by Mallory Kane
“I’m doing really well. And Uncle Virgil is doing better than I expected. I was afraid this was going to be so hard.”
Jack’s gaze roamed over the crowd. “Looks like everyone in town is here. Your aunt must have been well-liked.”
“People are here because of Uncle Virgil. Funerals are about the living, to ease the pain of grief, and provide some closure. I think Uncle Virgil is going to be okay.”
“Yeah.” For Jack, a guilty verdict had gone a lot further than an impersonal ceremony had in terms of closure. “How about you?”
“I’m going to miss Aunt Bode, but her mind died a long time ago. I’m sad, but I think she’s in a better place now.”
Jack squeezed her shoulders. He was relieved that she wasn’t devastated by her aunt’s death, for her own safety as well as her emotional health. He needed her to be focused, not prostrated by grief.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Winger’s mother motion to him. But Bob ignored her and started toward Holly, his eyes still watching her with that unwavering stare.
“Bobby!” a voice shrieked. “Bobby! Help me!”
Jack turned in time to see Mrs. Winger drop into a dining room chair, her attention focused on her son.
At the sound of her voice, Bob stopped in his tracks. A shadow of anger passed briefly across his face before he turned his attention to his mother.
Holly started toward them, but Jack caught her arm. “Let’s see what happens,” he whispered.
“But she’s sick.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Mama, what is it?” Bob asked, frowning.
“I’m feeling faint. I think those cold cuts must have had MSG in them.” Mrs. Winger fanned herself.
“Mother, you’re making a scene.” Bob’s eyes flashed with anger and his voice rose in pitch. “Now, just have some water and sit for a minute.”
“No. You have to take me home, now. I can’t stay here another minute.”
So Bob escorted his mother out of the house, his face red and his expression stony as people watched and whispered.
Taking their cue from Mrs. Winger, people began to say their goodbyes and leave.
“Poor Bob,” Holly said.
Jack stared at her. The man could be a killer and she was feeling sorry for him.
As he shook his head in wonder, she lay her hand on his forearm. “Guess what? I think we can eliminate Earl Isley from the list.”
“Eliminate? What are you talking about?” He looked around and noticed that a couple of the stragglers were watching them curiously. “Let’s get out of here. We need to talk, about several things.”
Holly’s chin went a fraction of an inch higher. “I should stay with Uncle Virgil tonight.”
Jack’s neck was tight, his shoulder ached, he was frustrated by his inability to get a handle on Holly’s stalker, and he really didn’t feel like dealing with her stubbornness tonight.
“You are not staying here. Debi is doing a fine job of taking care of your uncle Virgil. And there’s no way I’m letting you spend the night away from me.”
Chapter Twelve
Holly climbed into bed and leaned back against the pillow. “So when Earl started talking to me about seeing his kids on Tuesdays and Fridays, I realized he might have an alibi. He told me he’d spent Tuesday evening with his kids watching a Buster Keaton film at a silent film festival in Hattiesburg, then he took them for pizza afterwards.”
Jack shifted restlessly.
“So he couldn’t have been the one in Mrs. Thompson’s car.”
Jack raised a brow. “And he just happened to start talking about what he was doing on Tuesday night?”
“Yes. He was just making small talk I guess. You know, there’s not much to say to grieving families after you’ve expressed condolences.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Or maybe he mentioned it to give himself an alibi. Whoever is doing this is clever. He’s killed three people and hasn’t been caught. You can’t take what anyone says at face value. Any man in that room could be the killer.”
Holly’s pulse thrummed in her temple. She thought the same thing. She couldn’t look at anyone now without wondering. “What about you? What did you find out today?”
Jack told her about Donald Sheffield and relayed the information that Ralph Peyton’s body had been found. “Someone may have been in the car with him,” Jack told her. “Someone who escaped through the open passenger window, leaving Ralph to drown, trapped by his own seat belt.”
