by Debra Webb
Another nightmare.
"Sarah, you okay?"
"I'm fine." She staggered to the bathroom. Washed her face. Buttressed her trembling body against the sink.
Shit.
She hated those fucking dreams.
She was okay now.
She dried her face. Peed. Then washed her hands.
Pausing at the door, Sarah braced for facing Conner.
Talk about awkward. It was bad enough that he knew about her past. The nightmare would only reaffirm his concerns.
Damn.
Deep breath. Just do it.
She sauntered back into the room.
He sat on the side of the bed, the sheet tugged over his lap. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, yeah." She climbed into bed and crawled under the covers. She didn't want to talk about this with him. He'd already succeeded in making her feel completely vulnerable; completely unable to resist him.
"Are we going to talk about this?"
"Nope."
No questions. She did not want any more questions.
He already knew too much.
"I was wrong before." He leaned against the headboard, propped one muscled leg on the bed.
She closed her eyes. Refused to look at him. To be tempted. No matter what he said, the words would only be a lead-in to talking about her past.
"You do what you have to do to survive and I had no right to question your tactics."
Opening her eyes, she admitted defeat. She might as well get this over with. He wasn't going to let it go until he knew the whole story. It would be in her best interests to play off his concerns. "It's not as bad as it sounds." Okay, so that was a stretch. "I never really knew what was going on. I played in the butcher shop during the day. I wouldn't have known the difference between animal blood and human blood." It was all the other stuff… the body parts… that scared her but she wasn't going into that. "I was usually in bed. When I heard the sounds, I hid. My mother told me to hide when I got scared and she would find me. She always did…"
"Always?"
"Except that once." Like in the nightmare she'd just had. "She was filling an order for Jimmy Dean and my dad was the main ingredient."
Suffocating silence.
And finally, "So you got counseling? Like jerkwad said."
Sarah sat up. She stared a moment at his semierect penis and then looked into his eyes. "I did it all. Alcohol, sex, drugs, mostly prescription. Sex, cigarettes, more sex, more booze." She puffed out a blast of disgusted air. "And finally I decided that I shouldn't punish myself for my mother's mistakes. And yes." She plopped back onto her pillow. "I've had several shrinks. This one seems to have stuck. Though I don't know why. I never follow her advice. Otherwise I wouldn't be here right now."
He scooted down next to her. "That really sucks."
"No shit." Why didn't he just shut up? He pulled her into his arms. "You did good, Sarah Newton." He pulled her closer. "Real good."
She closed her eyes and blocked the echo of his words.
Not real.
She couldn't trust him.
Or his sweet words.
Public Safety Office, 11:05 A.M.
"Don't even try it," Kale said to the man he'd known his whole life, Deputy Rodger Boyd. "We're going in."
"You can go in," Rodger said, stepping into his path. "But not her."
"So shoot me." Kale walked around the determined deputy, Sarah right behind him.
No one was stepping on her toes today.
If August got in his way, Conner would beat the hell out of the guy.
The crackle of the deputy's radio warned that he was informing the chief.
Kale didn't care what they said. Sarah had as much right to be here as anyone else. She was a part of this investigation. He'd gotten word half an hour ago from Karen Brighton that the next briefing would start at eleven.
Images from a shower with Sarah… more sex… another shower… flashed like a steamy movie trailer. He tucked it away for savoring later.
Maybe she was right and he hadn't been living his own life. But today was as good a day as any to start. Or maybe he'd started last night.
He passed several other deputies en route to his destination, all of whom stopped and stared at him.
Fuck 'em. He'd known these people his whole life. If they didn't trust his actions, then tough shit.
He burst into the conference room where the chief, the mayor, Kale's fellow councilmen. and the fed were already gathered.
"Sorry we're late," Kale announced. Before anyone could get past the shock of his and Sarah's appearance he dragged out a chair and waited for her to sit. He didn't take his eyes off August. "If we missed anything, we'd like to be brought up to speed."
Kale settled into the chair next to Sarah.
"Kale." The chief was the first to speak. "Don't make me have her hauled out of here by force."
"If she goes," Kale cautioned, "I go. And when I go, I'm going straight out there to those reporters and tell them everything I know." He surveyed the table. "And everything you don't know."
Sarah stared as if she didn't recognize him.
Maybe she didn't. Whatever she thought, he wasn't that go-along guy all the time.
He'd assured her that the people in this village were God-fearing, compassionate folks. By God, he intended for these people to live up to his promise.
Mayor Patterson rose from his chair. "Conner, if you persist in this behavior—"
Special Agent Lex Asshole August held up a hand. "He's right. She should stay."
The chief's jaw dropped.
As did Kale's. What the hell was this guy up to? Sarah had warned him not to trust anything August did or said.
The mayor stood there with his own mouth hanging open for another three or four seconds, before resuming his seat.
No one else said a word.
Chief Willard heaved a sigh. "Well, let's get to it then."
He reviewed the details Kale had already shared with Sarah. She didn't ask any questions. As the chief spoke Kale noticed a timeline had been arranged on the white board usually reserved for community activities requiring law enforcement assistance.
