Drawing Blood

by Mary Lou George

  “That’s good,” Avery said, looking over her shoulder and smelling of clean laundry.

  Holly had heard her come in and knew she’d find her way to where Holly sat examining the sketch.

  Avery took a seat, sipped her coffee and said, “You’ve nailed him.” She giggled. “That pun was entirely intentional by the way.”

  Holly smiled. “I thought you were swimming with the kids all day today.”

  “Stephen’s just fixing them breakfast. So I slipped out to check on you. A phone call wouldn’t have been enough. Even you can fudge over the phone. I had to see your face.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not thinking of backing out of going to his place today, are you?”

  Holly rested her head in the palm of her hand and propped it up with her elbow. “No. I’m definitely going. I’m just trying not to waste my whole morning thinking about him.”

  Avery looked down at the drawing and said, “Yeah? How’s that going for you?”

  They both started to laugh.

  Avery said, “What’s wrong with thinking about him? Of course you’re thinking of him. He’s the kind of man women think about. Hell, Irene O’Neill was old enough to be his grandmother and I’d bet she thought of him.”

  “Poor Irene is dead,” Holly said bluntly.

  Avery refused to be ashamed of her comment. “Yeah, well, when it comes to that man I’m not sure death is enough.”

  “You’re nuts. You know that, don’t you?” Holly appreciated her friend’s attempt to cheer her.

  “Yeah, but I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Better than most people.” They exchanged a knowing look. No words were necessary.

  Avery’s romance with her husband Stephen was the stuff that made best selling novels best selling novels. They hadn’t liked each other at first, but they’d wanted each other with a passion that promised to become legendary. That unmistakable desire made things very interesting until finally they actually communicated with each other and stopped playing games. In the end, they found themselves very much in love. Nobody was more surprised than Avery. Finally she stopped fighting him and her feelings for him. Holly had been relieved, because Stephen was the only man she’d ever met who was worthy of her friend. Theirs was a marriage to be envied.

  With a generosity of spirit that came from true love, they’d made Holly part of the family. She loved Jessica, Aaron and Connor like she would her own children which was a good thing as Holly figured it. She had never felt a desperate need to procreate. She often joked that her biological clock was unplugged and flashing 12:00. Because of Avery, she had a family, children who loved her, children to love. She was content…at least up until now…up until she’d walked into the super market and straight into Stryker Cain’s arms.

  Chapter 7

  By noon, the sun had reached its zenith and Holly was forced to turn on the air conditioning in her car. She’d dressed with the heat in mind and that included the heat Stryker tended to generate inside her. She wore a white sundress that she knew complemented her golden tan and her gentle curves. After about five minutes, she turned off the air conditioning and opened her sun roof. She much preferred the fresh clean Muskoka air, unconditioned.

  He’d given her excellent directions to his home and she had no problem finding his laneway. She pulled her car to a stop before turning down his drive. Taking a moment, she made a vain attempt to calm her nerves. Part of her wanted to put the car into reverse and get the hell out of there, but Holly ignored that part and pushed on. Her heart pounded as his house came into view.

  She liked it on sight. He’d made a beautiful home out of the huge old two story farmhouse. There were changes like an obviously new barn, but not a single one of his upgrades interfered with the charm of the place. The man himself sat on the porch steps, as casual as you please, throwing a ball for a yellow lab who brought it back to him over and over again. The dog dropped the saliva-soaked projectile at her master’s feet and barked. Stryker stood up when Holly brought her car to a stop. She hadn’t seen him move, but before she could reach for the door handle, he was opening it for her.

  He offered her his hand and helped her out of the car. It was a sweet gentlemanly gesture and smiling up at him, Holly placed her hand in his. His touch was cool and familiar, but it still made her heart skip a beat, then pound faster. It felt like he took her heart in his hand, touched it then gave it back to her forever changed.

  She could think of nothing to say. Coming to her rescue, he covered the silence.

  “You’re right on time.” With all encompassing expertise, his eyes swept down to her sandals and her painted pink toes, then back up. “You look beautiful.”

  She peered up at him and said the first thing that came to mind. “So do you.”

  He laughed and guided her toward his front door. The dog gamboled up to them with the tennis ball in her mouth. Stryker bent and took the ball from her.

  “Holly, this is Polly.” He laughed at the rhyme.

  “That sounds ridiculous,” she said.

  He nodded. “It does, doesn’t it?” He threw the ball and Polly went running after it. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  The inside of the house was decorated with simple taste. Holly didn’t want to think that he lacked imagination, but she could see many opportunities he’d missed. Opportunities and little things that could make the place more homey. Being thoroughly human, she couldn’t help but rejoice that it lacked the feminine touch. A chilling thought occurred to her. She stopped and looked up at him. Games were not Holly’s forte and she wasn’t prepared to start playing at this late stage.

  “Are you married?” She blurted her fear out loud and braced herself for the all important answer.

  He turned and looked at her seriously. “No, are you?”

  She smiled and barely managed not to breathe an audible sigh of relief. “No.”

