Serenity Stalked

by Craig A. Hart

  “And when you get older?”

  “Perspective changes. I’m glad I left and experienced what life has to offer. Now I want to settle down.”

  “I’ve seen little evidence of it.”

  “You’re talking about the Ellis shootout. That wasn’t my doing.”

  “And the Blair murders?”

  “Nice try. I had nothing to do with it and you know it. You’re too blinded by your desire to pin something on me.”

  “I have nothing against you, Alexander.”

  “You’d like nothing better than to slap a pair of cuffs on me, Wilkes. I don’t know what your problem is, but I suspect it has something to do with your narcissistic tendencies.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Wilkes’ ears reddened and a flush crept up his neck.

  “You’re new here, Wilkes. And young. Too young for this job. Yet you think you deserve something more. You resent being up here in this little backward town. We’ve clashed before and you know how to hold a grudge. And let’s not forget Deputy Stevens. He didn’t deserve to die in the Ellis fiasco. The town looked up to him after Sheriff Adams left, not you. They viewed you as an outsider and your attitude made things worse. You thought you were Matt Dillon and Serenity was Dodge City. But things didn’t work out that way. You felt marginalized. Then I started causing you problems, not the least of which was suspecting your connection with Gannon Ellis.”

  Wilkes looked on the verge of having a stroke. His face was deep red, nearly purple, and a vein throbbed on his neck.

  “Watch yourself, Alexander.”

  “Or what?”

  Wilkes looked at Shelby, unblinking.

  “I asked you a question,” Shelby said. “What will you do, Wilkes, if I don’t watch myself?”

  Wilkes sighed. “We could’ve been friends, Alexander. Helped each other. But you seem hell-bent on making enemies.”

  Shelby shrugged. “I don’t like men with egos so big it weighs down their sense of empathy. I don’t like people who think they can shortcut their way to the top. And I don’t like anyone who tries to pin a murder on me out of revenge.”

  “Just a fucking minute—”

  “Shut up.” Shelby got up from his chair, put his hands on the desk, and leaned in close to Wilkes. “I know you had ties with the Ellis family and knew about the flood of meth coming into the area. This makes you partially responsible for the deaths of several people. At the least, you knew of the danger and did nothing to stop it. You want to know why I don’t like you, Sheriff? That’s why.”

  Shelby straightened. He could see Wilkes trying to decide whether to take his words in stride, or stand up and punch him in the face.

  Then Wilkes smiled. A tight, cold, murderous smile, but a smile nonetheless.

  “I think you’ve made yourself clear,” he said. “And now it’s time for you to leave.”

  Shelby crossed to the door, opened it, then paused and said over his shoulder, “Oh, and one more thing. Normally, I believe in live and let live. But Dan Stevens was a friend of mine. If I ever find a shred of real evidence linking you to any crimes or misconduct, I will see to it you never hold a job in law enforcement again.”

  Shelby walked out, slamming the door behind him.

  13

  Smith followed the woman home that night. She parked her car in the driveway and entered through the front door. The porch light reflected off her blonde hair. He wondered if it was naturally blonde or the conceited sort found in a bottle. He felt sure it was natural; this woman didn’t need false techniques and cheap accessories. She had worn little makeup at the bar and only a simple set of stud earrings. The simplicity made her even more beautiful. Perhaps that was one reason he’d never fancied hookers; they tended to be nothing but fake. And it didn’t help that the one time he had hired a hooker, she’d turned out to possess an impressive set of male genitalia. Smith shuddered at the recollection. He knew he was homophobic and felt proud of it. Traditional values kept this country from falling apart.

  He reached inside his jacket to make sure the knife was at the ready. He wouldn’t kill her tonight. The urge was there, but it was too early. He could wait awhile longer. Not long, but awhile.

  Smith moved toward the house and crouched beneath a lighted window. He raised his head, slowly to avoid any sudden movement that might attract the woman’s attention.

  Headlights illuminated the front yard as a vehicle turned into the driveway. Smith dropped and flattened against the wall. He remained motionless as the vehicle’s engine died, the lights turned off, and a door opened and shut. Footsteps on the walk, a knock on the door. A pause, then the door opened.