A picture of Valerie, as well as one of Alicia, was accompanied by dates, times, and events. Next to each entry was a list of the persons related in some way to the victim. Beneath all that information were crime-scene photos and the few evidentiary details.
"This morning"—the chief moved on to more recent news—"we swept the scene again." He surveyed those present. "We got lucky."
Kale tensed. They found something? Next to him, Sarah perked up.
Lex August leaned forward. "We found a single boot print in probably the one thawed spot of ground in the whole area."
The chief shook his head. "You'd think the fool stumbled all over the woods looking for that one place to step."
Sarah leaned forward. "Boot? What size?"
August's gaze met hers. "Ladies', size eight. The same as yours."
Tension whipped through Kale. He wanted to rearrange that perfect smile so bad.
"You now believe the unsub is a woman," she said, her gaze never leaving August's.
"That's a possibility." The fed's attention didn't waver. He seemed to be devouring Sarah with his eyes.
It was as if everyone else in the room had vanished. Kale's fury just kept building.
The chief raised his hands. "Before we go getting too excited and making any announcements to the press, there are a few things we need to do."
August turned to the chief. "I'll start the interviews. The list is compiled and prioritized."
"The rest of us," the chief explained, "will divide up into teams and start tracking down leads. One team will run down anyone in the area who is prescribed propranolol, the beta blocker discovered in Alicia's tox screen. That'll take a while since it's a pretty common drug. Another team will get a list of anyone local who competed against Valerie Gerard in that fourth-grade spelling bee,
kids and parents, brothers, whatever. And the local competitors in any competitions Alicia Appleton participated in."
"Now that," Deputy Brighton noted, "will take some time."
A rumble of agreement went around the room.
"I want every name," the chief reiterated. "Narrow down those results by anyone who wears a size eight boot." He gestured to the fed. "Agent August has the male equivalent in case we're dealing with a younger male. We'll meet here to compare notes at midnight. No one sleeps until this is done."
The group stood and filed out of the room, a new sense of urgency in their movements.
August rounded the table. "I assume you'll accept my apology for yesterday." This he said directly to Sarah despite Kale standing right next to her.
Sarah didn't know what Lex was up to, but one thing was certain, he never apologized… and meant it. "For what? Telling the truth? Not a big deal." She stared straight at him, let him see the delight in her eyes. "Just remember, it works both ways."
Lex adjusted his tie. "I suppose I was feeling a little territorial. You were here first and it has been a while since we've worked together." He glanced briefly at Conner. "How have you been?"
"I've been great." She reached for her coat and pulled it on, then slung her bag on her shoulder.
"Excellent." He smiled that million-dollar smile that had first tugged at her heart strings. "It'll be nice working with you again."
Next to her, Conner shifted. If the glower on his face was any indication, he still wanted to beat the hell out of Lex.
"Lots of things are nice, Lex," she returned. "But working with you in any capacity isn't one of them."
Sarah left him standing there. She didn't look back. Conner was behind her. She could feel him. Her body tingled as she recalled hot, slippery sex in the shower that morning. But the feelings that overwhelmed all else were those confusing ones from the way he'd made love to her last night. So sweetly, so tenderly. No one had ever made her feel that protected, that secure.
She shook off the feelings and memories. She had to focus.
Though she was glad Lex had cleared the way for her to stay, she understood he had a motive. Whatever his agenda, she wasn't going to allow him to manipulate her reactions again.
Outside she and Conner took the usual route to an out-of-the-way parking spot. The press was still camped out front in force.
"Hey."
She hadn't realized she'd been moving so fast until Conner had to hurry to catch up to her.
"Yeah."
"So this thing with you and August," he asked, choosing his words carefully, "what kind of thing was it?"
She rounded the hood without answering, got into the passenger seat of his Jeep. That seemed to be a habit of late. He ended up driving her most everywhere.
Conner slid behind the wheel. "What kind of thing?" he repeated.
"A relationship." She pulled her seat belt into place. "You know, living together."
"Were you…" He pulled out onto the street. "Engaged or something?"
"No. Just long-term sex partners."
He braked at a stop sign. "Where are we going?"
The chief certainly hadn't given her any part of the assignments he'd doled out. "West Street."
Conner's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Matilda Calder's house. I have some questions for her."
She wanted to speak to the innkeeper and the reverend. But right now she needed to see Matilda.
Conner drove another few blocks.
"Do you still have feelings for him?"
He didn't have to specify which him. She knew exactly who he meant and the idea was a joke. "Not at all."
"There sure as hell seemed to be some tension between the two of you." He shrugged. "I know you were mad as hell yesterday, but he seemed to be trying to make nice today."
Sarah stared out the window. "What you witnessed yesterday is called hatred, Conner. This morning was tolerance, We both want to work this case, so we tolerate each other, Unless he gives me reason, I won't kill him or anything."
Conner chuckled. "I'm not too sure you would kill anyone. Even if they gave you reason."
He just didn't understand. She turned to face him. Wanted to make sure he really got it. "I'm my mother's daughter, her DNA is fifty percent of my genetic makeup."
