by Jada Ryker
Their mouths open, the two men stared at them in amazement as they sped past.
“Jesus, Marisa, it looked like you were putting a hex on them or something! I think you scared them!”
Marisa wondered whether it was the jabbing hand gesture or the gigantic pink bow with diseased-looking green polka dots that caught their attention. She spoke in a gypsy accent. “Be careful, I may curse you next!”
As Alex laughed and smoothly rounded a corner, Marisa glanced in the mirror.
A white car was following them so closely Marisa could have reached behind her and touched it.
Alex turned his head, keeping one eye on the road. “We spoke too soon. Your self-appointed nemesis is right behind us. If she gets any closer, we’ll be her hood ornaments.” He sped up.
The burst of speed caused Marisa’s head to snap back. She felt the vibration of the powerful bike between her legs. The city street was passing by awfully quickly. Directly ahead, the traffic light turned yellow.
“Alex! The light!”
He gunned his engine. When they reached the intersection, the light was a definitive and unchangeable red. Cars on the cross street were already moving forward.
Marisa threw her arms around Alex’s waist. This is going to hurt.
As cars surged forward, Alex flew between their bumpers with inches to spare. Their horns sounded strident and angry.
“Yeeha!” Alex’s cry was of excitement and triumph.
Marisa twisted her head. “Oh, no!”
To the accompaniment of frantic horns and squealing tires, the white car plowed between cars in the intersection and swerved to the sidewalk. It bumped along the sidewalk, with pedestrians jumping out of the way. As Marisa watched, the stalker swerved through an open space of curb and hurtled back onto the road.
She was behind them, and gaining rapidly. Her car whined with a boost in acceleration and lunged forward.
The front bumper tapped the back of the bike. The bike’s tires screamed as it fishtailed. Marisa held on to Alex’s waist, and tried to keep her weight in the center of the bike. She knew if she leaned either way, the bike would spin to the ground.
On the two-way radio, Alex sounded calm. “There’s a park up ahead. I’m going in there. We can drive on the sidewalks. No way can the psycho bitch can follow us there.”
Slowing only slightly to make the turn, Alex roared into the park. As they bumped along the uneven sidewalk, Marisa felt every bone in her body jolt.
Marisa sucked in a huge sigh of relief. She looked in the mirror, expecting to see only trees.
“Jesus, she’s following us!”
The white car was bouncing on the grass behind them.
“There are kids everywhere, Alex! Hit your horn to warn them!”
Alex frantically sounded his horn.
Children, adults, and dogs scattered like chickens from their path.
Marisa risked a look around. The white car was determinedly closing in on them. To Marisa’s frightened eyes, the grill looked triumphant as it got closer to them.
Alex gunned his engine. “Hold on, Marisa!”
Marisa craned her neck to look around him. “Alex! You’re not going to take the motorcycle on the footbridge over the creek!”
Alex twisted the throttle wide open. The bike hit the footbridge with its 400 pounds of steel and bounced up. As they flew into the air, Marisa was positive they were dead. The bike hit the wooden footbridge. It twisted wildly and slid to one side. Alex managed through sheer muscles and willpower to keep it upright.
The bike clattered over the wooden planks of the bridge.
“I think we’re safe!” Alex let off the throttle.
Marisa risked a look over her shoulder.
“Alex! She’s not stopping! She’s going to try and jump the creek!”
The bridge ended, and they hit the sidewalk with a jolt.
“Alex! On the sidewalk!”
A woman was on the sidewalk with a double stroller. Two toddlers were clinging to her legs.
Alex frantically blasted his horn.
The woman looked up. Her eyes were wide in her white, frozen face.
“If I can’t stop in time, I’ll have to hit the grass.”
Alex hit the brakes. If he tried to stop too abruptly, they’d crash. If they couldn’t stop in time, Alex would be forced to crash to miss the woman and her children.
Alex stopped the bike with inches to spare.
They twisted to look behind them at the same time.
The car left the opposite bank, and hurtled over the creek.
