her muffled screams. The bandana covering her mouth was drenched in tears, sweat and saliva. She bit down on it when he slid the metal over her index finger. She whimpered and tensed as the same grinding sound started again.
“Try not to act so surprised, Denise. I told you I’d see you again.”
She looked up at him through tears.
“You know why I’m here.” Her head slumped. “Look at me,” he growled. But, she didn’t lift her head. She was on the verge of passing out.
With the knife in his left hand, he grabbed her ear, sliced it off, and dropped it to the plastic. She screamed again. The sound more animal than human.
“You never did listen,” he held back a full grin. That would come soon, though. “Don’t worry, Denise. I know you’d never want someone to see you this way. Fortunately for you, I don’t think you need to worry about anyone ever seeing you after tonight.”
She looked at him then and tried to speak. He understood what she was saying to him through tears and the cloth in her mouth.
“Oh, you misunderstand, I don’t want anything from you. I already got what I came for.” He leaned down and put his face in hers. “This is just for fun.”
As the elevator rose, Lieutenant Stephens’ stomach dropped. He hadn’t been warned prior to his arrival of what the body looked like, only that one had been found. He tried not to picture it as he rode in silence next to Detective Martin.
The Detective had been around a long time and Stephens didn’t want him thinking he was an idiot who couldn’t handle his job.
“Kid, I’ve seen my fair share of homicides and burglaries, but this is the kind of case that’ll stay with a man.” He adjusted his belt which was digging into his protruding stomach.
Lieutenant Stephens swallowed, impressed he’d known exactly what he’d been thinking. Detective Martin was already living up to his reputation as the best. Clearing his throat, Stephens started briefing Martin on the situation.
“So, a neighbor called it in to the front desk, but didn’t see anything?” Detective Stephens rubbed a hand over his thick chin.
“Yes, sir. The call came from a Mrs. Jones. She lives down the hall from the deceased. She said she smelled something foul when she was opening her door. That was about two hours ago.” The officer paused and scanned his notes. “She phoned the front desk to complain when the smell started wafting into her apartment through the vents.”
The two men stepped off the elevator.
“That’s when the front desk sent someone up and that individual traced the smell to this apartment?”
They paused outside the door.
“Yes, sir, and when you see the body, you’ll know what caused the smell.”
The scene was crowded. As the photographer moved, Lieutenant Stephens saw the dead body that had been mutilated. He fought the urge to retch, and instead, shook his head and grimaced. It didn’t get any easier the second time.
The woman that was tied to the chair in the middle of the living room was barely recognizable. Both of her ears had been removed and her hair had been burned off. She sat slumped in the chair with her shirt ripped open, and where her nipples had once been there were only bloody circles. So, not only had she had been humiliated, she’d also been tortured. This job was personal.
“Stephens,” Martin said from beside him, “let’s try to keep this quiet for as long as possible. I want to see what we can dig up before the media swoops in like the vultures they are.”
Stephens nodded and the two remained where they were, transfixed by the horrific scene.
“This took planning. We need to figure out if this was someone’s end game or the beginning of a spree.”
Chapter 11
Dinner. She still wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking. Thanks to her less than brilliant move, she spent half the morning on the computer trying to figure out what to cook, with no luck. Everything was too complicated. She knew she could boil water to make corn on the cob. Even she could manage that, and there was always salad. But, what on earth did Spencer like to eat?
She paced by the phone while she debated on whether or not to call Betsy, but she didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about what was happening. This was not a date. It was two friends having dinner and one of the aforementioned friends was going to be cooking. She scowled when she realized she was right back where she started.
Drastic times called for drastic measures. She grabbed her keys and locked the door as she left. She would ju
st go to the store and see what popped out at her. It wasn’t a strong plan, but it was the only one she had.
Returning home hours later, and with a ridiculous amount of food, Sam heaved the last bag into the house. Her mom always said it’s a bad idea to go to the store hungry. But, going when you have no idea what you want to make is equally bad. She surveyed her countertops. There wasn’t an inch of empty space.
Later that afternoon, with eyes crossed, she settled on a recipe she found on her second attempt on the internet. Teriyaki chicken was the winner. Everyone liked chicken and it sounded simple enough. A normal person her age could usually cook at least something decent and in the South it seemed women her age were already established cooks, but she was from the city and this city girl’s idea of a cooked meal was takeout.
She thought she might enjoy learning how to cook, but having a guest took the fun right out of it. If she accidentally poisoned him on her first attempt it wouldn’t bode well for future trials in the kitchen. Plus, it was Spencer, and even though he was just a friend, he had set the bar high with the picnic lunch. And, he ate over at Ann’s once a week and she was a marvelous cook. Sam hit her head against the table next to where her laptop was sitting and sighed. Ann was a southern woman through and through.
Sam took a deep breath and tried to calm down knowing she had a plan in place. What she needed was a distraction, something to keep her mind off of Spencer and the clock. She spent the rest of the afternoon fiddling with her flowerbed, the one thing sure to calm her nerves and occupy her mind.
Two hours later, what Sam desired most was a hot shower. Her muscles ached from pulling weeds and planting the new flowers she picked up on her way home from the store. She hadn’t intended to stop at the little nursery, but it was only five minutes out of the way and flowers were her weakness. Besides, it was time to replace her potted plants with Mums for fall.
Safe at Home (Warm Springs Trilogy Book 1) Page 6