He laughed outright then. "You think because she was a killer you'll end up a killer."
"That's scientifically possible."
"Well." He braked for the turn onto West. "That's where we see things differently, Sarah. You believe in science. I believe in people." He looked at her. "I believe in you."
She stared at his profile. Too handsome. Too sweet.
Everything about him made her flaws all the more glaring.
"I hope I don't disappoint you."
He pulled to the curb in front of a rundown shack of a house. "I'm not worried." He flashed her a smile then got out.
What the hell was it about this guy that made her not want to fail… him?
Forget about it, she ordered.
For now, anyway.
The house should have been condemned ages ago. The entire structure leaned to one side. Three, no four, dead cars had been left unburied in the yard. A dog lay on the porch. Sarah didn't see how he kept from freezing to death.
His tail flopped as they climbed the rickety steps.
"Good fella," Conner said gently before banging on the door.
The house backed up to the woods. Considering the wooded areas between here and the location of the cemetery, it would be easy for Matilda to slip back and forth without being spotted.
"It's quiet in there," Conner said. "Maybe no one's home."
"Knock again."
He banged a little harder this time.
Sarah listened; heard some bumping around. "Someone's up."
Conner beat his fist on the door a third time.
The door flew open. "What the hell is it?"
A woman with stringy black hair and dressed in nothing but a T-shirt glared from Conner to Sarah. But the eyes were the same as Matilda's. This unfortunate being was her mother.
"Is Matilda home?" Sarah summed up the woman in one word. Druggie. Too skinny. Splotchy complexion. Bad teeth. She couldn't have been more than thirty-five. A serious user.
"Who knows?" The woman flung the door open wider. "See for yourself. I'm going back to bed." She eyed Conner once before putting word into action.
Conner entered before Sarah. Another of those protective male gestures.
The living room had few furnishings. A ragged couch and a couple of tables. The mainstay of the decorating was garbage. Empty pizza boxes. Beer cans. Newspapers. Dirty clothes.
"Nice place," Sarah murmured. Poor kid. Living in a dump like this… with a mother like that. As crazy as Sarah's mother had been, she'd kept a clean house and she'd taken care of Sarah most of the time.
The kitchen was even worse. Dirty dishes filled the sink, covered the countertops and table. A couple of black flies that miraculously survived the cold crawled around on the window above the sink.
Conner led the way down the hall. As she'd promised, mother was sprawled in bed, most of her ass showing. Some dirtbag lay partially under her. A filthy bathroom was the next door they encountered.
The final door was closed. Sarah knocked but there was no answer. The room beyond the door was quiet. She grasped the knob and turned. The latch released and the door opened.
Unlike the rest of the house, Matilda's room was neat. A white pentagram had been painted with what appeared to be spray paint on the wood floor. Other symbols of her religion hung on the walls. The one bookshelf was mostly empty, Sarah remembered Matilda saying that she'd hidden her stuff.
Her great-great-grandmother's spell books.
The bed was made. The covers old and tattered.
The closet had a couple of T-shirts hanging inside and not much else.
The window that faced the woods was open a crack.
Sarah walked over and peered through the dingy panes. "So this is your way in and out." The girl could avoid running into her mother and her friends and seek the safety of the places she felt safe.
The woods.
And the cemetery.
Sarah turned to face Conner. "Let's go to Bay View Cemetery."
He shook his head. "No kid should have to live like this."
And, the saddest part was that none of the God-fearing, compassionate folks in his village seemed to notice or care.
That was Sarah's cynical side talking. But it was true.
Somehow she would find a way to help Matilda. It was the least Sarah could do for a kindred spirit.
The drive to the cemetery took only three or four minutes.
Sarah opened her door as soon as he'd shut off the engine. She scanned the cemetery. No sign of Matilda.
Sarah had taken only one step from the Jeep when she stopped dead. She stared at Mattie Calder's headstone.
Sitting there watching Sarah… or maybe waiting for her to arrive… were three black crows.
CHAPTER 29
Noon
In just one hour the special afternoon prayer service would begin.
Deborah Mahaney stared out the window over her kitchen sink and peered next door at the church's towering stained-glass window. The beautiful rendering of Jesus ascending to heaven gave her comfort even now, in this tragic time.
Today Christopher had a brief, faith-building sermon planned for their grieving congregation.
Evil had struck again and taken another of their sweet children.
Deborah's gnarled hands ached. She rubbed them together.
The memorial service would be tomorrow morning at eleven. Poor Rachel couldn't bear the thought of going through the service days from now. She wanted it behind her.
The ache in Deborah's heart went soul deep. Such tragedy.
As much as she grieved for the Gerards and the Apple-tons, Deborah had problems of her own, too.
The FBI agent was coming this afternoon. He'd come once already to question Christopher about his discovery of poor Alicia's body. But this time was different. Like that awful Sarah Newton, he wanted to talk to Christopher about Valerie.
Dear God, what am I to do? Deborah closed her eyes and prayed hard. How could this be happening? So much time had passed and there had been no trouble. Why now? Poor Valerie was dead. What difference would it make now?