Just short of the bank, it crashed into the water. The displaced water flew straight up into the air, and back into the creek bed.
Alex shut off the motorcycle, lowered the kickstand, and removed his helmet. “Are you OK, Marisa?” The bike was blessedly still.
Shaking, Marisa slid off. She could still feel the vibrations in her legs and her ears rang. Her stomach jittered, and her intestines felt like water. “I think I am going to puke.” Her hands trembling, she yanked at her helmet, and yelped when it pulled her hair. “Damn bow.” She unclipped it and pulled off her helmet. She bent over, holding her belly. “And I’ve lost one of my shoes.”
“We have to go and see if she’s hurt.” Alex ran to the bank, and slid quickly down the crumbling dirt bank.
“Great! She tries to kill us and now we’re going to administer first aid!”
Marisa slid after him, barely aware of the tears on her face and the snot running down from her nose. “Maybe I should find a shaved ice stand, and get her a cold drink, too,” Marisa muttered to Alex’s back.
He wrenched the door open. He leaned into the car. Alex emerged from the car and stared at Marisa.
“Oh, God, don’t tell me she’s dead!” Marisa swiped at the combination of falling tears and running nose.
“She’s not in there. She must have bailed before the creek.”
The sound of sirens filled the air.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fred’s bald head gleamed with perspiration. His wrinkled face was tense and his round blue eyes were watchful. With his mouth compressed in a straight line and his body held rigidly erect, he appeared to be braced for a blow.
The clock ticked on the mantle over the fireplace in Fred’s small, neat living room. The smell of spaghetti sauce made Althea’s stomach turn.
When they’d knocked on Fred’s door, he had told them with an apologetic smile that he was busy. However, tomorrow would work, he’d said.
Clay had shoved the door open, sending the astonished Fred stumbling backwards.
Now, Clay held out the picture of Fred and Mrs. Craft. “Pictures don’t lie.”
Fred’s blue-veined hands clenched. “I don’t know that man.”
Althea advanced, her shaking hands full of photographs.
Fred backed away from her, until his legs hit the couch. He fell against the cushions.
She stood over Fred like an avenging fury. “Stop lying to us. We know it’s you. And we don’t care what you did with Mrs. Craft. What I do care about are these...” She threw the pictures in his lap.
Fred glanced down. He closed his eyes in pain.
“What did you do to these children? You stole their innocence with these pictures. What else did you do to them?”
Fred’s face was still and expressionless as a stone slab. “I don’t—”
“Marisa is in those pictures.” Althea slapped him as hard as she could. His head snapped back.
Clay stood by her side. “If you don’t tell us what we want to know, I’ll kill you.”
“Stop!”
All heads snapped to the arched doorway.
Clara’s head was thrown back and her massive body was shaking. “Don’t hit him.” She shook a large ladle at them. “He didn’t do it.”
“Clara, stay out of this.” The red mark of Althea’s fingers bloomed on Fred’s face. “Thirty years ago, there wasn’t
anything I wouldn’t do for a sexual thrill. I had a torrid affair with Greta. When she wanted me to let her husband take pictures of me with her, I thought it would be a new thrill for me.”
Fred grabbed the pictures on his lap and shook them. “But I drew the line at children. I didn’t know at first what Greta’s husband was doing. I don’t think she knew, either. When I found out, I confronted him, with Greta there. She seemed shocked, although it’s possible she was simply acting appalled. He just laughed at me. Greta packed her things and left him.”
Clara shuffled into the room, and stood beside Fred’s chair.
Fred threw the pictures onto the coffee table. “Greta’s husband was very good at grooming children, giving them presents and treats. He used a combination of threats and rewards to keep the children from talking about the pictures he took of them.”
Fred covered his face briefly with his hands. When he removed them, his blue eyes were tortured. “I had to stop him. I didn’t have any proof, but I went to the sheriff anyway. I didn’t think he’d believe me. But right after I saw him, some of the children’s parents began to figure out what was going on. They went to the sheriff as well. You have to remember this was a rural area, it hadn’t been developed, and people here had a different definition of justice than the city people.”