  “I can’t believe you still knock,” the woman said. “So formal.”

  “It makes me feel like we’re having an affair.”

  “You’re saying familiarity would ruin the fun? I didn’t know you were into role play.”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

  “I doubt it. Now get inside. It’s cold out.”

  The door shut, silencing the conversation. Smith exhaled and relaxed. He edged toward the front of the house and peered around the corner. In the driveway sat an old Jeep. He had seen it before, while watching the Blair house. At least, it looked like the same one. If so, its driver was becoming a nuisance. Smith wondered what the connection was between the Blairs and his new target. Coincidence? Another warning bell sounded in Smith’s head, but he silenced it…for now.

  Shelby popped the top on a light beer. “Thanks for picking up the swill.”

  “You’re welcome. I admit to being surprised by the request. Since when do you drink light beer?”

  “It’s not by choice. It’s to appease my doctor. I love dark, heavy beer, as you know, but it’s catching up with me.”

  “The great Shelby Alexander heeding a doctor’s orders?” Carly shook her head in mock amazement. “I’ve seen it all.”

  “I’m getting older, okay? I’ll admit it. How was work?”

  “Mostly the same.”

  “Mostly?”

  “I had a weird customer, that’s all.”

  “That’s unusual?”

  “This one was different. He creeped me out. Came in as I started my shift and stayed for hours. I thought he was going to finish out my shift with me, but he left a couple of hours before I did.”

  “Hey, I closed a few bars in my time.”

  “It wasn’t that. He didn’t drink. Picked at a salad and drank water. The manager would’ve asked him to leave if we’d been busy and needed the booth.”

  “Did he bother you?”

  “Only because I felt watched the entire time.”

  “He didn’t follow you home, did he?”

  “He left before I did. Are you trying to creep me out?”

  “No, being protective. The Blair murders haven’t left me unaffected.”

  “It’s a horrible thing, for sure. But in a way, it’s nice to know you’re mortal like the rest of us. You always seem immune to being shocked or afraid.”

  “I’m disgusted by the brutality of the murders and I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t made me more concerned for your welfare.”

  “I’m capable of kicking the ass of anyone who murders babies.”

  “I don’t doubt it. If I’m afraid of anything, it’s offending your feminist sensibilities.”

  “You’re such a charmer.”

  Shelby grinned. “I try.”

  “You want to try somewhere else?”

  “Like the bedroom?”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “I’ll give it a shot.”

  They tried, and succeeded, although halfway through, Shelby felt a pinching in his ribs and his rhythm shifted.

  Carly looked up at him. “Your ribs again?”

  “I think they’re still healing.”

  “You took a beating,” Carly said, referring to Shelby’s fight with Gannon Ellis, a local drug dealer and huge bear of a man who
had fought Shelby to the death earlier in the year.

  “But look who’s still standing.”

  “Okay, warrior. Finish me off.”

  Shelby did so and then returned to his beer, hoping the pleasant interlude would make it seem less horrible. It didn’t. He grimaced.

  “I might as well be drinking dirty dishwater.”

  “My customers at the bar drink gallons of the stuff and don’t complain.”

  “That’s because they’re low-class scum.”

  “Don’t be so elitist. Now drink your dishwater like a good boy.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “Settle down. Today was a rough day and I have an early start tomorrow.”

  “You’re kicking me out?”

  “You can stay as long as you want. But I’m going to shower and get some sleep.”

  “I should get going anyway. Thanks for the beer, or whatever the hell you call it.”

  “It’s for your health.”

  “I might have to go sober, if this my option.”

  Carly shuddered. “Sounds awful.”

  “Don’t worry. Once my doctor sees this isn’t working, he’ll put me on a pill, and I can go back to drinking whatever the fuck I want.”

  Shelby walked to the front door and Carly followed. She opened the door and Shelby walked out onto the steps.

  She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Drive carefully. It gets dark out there.”

  “I think I’m aware of that by now.”

  “God, you’re cranky when you haven’t had your preferred alcoholic beverage. Such a baby!”

  “Sorry. I’m pissed about more than the beer.”

