The Dying Game

by Beverly Barton

  He closed the oven door and set the timer, then tossed the oven mitt on the counter. Sandi hung her bag on the coatrack near the backdoor.

  “We’re having spaghetti for supper,” he told her. “Shaun is watching TV in the den and doing his homework. The girls are upstairs cleaning their room.”

  Sandi went over and put her arm around Earl Ray, hugged him, and then kissed his cheek. “It would seem you have everything under control.”

  He swatted her on the behind. She giggled.

  “I’ve got a bottle of that wine you like chilling in the refrigerator,” he said. “Maybe after the kids are down for the night, you and I—”

  She kissed him again. Seriously. Putting a little tongue into it. He cupped her buttocks and pressed her into his erection.

  “Ah, gee, I wish you two wouldn’t do that,” Shaun said as he entered the kitchen. “Stuff like that’s liable to warp a little kid like me.”

  Laughing at their son’s overly dramatic statement, Sandi and Earl Ray broke apart. Sandi walked over to Shaun and ruffled his thick auburn curls.

  “One of these days, you’ll want some girl to kiss you,” Sandi said.

  “Yuck. Not me. Not ever.”

  Glancing at her husband, she asked, “How soon will dinner be ready?”

  “Give me ten minutes,” Earl Ray said. “Why don’t you go sit down and rest until then?” He motioned to Shaun. “Run upstairs and tell your sisters to wash up and get ready for supper.”

  “Ah, do I have to?” Shaun whined.

  “Go!” Earl Ray ordered.

  Frowning, Shaun meandered out of the kitchen. The slow, steady clump, clump, clump of his athletic shoes hitting the steps as he climbed the backstairs echoed through the old house.

  “Thanks, honey,” Sandi said. “I’ve been on my feet all afternoon. I’d love nothing better than to sit down for a few minutes.”

  “I wish you hadn’t had to take on those extra lessons. If my raise had come through—”

  “That wasn’t your fault. You can’t help it if the union voted to accept the company’s offer,” Sandi said. “Besides, I’m enjoying giving these one-on-one lessons. Would you believe that one of my private students, Renae Yates, knew that I was once Miss Teen USA? It seems her mother was a student at Parsons State back when I was there.”

  An odd expression crossed Earl Ray’s face. Fleeting. Momentary. If she hadn’t been looking right at him, she would have missed it.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just sometimes I wonder if you ever think about…well, if you’ve ever wished you’d done more with your dancing.”

  “I did. I own a dance studio, don’t I?”

  “You know what I mean. You have so much talent. If we hadn’t gotten married—”

  “I wouldn’t change a thing. Besides, I never was as talented as you thought I was. Or my mother thought I was.”

  Earl Ray chuckled. “I believe your mother still blames me that you’re not a prima ballerina with some high-falutin’ dance company in New York.”

  Sandi blew her husband a kiss as she headed for the den. As a kid, she’d had high expectations. Her mother’s dream for her to become a professional ballerina had somehow become her dream, too. She’d loved to dance, but by the time she was eighteen, she’d had to admit to herself that she lacked both the incredible talent and the relentless drive it took to succeed. Even now, her mother was convinced that Sandi had sacrificed herself for marriage and motherhood. No matter how many times she told her mother that she was happy, that she wouldn’t trade her life for anyone else’s, her mom refused to believe her.

  Falling into the recliner in the den, Sandi sighed as she closed her eyes and let her mind drift. Not backward, but forward. To this fall when the Tahoe would be paid off. To next year when she would have socked away enough money for her and Earl Ray to take the kids to Disney World for a few days. To fifteen months from now when she could celebrate being cancer-free for five years.