“Oh my God, poor Ralph.” Holly felt the snare of danger tightening around her like a noose. She moved closer to Jack. “You know, for a few minutes while I was getting that information from Earl without making him suspicious, I felt in control of my life. I felt like maybe I was even helping to keep you safe.”
Jack was silent and unmoving. It was comforting for Holly to have him so close, but the barrier was still there.
“You don’t need to keep me safe, Holly. I told you, it’s my job—”
“Stop saying that!” she cried. “I do. I need desperately to keep you safe. Don’t you understand?”
Jack held out his arm and, despite her vow not to let him touch her again, she slipped easily and naturally into his embrace. She lay her head against his chest.
“Maybe I do understand,” he said softly. “Tell me about your parents. What happened to them?”
She was mildly surprised at his change of subject. What did her parents’ death have to do with anything? But his arm around her and his warm breath against her hair coaxed her into talking.
“My father was a journalist. My mother taught English at the college. She would go with him when he went out of town, and Aunt Bode and Uncle Virgil would keep Debi and me. I still remember listening to Mama telling Aunt Bode what to do if something happened to them. It was always fun staying with Aunt Bode. We’d sit up late at night and watch scary movies, and talk about Mama and Daddy going on dangerous adventures, like on television. I imagined them battling monsters.” She paused. “I was always so relieved when they got home.”
“And then one time they didn’t come home?”
She nodded, laying her cheek against the sinewy muscles of his chest. “And I couldn’t help but believe the monsters got them, although I know it was a small-plane crash.”
“And now this monster is after you.”
She burrowed a little deeper into the warmth of his chest, wincing in expectation of the low rumble of his laughter. But tonight was a night of truths. “Please don’t laugh at me.”
Jack put his finger under her chin and lifted her face to look into her eyes. “I promise I will never laugh at you.”
And Holly believed his promise, just like she believed everything he told her, even that he could keep her safe.
Jack’s other hand caressed her bare shoulder as his finger traced the line of her jaw. His eyes were smoky and soft in the darkness. Oh God, she was afraid she was more than just a little in love with him.
He touched his lips to her forehead. “I’m going to do my best to keep you safe. We’ll get this guy.”
But then what?
She ducked her head, afraid of the feelings his lips and hands were stirring within her. She took a long breath filled with his soapy, sunny essence.
“Tell me about Danny.”
He went perfectly still.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”
He shrugged and straightened, and Holly felt his withdrawal like a chill breeze. Was he going to refuse to talk to her now?
He wiped a hand down his face. “At first it didn’t seem relevant. I didn’t think anyone needed to know how I’d come to find out about your case.” He sighed. “I guess I didn’t want you to think I might be swayed by personal feelings. Hell, maybe I didn’t want to think it of myself.”
“You were good friends?”
“The best.” His voice was muffled by a suffocating regret. “He was always there
for me. His parents took me in for a while after my mom was killed. Then, the one time he asked me to be there for him, I went and got myself shot and couldn’t respond until it was too late.”
“That’s when you had the surgeries on your shoulder?” Holly’s compassion swelled until her throat felt tight. “I’m sorry. Poor Danny. If he hadn’t gotten involved with my case—”
“Don’t even think that.” Jack clutched her shoulder. “Danny was a good detective. If he had to die, at least he died the way he’d have wanted to, trying to stop a murderer.”
Holly shuddered. “Jack?”
He pulled her closer and placed his cheek against her hair. “Yeah, hon?”
She splayed her palm across his taut abdomen. “Make me feel safe.”
He growled deep in his throat and pulled her to him, covering her face and neck and breasts with his kisses, until everything fled her brain except the heady, erotic sensation of him making love to her.
Saturday, June 28
“So I soberly laid my last plan, to extinguish the man.
Shall become first peace out of pain,
Then a light, then thy breast,
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again.”
The fates are with me now. Once more shall I stir the potion. Once more shall I milk the venom. Then he will be no more and you will be free. And my dearest love, if you will not come to me even then, well be damned. I’ll come for you.