Althea said, “Do you mean vigilante justice? I remember on the patio, you said something about Greta’s husband being put down like a rabid dog.”
“The sheriff formed a group, which included the parents of the children and myself. One night, we went to Barton’s house.”
Althea put her hand to her heart. “Barton!”
Fred didn’t notice. “When we got there, Barton was at home alone. When he saw the sheriff and the parents of the children he’d exploited, he knew he was in trouble. He slammed the door shut. We put our shoulders to it, and crashed into the house. He was reaching for his rifle when the sheriff shot it out of his hands.”
Fred closed his eyes. “The parents fell on him like jackals. Barton was tortured, his eyes poked out and his fingers cut off. His manhood was also cut off.” Fred opened his eyes. “Finally, he got what was coming to him in the form of a shot to the heart. After he was dead, we covered it up. We didn’t get caught. We started the rumor he’d been in a poker game that night, was caught cheating, and the other players killed him for it.”
Clay slipped his arm around Althea and squeezed her tight against him. “Fred, after your confrontation with Greta on the patio, you knew you had to silence her. She either found out or deduced you’d been the one to put the bullet in her husband’s heart. Or perhaps you found out her innocence was just an act. You stole onto the patio that morning. You saw her sitting on a bench. You pulled out the knife you’d either brought with you or you stole from the kitchen. You stabbed her in the back, to keep her from telling anyone you were the one who put the bullet in Barton’s heart—”
“I was the one who shot him.” Clara announced.
“No, Clara!” Fred pulled himself up out the chair.
“Fred, I have to do this. When it came time to end his life, I insisted on pulling the trigger. My daughters were not directly affected. But I was the lunch lady. All the children at the school were my children.”
Clara’s wrinkled face was gentle as she walked to Althea. She put her hand on Althea’s arm. “I killed Barton Adair, Greta’s first husband. Barton Adair, Marisa’s grandfather.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“There’s Parvis!”
Tara hissed so fiercely in her ear, Marisa wondered if she had permanent damage.
“Marisa, what is he doing here at the nightclub? Do you think he’s investigating the online group for his column? Seeing what he missed by mistreating you? Or maybe he’s the murderer. What if he’s buying and selling porn online?”
“Tara, I sincerely doubt he’s the porn dealer!”
Tara craned her neck to follow Parvis’ progress across the bar. “I bet he decided to troll my online group for potential porn customers. What if Sarah found out Parvis was selling porn? He had to kill her. He was in the strip club with you. Parvis took the knife from the bar, in case he got the opportunity to use it. Sarah fell practically at his feet. He leaned over her, pretending to see if she was OK. Using the upheaval and confusion to his advantage, he slid the knife in her back. He pretended he found her that way.”
“That’s a great theory, Tara. I actually did consider it.”
Marisa and Tara jumped, and Marisa’s Diet Coke splashed on her skirt.
“Jeez, Dreamus! You must have excelled in skulking at the police academy,” Marisa said as she brushed the liquid off her skirt. “I didn’t realize you were standing there.”
“Don’t forget, I’m in disguise.” He was dressed in his porn king hunting uniform of baggy pants, t-shirt, bandana, and enough chains draped on his body to pull a log truck. “Did you notice Parvis Stidham’s black eye? It covers a very large section of his face.”
Dreamus was right. Even in the dim light, Marisa could see the greens and purples blooming around Parvis’ eye. As Marisa stared, he turned his head slightly and met her eyes before she had a chance to look away. Marisa felt as though her eyes were locked with his, and she was permanently joined with him in an emotionally charged gaze.
Parvis turned away from her.
Oooops. Maybe not totally permanently joined.
In spite of their stressful parting, Marisa expected at least an acknowledgement of her presence. “Fine,” she muttered.
“It appears you and Parvis had a falling out of some sort, Marisa.” Dreamus leaned against the wall. “Now Stidham has a huge black eye. And I noticed Caldwell’s knuckles are skinned.”