  Pudge listened as Pinkie told him, in detail, about luring LaShae Goodloe to her death. In the past, he had truly enjoyed hearing every grizzly detail, had loved hearing the excitement in his cousin’s voice. But tonight was different. His mind kept fading out, thinking about how close they were to the end of their five-year game. The score was so close that either of them could win. But Pudge had no intention of being the loser. If he could find a redhead next…

  “I can understand now why you’ve used that method several times. My God, it’s exhilarating to take off someone’s head. I had no idea that so much blood would shoot out halfway across the room.”

  “There are two major arteries in the neck that are severed when you take off someone’s head,” Pudge explained. “Did you touch her afterward?”

  “Only to place the rose on her chest. Why do you ask?”

  “Remember the Cotton Queen from Cullman last year? I laid my hand on her chest, after I’d cut off her head. Her heart was still beating. Slowly. Beating in tremors. Then in less than thirty seconds, it was over.”

  “Next time, I’ll—”

  “There probably won’t be a next time for you,” Pudge said. “Not unless your last kill is another singer.”

  Pinkie sighed heavily. “I wish we hadn’t set a five-year time limit.”

  “We agreed that we would adhere to the rules. And that includes the stipulation that the winner takes all.”

  “I regret that we made such an unholy agreement.”

  “The game had become boring,” Pudge reminded his cousin. “We had to up the stakes to keep the level of excitement high, to make it worth the effort.”

  “You’re right. It’s just I hate the thought of having to…” He gulped. “If I win, I promise that I’ll make your penalty as quick and painless as possible,” Pinkie said.

  “If you win.”

  “I’m ahead now. LaShae Goodloe gave me ten more points. Even if you get a redhead next—”

  “She’ll be a redhead.”

  “You haven’t already chosen her, have you? That would be cheating and—”

  “No, certainly not,” Pudge lied. Of course, he had chosen his next victim. But what Pinkie didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt either of them. Feeling quite self-satisfied, Pudge thought about the cute redhead from Parsons, Louisiana, practically in his backyard.

  On the drive from Soddy-Daisy to the Walker hunting lodge in the next county, Lindsay had questioned her sanity. What was she doing? Why was she rushing to Judd this way?

  When Griff had called an hour ago, she’d been playing Monopoly with Callie’s kids, enjoying herself tremendously. During the past few years as a Powell agent, she had almost forgotten what real life was like. Regular routines, regular people living regular lives. No cloak and dagger. No murder mysteries to solve. No ruthless killers who couldn’t be stopped.

  “He’s killed again,” Griff had told her. “A former Miss Birmingham. He chopped off her head.”

  Lindsay pulled her Trailblazer to a steady halt in front of the lodge. To her surprise, lights burned brightly inside the house. That meant Judd wasn’t sitting in the dark, as he so often did.

  “Just as Derek predicted, our guy is killing more often. Not a month or two apart now, only a week or so,” Griff had said. “The more frenzied he becomes, the better our chances of catching him, especially if he makes just one major mistake.”

  After getting out of her SUV, Lindsay yanked her coat off the passenger seat and put it on, then locked the vehicle and headed toward the front porch. As she approached the door, she thought she heard music.

  Music? In Judd’s house? Not possible. He didn’t watch TV, didn’t read, seldom listened to music, didn’t do much of anything that was halfway normal.

  “I thought twice about calling you,” Griff had said. “I figured you’d had all you could take of both Judd and the BQK cases. But Yvette thought I should call you, allow you to decide for yourself. You don’t have to do this. You can say no.”


  She could have said no, but both Yvette and Griff had known she wouldn’t. When it came to anything to do with Judd Walker, she was shameless. Love could do that to a woman.

  As she lifted her hand to knock, she heard the music again. Soft. Mournful. A heartfelt rendition of “Body and Soul” floated from inside the lodge, like smoke in the night air. Hesitating, she dropped her hand and stood there on the porch, her pulse racing. Remembering. She had given Judd several jazz CDs for Christmas the year before last, knowing how much he loved jazz. He had tossed the decoratively wrapped gift aside without opening it.

  Was this music off one of the CDs she had given him?