  “For the record, Holly, I’m single. I’ve never been married, nor have I ever considered the possibility of getting married. I am not a monk, but I’ve never taken advantage of or hurt a sexual partner in my entire life.” He paused then added, “Oh, and I’m straight.”

  She laughed, almost giddy now. “Wow. That’s a lot of information to take in at one time.”

  “I have faith in you,” he said. Taking her hand in his, he pulled her with him.

  Holly liked the second level of the house as well and appreciated the decisions he’d made regarding updates, but what she liked best was the feeling of his hand holding hers. She felt awkward and fell silent when he showed her his bedroom. The huge four poster sat in the middle of the room like an emperor granting an audience to his subjects. Wow, the things we could do in that bed. She couldn’t look at Stryker, but she couldn’t look at the bed either because it inspired all kinds of fantasies in her well endowed imagination. With careful deliberation, she studied the ceiling. She even made some lame comment about the light fixture he’d chosen.

  Determined, she pushed her fantasies aside for the moment, promising herself that she’d pull them out and visit them again later at her leisure, maybe while standing in line at the bank. Now that would raise some eyebrows. Holly smiled at the thought. Her smile made Stryker look at her in confusion, but he said nothing.

  She walked out of the bedroom without saying a word and blindly headed toward what she thought was another room. Stryker came up behind her and opened the door. She almost stepped inside a linen closet.

  He said, “You seem interested in this particular room of the house. I guess most women look for the closets and storage capacity in every home. Let me assure you that I’ve plenty of that.” Smirking, he moved to a guest room.

  This time Holly didn’t even step over the threshold, but simply glanced at it from her position in the doorway, unwilling to tempt the fates.

  He said, “There are two other bedrooms like this one.”

  She nodded. “That’s a lot of room for just one man.”

  “Yeah,
I guess it is, but someday perhaps I’ll have house guests.”

  “Do you have a large family?” She snagged this conversational gambit in desperation.

  He shrugged. “Let’s put it this way, I have a large extended family.”

  “That must be nice.” She’d never had aunts and uncles or cousins. Both her parents had been only children. Holly had no one but her immediate family and her chosen one, Avery, Stephen, Jessica, Aaron and Connor.

  As if reading her mind, he said, “It is nice to be surrounded by people who care for you. I could tell that Avery is your family by choice, if not by blood.”

  She smiled. “You put that exactly the way I would have.”

  “It’s impossible to miss.”

  She didn’t respond. His words didn’t require a comment.

  He showed Holly the kitchen and she was lost. To her inexperienced eyes it had every gadget ever made by man. She didn’t know the purpose of half of them. Her mystification must have been obvious because he said, “Yes, I know how to use everything in this kitchen.”

  Holly laughed. “I’m glad you do because it’s beyond me.” She pointed to one gleaming stainless steel apparatus warily and said, “I think I saw that one in a horror movie once. Not good.”

  “If you’re thinking of the movie I’m thinking of then you’re damned right it’s not good.” He laughed. Somehow Holly knew they were thinking of the same thing and she accompanied his laughter with her own. It sounded good and she started to relax a little.

  He served lunch outside in the garden. Holly was impressed with his culinary prowess and his gardening skills, but he rushed to set her straight.

  “I don’t know much about gardening, but I’m happy to hire someone who does.” He looked mildly apologetic.

  Holly laughed. “I’ve never been good at pulling weeds. I can’t help but think they have a right to live just as well as any other plant. In fact I admire them, they’re plucky.”

  “Well, now that you mention it. Who was it that decided grass is good and dandelions are bad?”

  “Exactly.” She nodded and gently pounded the table with her fist. “And you can eat dandelions, damn it! Marigolds are good and dandelions are bad. What’s the difference? A flower is a flower as long as it’s indigenous.”

  “You can even make dandelion wine!” Stryker laughed with mock triumph. He lifted his glass of Sangria and toasted, “Here’s to the dandelion, a much misunderstood gift of nature.”

  Holly touched her glass to his and their eyes met. All humor drained from her face as they stared at each other. The tension was back instantly. She could see desire in his eyes and wondered if it was her own reflected back at her. She held his gaze. He looked away.

  At last, he said, “Did you bring your drawing?”

  Lost for a second Holly took a moment to reply. At last, she nodded. “Yes. It’s in my bag.”

  As she moved to retrieve her handbag, Stryker shook his head and said,

  “Allow me.” Rising from the table with effortless grace, it took him a split second to retrieve her purse. He looked funny carrying her little flowered bag. Holly suppressed a giggle. Men always seemed to have a particular expression whenever they carried a woman’s handbag, part discomfort, part embarrassment. They held it like they would a baby with a dirty diaper. They knew that they had to handle it with care, but they would much rather someone else took it off their hands.

  He looked so cute. Holly was delighted. For that moment, gone was the sense of danger that seemed to surround him. The image was an intriguing juxtaposition—vital, potentially dangerous man with purse. He arched a brow at her, an inquiry in his eyes, but she ignored him and started to rummage through her bag. She pulled out the folded drawing and handed it to him.

  Without missing a beat he said, “It’s good. You shouldn’t have folded it.”