  “Do tell?”

  “It’s Sheriff Wilkes. Someone saw me leaving the Blair house after I had the altercation with Jim. In Wilkes’ mind, that’s evidence I had something to do with the murders.”

  “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “And nowhere near enough to warrant an arrest. But it does mean Wilkes is going to be a pain in my ass for a while.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Carly said. “By which I mean, no punching of sheriffs.”

  “You know me so well.”

  “I’m serious. Keep a low profile and this will all blow over.”

  “I’m not worried about Wilkes. There’s nothing other than my visit to tie me to Blair.”

  “I don’t need you getting into more trouble with Wilkes.”

  “He doesn’t frighten me.”

  “But he frightens me. You know how I feel about law enforcement.”

  Shelby softened. “Don’t worry, Carly. I’ll be careful. See you tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Goodnight.” Shelby kissed her, then walked to his Jeep in the darkness.

  Smith leaned against the side of the house, having overheard the couple’s conversation. This Shelby person presented a definite threat to Smith’s ultimate plan regarding the woman. Their joint schedule seemed to be random, making it difficult to plan. Perhaps there was a way to get him out of the picture. If the sheriff suspected Shelby of being involved with the Blair murders and was predisposed to think ill of him, it would be easy to cast further suspicion his way. By doing so, Smith might remove Shelby from the picture. It might even be possible to create a scenario that implicated Shelby in not only the Blair murders, but also of killing the woman. This would give Smith much needed time to vacate the area. Smith kept smiling as he moved away from the house and into the surrounding darkness. It was a beautiful thing when a plan came together, and always gave him reassurance regarding his own superiority. People made such good pawns, and he was the chess master.

  14

  Two mornings later, a loud banging on the door again awakened Shelby. He dragged himself from bed and glanced out the bedroom window. A county sheriff’s car sat in the drive. A feeling of déjà vu washed over Shelby. He cursed and stumbled to the door. He grabbed his shirt but didn’t bother to pull on pants or pat down his hair. Wilkes didn’t deserve the consideration. Shelby threw open the door.

  “Wilkes, what the—!”

  “Good morning, Alexander,” Wilkes said.

  The sheriff looked smug, but the obnoxious expression wasn’t what cut off Shelby’s profane onslaught. Quinn Edwards stood next to Wilkes, looking one shade surprised and two shades amused.

  “Good morning, Shelby,” she said. Her eyes took him in, from tousled hair to open shirt to white briefs.

  “Ah…Quinn. Hello.”

  “Sorry to wake you, Alexander,” Wilkes said, clearly not at all sorry.

  “This better be important,” Shelby said.

  “I wouldn’t interrupt your beauty sleep otherwise. God knows you need it.”

  Shelby glanced back at Edwards, who made a cringing expression as if telling him none of this had been her idea.

  “So spill it, Wilkes. And then get the hell off my property.”

  “I’d like to take a look around, if you don’t mind.”

  “And if I do?”

  Wilkes handed over a piece of paper. Shelby took it and glanced over the document.

  “You went to the trouble of getting a search warrant? You really are desperate to find something on me, aren’t you?”

  “Any objections?”

  “Of course I have objections, but none worth fighting a warrant over. I don’t have anything to hide from you, Wilkes. Go ahead. Search until your eyes fall out. But make sure you follow the warrant.” Shelby waved it at the sheriff. “As I’m sure you know, it only gives you permission to search the property and outbuildings, not the house.”

  “I don’t think we’ll need to search the house,” Wilkes said, pointing to a shed by the treeline. “New shed?”

  “After my barn burned down, I needed something to keep my tools in.”

  “I’ll start there.” Wilkes moved toward the shed, Edwards following a few steps back.

  Shelby ran to his bedroom, grabbed his pants, and then hurried to catch up, trying to run and pull up the pants at the same time. “You should hope this doesn’t end up in court. Otherwise, I’ll have this search challenged on grounds you didn’t allow me to completely dress before beginning the search.”

  Wilkes laughed. “Please, you’re not that shy.”

  The sheriff reached the shed and fumbled with the latch. It opened easily.