Marisa and Tara turned as one and faced Dreamus. Both faces were incredulous.
“Hey, I told you before. I’m a detective. I detect.”
“It wasn’t so much a falling out...more of a parting of the ways. Parvis seems to think my past behavior is the best indicator of my future behavior. I’ve made some significant changes in my life. But he doesn’t want to take a chance.”
“You mean because you used to drink and were addicted to drugs and hung out at the strip club every weekend, he thinks you’ll go back to the old ways?” Dreamus smiled slightly at their gaping mouths. “There’s not much that goes on in this town I don’t know about.” His knowing eyes were pinned on Tara.
The blonde fidgeted, setting her curves into a slight jiggle.
Marisa said, “No harm, no foul. It’s not like we were dating or anything. Saturday was the first time I’d seen him since the events four months ago. I’m just glad I did not invest more in him.”
“Maybe he came here tonight on the chance of seeing you,” Tara said.
Marisa held up a hand. “No way. He’s on the scent of another hot story. He knows Sarah was here last Friday, and her death must be connected with this group. It’s just part of the job to him.”
Firmly forcing Parvis out of her mind, Marisa stared across the crowded bar. William and Alex were talking to the High Priest of Death, the funeral home director. Since Steve was dressed in a suit and tie, he must have had another Friday night viewing.
“Marisa, you and Tara-byte will lead to my early death.”
Marisa turned back to the lawman. “What do you mean?”
Dreamus surreptitiously glanced around to make sure they were still out of earshot. “You added an undercover operative without clearing it with me first. You sent my blood pressure skyrocketing so high, it’s a wonder I didn’t have a stroke.”
Marisa said soothingly, “You shouldn’t let yourself get so stressed out over little things.”
Dreamus’ face reddened.
Marisa wondered if the vein was popping out under the bandana.
Tara intervened hastily. “What is it with Alex? He is so different. He always seemed so puny and focused on only saving the hospital money. He always looked like a pasty accountant. Definitely pasty. Now it’s
like he’s a normal, rational human being. With a tan.”
“You never know what a person is really like.” His eyes behind his tinted glasses were focused unwaveringly on Tara’s flushed face. “Or what she is thinking.” With that enigmatic remark, he turned away.
Tara stamped her foot. “Ohhhhh, he makes me so mad! He’s so judgmental! So I almost killed a man a few months ago! Big deal!”
“Tara...”
Either not hearing Marisa or pretending not to hear her, Tara headed to the bar.
“What’s wrong with Tara? I’ve never seen her in such a snit.” Marina Poole cocked her head, her three ponytails shaking with her movement.
Marisa shrugged, not wanting to discuss her friend. She racked her brain for a change of subject. “How are your nieces?”
“Bryce!” Marina Poole spotted the Royal Bloodhound, and trotted over to him.
“Marina Poole is an only child, Marisa. She doesn’t have any nieces or nephews.”
Her heart stuttering in her chest, Marisa whirled. “Carla! I didn’t see you standing there!” She narrowed her eyes. What better role than “den mother” for the head of the porn ring? Carla would be in an excellent position to execute any number of surreptitious acts. “By the way, I never asked. What’s your online moniker?”
Like a cobra weaving to music, Carla’s reed thin body swayed. “I am Merlin.” In the dim light, her features seemed to rearrange themselves into wise lines. Her huge hair seemed to coalesce into a hood.
Marisa blinked.
“One could argue not the best Merlin.” Shaking her head in regret, Carla hauled her black tube top up her flat chest.
“What do you mean?”
“Caleb is dead and Brianna is locked up. Although to give myself some credit, I did try to warn Caleb away from ‘public service work.’ And I did my best to thwart Brianna’s plan. Did you know she thought she was carrying a real gun?” Carla’s eyes twinkled.
“You followed her into the bathroom! You switched her weapon for a paintball gun!”
The older woman looked down at her skimpy tube top and form-fitting capris. “Marisa, where would I hide a weapon of that size?”