  When she knocked several times, the tune changed to “Send in the Clowns.” Soft, sweet, bluesy.

  By the time she pounded her fist for the fourth time, the front door swung wide open. Lindsay gasped, not expecting Judd to respond so promptly.

  They stood there staring at each other. Her heart sank. It was obvious that Judd hadn’t shaved in days. His hair was tousled, needing not only cutting but combing. His golden eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard. He looked like hell.

  Her first instinct was to put her arms around him and comfort him.

  She didn’t.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. His tone was neither hostile nor inviting.

  He didn’t sound as if he was drunk.

  “May I come in?” she asked.

  He moved aside and swept his arm out in an inviting gesture. “Sure.”

  When she entered the foyer, he closed the door behind her. The melancholy strains of piano, trumpet, and drums wafted out in the foyer from the sitting room on the left. She glanced through the open door and noticed a blazing fire in the massive stone fireplace.

  Although she’d never been upstairs, she was quite familiar with the downstairs rooms: The two large sitting rooms flanking the foyer, the dining room, the kitchen, the three bedrooms, and a single bath with fixtures a good forty years old.

  She noticed Judd had put his hands in his jeans pockets and his thumbs were hooked over the edge, nervously stroking the denim fabric.

  “Want some coffee or maybe hot tea?” Judd asked.

  Had she heard him correctly? Had he offered her something to drink? Had he actually been cordial?

  “Nothing, thanks.”

  “Take your coat?” he asked.

  She unbuttoned the coat and handed it to him.

  “Go on into the parlor,” he told her as he hung her coat on the hall tree in the foyer.

  When she entered the sitting room on the left, she felt an odd sense of uncertainty. What was going on with Judd? Why was he being so nice to her?

  “Have a seat,” he said.

  Startled that he was so close, only a couple of feet behind her, she gasped, then whirled around and faced him.

  “Griff called,” Lindsay said. “The Beauty Queen Killer has struck again.”

  Judd nodded, but said nothing.

  “A former Miss Birmingham. He cut off her head.”

  Judd flinched.

  “Griff’s flying to Birmingham in the morning,” she said.

  “Okay.” He nodded. “Should we drive down or should we see if we can catch a morning flight out of Chattanooga?”

  She stared at him, puzzled by his calm, rational manner. “Want to tell me what’s going on or should I assume you’re an alien who has taken over Judd Walker’s body.”

  His lips twitched. Was it possible that Judd had almost smiled?

  He took a couple of hesitant steps toward her. Her breath caught in her throat.

  When only inches separated them, Lindsay felt a sense of panic.

  Run! Now, while you still can.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” he told her, his voice low and calm.

  “I thought about not coming,” she admitted. “Griff said he could call you or he could send Rick after you or…I had to come myself. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Placing her cupped hand over her mouth, she swallowed salty tears. She would not cry. Silly, silly woman! “I guess I’m like an old dog that keeps coming back after his master has kicked him for the twentieth time.”

  Judd stared at her, a peculiar expression on his face. When he reached for her, she jerked away, startled by his action. But she couldn’t stop looking at him. He lifted his hand up and circled the back of her neck. Gently. When he pulled her closer, she didn’t resist. Couldn’t resist.

  He lowered his head, bringing his lips in line with hers and whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You’ll never know how sorry I am.”

  And then he kissed her.

  Chapter 25

  Other than his lips on hers, Judd didn’t touch her, which somehow made the moment all the more poignant. Every nerve ending in her body tingled, alive with love and desire. She could no more stop loving him than she could grab a heavenly star and hold it in her hand.

  He ended the brief, tender kiss, opened his eyes, and lifted his head. Lindsay looked up at him, staring into his face, unable to speak. He had taken her breath away with his gentleness. And the sincerity of his words.

  I’m sorry, sweetheart. You’ll never know how sorry I am.