  “You don’t keep it locked?”

  “There isn’t anything of real value in there.”

  Wilkes pulled open the door and stepped inside. He removed a flashlight from his belt and flicked it on, playing the beam into the dim corners.

  As the sheriff poked around inside the shed, Shelby looked over at Quinn.

  “Hey, since you’re a crime writer, maybe you can answer a weird question for me.”

  “Maybe. I like weird questions.”

  “Which gender commits more murders with knives?”

  Quinn laughed. “I’m disappointed. I thought you were going to ask me something weird.”

  “Sorry to let you down.”

  “Any particular reason you want to know?”

  “I’m asking for a friend.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, by numbers, men commit more murders with knives.”

  Shelby sensed victory.

  “But that’s only because far more men commit murders.”

  Shelby’s heart fell.

  “If you break it down by gender, almost twice the percentage of female murderers used a knife than their male counterparts.”

  “Well, fuck.”

  “And this upsets you?”

  “I hate being wrong, that’s all.” Shelby decided to keep the info to himself. Carly didn’t really need to know, did she? Finding out she’d been correct would only make her more insufferable.

  Wilkes pulled aside a blanket covering Shelby’s small collection of power tools. Wilkes moved an electric drill and leaned in for a closer look. Shelby watched him ease an object out.

  �
��Well, well…” Wilkes said. “I thought we might find something.”

  Shelby moved forward, but Wilkes stopped him by putting a hand on his sidearm.

  “Stay back, Alexander.” Wilkes held the object up to the light. It was a long knife, its blade stained with something dark and ominous-looking. “Looks like it fits the profile of the murder weapon, and it appears to have blood still on the blade. If the blood matches the Blairs’—”

  “Wilkes, this is ridiculous. You know I didn’t kill those people.”

  “I don’t know any such thing. I’ve had a feeling about you, Alexander. I’ve been hoping to be wrong, but there’s only so much evidence a law enforcement officer can ignore.”

  Shelby scoffed. “Spare me your hypocritical bloviating. The knife was planted and you know it.”

  “Are you suggesting this knife isn’t yours?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you. I’ve never seen the knife before.” Shelby knew the words sounded pathetic. He remembered the stories his friend Mack told about criminals who denied the undeniable, including a shooter found standing over his victim, with residue on his hands, his fingerprints on the murder weapon, a history of armed robbery, and still maintained he’d never handled a gun in his life.

  “Sure, sounds familiar,” the sheriff said. “I have a cliché of my own: save it for the judge.”

  “Are you considering arresting me on this ridiculous charge?”

  Wilkes’ eyes were cold and calculating.

  “I’d love to take you in, Alexander. The thought of snapping cuffs on you makes me a little hard. But when I do it, I want it to be for good.”

  “So you’re not taking me in.”

  “Not now. But I will.”

  “How do you know I won’t run?”

  The sheriff fixed Shelby with a horrible grin. “I hope you try it, Alexander. I hope you try it.”

  15

  “What an asshole.”

  Shelby smiled. He could always count on Carly to have his back. That was one thing he’d missed in his marriage. His ex-wife, Helen, had been more interested in being correct than taking his side. It hadn’t been unusual for her to throw him under the bus in the presence of others with a subtle correction and exasperated half smile, as if saying she knew how wrong her husband was and it was a trial to put up with his stupidity and lack of class. Carly was different, and in more than years. True, she was twenty-five years younger than Helen, and that had its allure, but she also had no ego when it came to him. If he ran a stop sign and someone honked, Carly was the first to give the finger. Having someone take his side even when he was in the wrong gave Shelby a sense of confidence in the relationship. They disagreed in private, but not around others. His feelings toward Carly were complicated, but he had to admit they were deepening. This worried him for several reasons, not the least of which being he was under no illusions regarding their future together. He was thirty years her senior. Sure, it was fun now…but what about ten years from now? Twenty? It was difficult to imagine Carly sticking around as she blossomed into full womanhood, and Shelby wouldn’t want to hold her back as he became less and less capable. And while he wasn’t hurting for money, he didn’t have wealth to keep her interested, even if she would be swayed by such temptations.