  Holly looked at him warily. “It’s not something you want to frame and put in your living room.”

  “No, I guess it isn’t, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t good.”

  She shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “I say so. You captured Irene’s kitchen perfectly. And look,” he pointed to the sketch, “there’s the dish rack. When you created this, she wasn’t planning on leaving. You did change the future, just not enough.”

  “Whoopee! Irene O’Neill died outside in her garden instead of at her kitchen table. She didn’t make a mess on the linoleum, thanks to me.”

  He reached out and touched her hand. She felt his need to comfort her and looked up at him in surprise.

  “You did all you could. More than most people would have done. It isn’t your fault that Irene didn’t get out in time. What we have to hold on to is the fact that given the right opportunity, we can change the future. That’s miraculous in itself.” His thumb gently stroked her hand. “Your drawing proves something else and it gives me no comfort.”

  She frowned and looked at him waiting for his explanation.

  He didn’t keep her waiting long. “It proves to me that this won’t be the last.”

  “How’s that?” Holly felt bewildered. Why would he suggest such a thing?

  He pointed to the drawing.

  “See here? You drew two puncture wounds.”

  Wow, he noticed the marks right away. Distracted by the blood and gore, it had taken her some study to notice that detail. But what did they mean? “Two puncture wounds? Why does that make you think there will be more murders?”

  “Because I’ve seen this before.”

  “Where?” Holly was horrified. “Are you saying we’re looking at a serial killer?”

  “I’d rather not say until I have more information. Right now it’s just a hunch.”

  She considered arguing with him, but one quick glance at his set expression had her deciding against it for the moment. Instead, she studied the picture again shuddering. “It’s so horrible.

  “It is, but if it helps at all, I don’t think she suffered.”

  She rested her hands on the table and said, “It helps a little.”

  “If your drawing depicts what actually happened, then death came fast. It would have been almost immediate.” He pointed to the drawing. “See? Clean wounds. No additional trauma to the skin. The weapon was sharp and the killer’s aim, precise.”

  Holly looked away from the drawing and into his blue eyes. “What makes marks like that? A barbeque fork?” She scoffed at the suggestion. “Snake bite? Vampire bite?”

  Trying to find some humor, she searched his face. He wasn’t laughing. He eyes remained fixed, intent and deadly serious. “Nevertheless, I don’t believe you would have drawn one isolated murder committed on the spur of the moment. I think it was planned and some part of you picked up on that plan. I don’t care what the police think. Irene wasn’t killed by her ex-husband.”

  “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,” Holly said seriously.

  He smiled at her. “You are enchanting.”

  Taken aback, Holly lifted an eyebrow and smiled at him. “Now that’s an antiquated word. It conjures up images of old Englishmen and dusty libraries.”

  He frowned, confusion on his face. “I don’t think that’s fair. The word fit, so I used it.”

  “Well then, I guess I should thank you for the compliment.” She hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “It was a compliment, wasn’t it?”

  “Of course,” he said and added ruefully, “I guess I could have used more modern words, but they just didn’t seem to express what I meant.”

  She waved him off. “Sorry. I’ll take enchanting. It’s a nice word. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He sat there smiling at her and appeared prepared to do that for the rest of the afternoon.

  Holly shifted a little uncomfortably. Being the recipient of all his attention was a little unnerving and she felt compelled to keep the conversation going. “If what you said is right, then there will be another murder or attempted murder. Right?”

&nbs
p; He nodded with obvious regret.

  “What do we do to stop it?”

  His tone was deadly serious. “I wish I knew. For now, I think we should work the problem. That’s all we have.”

  Holly nodded eagerly. “Yes, work the problem.” She nodded again then frowned. “How do we do that?”

  “We’ve checked out the crime scene and found very little. Murder investigations are never like they’re depicted on television. Crime scene investigators don’t work every case. The procedures you see on CSI are expensive and time consuming. They won’t be used here especially since the cops think they’ve got the guy. They’ve cottoned onto the first and easiest explanation.”

  “That hardly seems fair.”

  “It isn’t fair, but that’s the way it works. Unless some cop takes a personal interest in this case, they’ll try Stan O’Neill for Irene’s murder or better yet, they’ll try to get him to confess to a lesser charge and strike a deal.”

  “So you think they’ll work on getting a confession from him then?”

  He nodded. “Yes, that’s where they’ve concentrated their efforts. I’ve called Irene’s nephew and asked him for admittance to the house. The police have released it. We won’t have to sneak around anymore.”

  “But what are we going to find that we didn’t last night?”

  “I’m not sure. The neighbor who found her body and the cops who arrived first on the scene messed up the murder site pretty good, but I’ll still take some samples. I can send them to a private lab and have testing done.”

  Holly’s jaw dropped. “You can do that?”

  “If you have the right connections you can.”

  “I guess that means you do.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see what can be done, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather do this without alerting the police. I don’t think they’d take kindly to us investigating something they think is solved.”

  “But what happens if we find the murderer?”

  “If we hand them the culprit along with solid evidence, I don’t think they’re going to care where the solution came from.”