  He pressed his forehead against hers, his breathing heavy and erratic. Closing her eyes, she savored the sweet moment. She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers, the scent of his body soap-and-water clean.

  “I swear to God, Lindsay, if you can forgive me, I’ll never do anything to hurt you ever again.”

  She sucked in air, so taken aback by his declaration, knowing in her heart that this time he meant every word. There was not one doubt in her mind.

  He lifted his head again, then reached down and took each of her hands in his. Loosely. No pressure. Holding her hands as if they were made of fragile glass.

  “Any other woman would have given up on me a couple of years ago,” he told her. “I’ve managed to methodically alienate every friend I ever had, including Cam and Griff. The only reason Griff has given me numerous second chances is because of you.”

  “Judd—”

  “Shh…Let me get it all out while I can. Then you can say whatever you need to say. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  Continuing to hold her hands between their bodies, arms down in a relaxed manner, he said, “When Jenny died…when she was murdered…”

  Lindsay squeezed his hands.

  “I lost my mind. That’s the only way I know how to describe what happened. I hurt so much. I couldn’t bear the pain. You know how I was. You were there. You and Griff and Cam. Then day by day the agony grew worse until one day, there was nothing left inside me—no pain, no love, nothing except anger and vengeance.

  “And no matter what I said, what I did, how I roared and bellowed, you were always there, trying to help me, caring about me when I wasn’t worth caring about. I kept trying to push you away, but you wouldn’t let me. Not until…”

  Silence.

  Their gazes met and locked. Lindsay thought she saw a shimmer of moisture glazing Judd’s eyes, but quickly realized the tears were in her eyes, not his.

  “You offered me love and I threw it back in your face.”

  “You couldn’t help it that you didn’t love me. We don’t choose who—”

  “I cared about you, Lindsay,” he admitted. “That was the problem. I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want to feel anything, and there you were making me feel again, making me want and need again. I hated you for making me feel. And I hated myself for needing you so badly.”

  “Judd?”

  He lifted her hands to his lips, kissed each in turn, then gently grasped her shoulders. “I’m a mixed-up mess, sweetheart. I don’t know if I can straighten up and fly right or if I’m just a lost cause. But I…uh…” He swallowed hard. “I’m a real bastard for doing this, but here goes—I don’t want you to give up on me. I need you. At least as a friend. Maybe…maybe more than a friend. I don’t kn
ow.”

  She felt lightheaded, as if she were going to faint. It wasn’t until she gasped for air that she realized she’d been holding her breath.

  “You know how much I loved Jennifer. A part of me will always love her. There’s nothing I can do about that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come to terms with her death. If her killer is ever caught…? Maybe not even then.”

  “You’re not going to lose me,” Lindsay managed to say, her voice quivering slightly. “I’ll always be your friend. As for my being more than your friend…I love you.”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her. “I don’t deserve your love. But God help me, I want it.”

  With her head on his chest, Lindsay wrapped her arms around his waist and held him as she had longed to hold him. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head and when she looked up at him, he kissed her forehead.

  This was a side of Judd she had never seen. The kind, caring man he must have been at one time, before Jennifer’s murder.

  He gently shoved her away from him, but smiled at her. “Let me work on cleaning up my act. And let me try this friendship thing. I used to be pretty good at it. Just ask Griff.”

  “He’s told me. You two and Cam were dashing bachelors, partying together, dating the same women—”

  “I guess he told you that we all three wanted Jennifer, and that she dated both him and Cam before she dated me.” Judd’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to stop talking about her.”

  “It’s all right. She was your wife. You loved her. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t want to know everything about you, including your relationship with Jennifer.”

  Judd studied her for a few seconds. “You’re a remarkable woman, Lindsay McAllister.”

  Smiling, she replied, “I’ve been trying to convince you of that fact for nearly four years.”

  He nodded toward the hallway. “I’ve got groceries. How about I whip up some soup and sandwiches for us, unless you’ve already had dinner.”