THE NEXT MORNING, as they were dressing for the funeral, Decker called Jack to tell him the FBI lab had managed to recover DNA from the textbook, although they’d gotten nothing from the note. Decker told him not to get his hopes up, because they had also recovered some latex, which suggested the presence of surgical gloves. But it appeared that someone may have sneezed or coughed on the page Jack had marked.
Jack knew the likelihood was small that the DNA recovered from the book was the killer’s, but maybe it was enough to get a warrant for Sheffield’s DNA.
Decker had more news too. The CSI team that had gone over Miss Emma Thompson’s car had found a partial footprint.
“The assay shows mud, bits of gravel and sand, and calcium carbonate and magnesium carbonate.”
“Is that significant?”
“Well, from what I understand, calcium magnesium carbonate is dolomite, which is extremely rare in that part of the country, although calcium carbonate, which is limestone, is fairly common. But I suppose the gravel could have been imported. They’re assaying a control sample from the parking lot now.”
“Thanks, Decker. Tell them I need something unique, something I can hang a killer on.”
He’d wait for the facts, like he always did, but he couldn’t help but feel a sliver of satisfaction. Maybe this case was coming together, after all. He shrugged on his jacket and checked that his weapon was securely fastened into his belt holster.
“Who was that?” Holly asked as she walked into the kitchen, fiddling with an earring. She was dressed in an ankle-length black dress, dark stockings and slender black pumps. A string of pearls and pearl stud earrings were her only adornment. The black made her golden-brown eyes look huge and trusting.
Jack swallowed, reminding himself that they were going to her aunt’s funeral and he shouldn’t be thinking of the silken skin and firm curves under her dress.
“That was Decker, my boss. He had a couple of things for me. They did find a partial footprint in Miss Emma Thompson’s car, and they recovered some DNA from the textbook.”
Holly’s eyes grew wider. “DNA? Will you be able to match it with Donald Sheffield?”
He nodded as they got into the car. “I’ve asked the Jackson police to get a warrant for his DNA. It’s a cinch he won’t provide it voluntarily. I want to drive up there this afternoon to be there when they execute the warrant. I don’t want anything to screw this up.” He glanced over at her as he backed out of the garage. “If that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine.” Holly fingered her pearls, staring out the car window.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, and he saw her swallow.
“I dread this,” she said.
He pulled out onto the street and headed for the funeral home. “I know.”
“I’ve been to a lot of funerals. It’s expected in a town like Maze, but this is family.”
He nodded, willing himself to keep his mind on Holly and not let it drift back in time to the worst funeral he’d ever sat through.
A memory hit him unawares. The bright, hushed Baptist church where his mother’s funeral had been held, thanks to the generosity of Danny’s parents. They had taken him in as soon as he was released from the hospital, and had paid for his mother’s funeral.
Jack remembered sitting with Danny on one side of him and Danny’s mother on the other, his broken arm throbbing with pain, as the preacher made kind but impersonal statements about the murdered woman he’d never met, and the child orphaned by her death. No one else was there. No one brought casseroles or comfort to the thirteen-year-old boy who had watched helplessly as his stepfather wrapped his hands around his mother’s neck and choked the life out of her.
“You had to bury your mother,” she murmured.
He winced. Sometimes she was a mind reader. He didn’t answer, hoping she’d move on to what she really wanted to talk about, which was her aunt’s funeral today.
“How did you stand it?”
She was just looking for reassurance, he told himself. She only wanted to hear that it was possible to stand anything. “You stand it. You get through it and you go on, because that’s what people do.” He squeezed her hand briefly.
“You’re so calm, so controlled. I wish I could be more like you. I’m—” she caught her breath in a little sobbing gasp “—I’m a wreck.”
He shot her a quick glance. Her eyes were glittery with unshed tears, but her back was straight and her chin was lifted. Deep inside, Jack felt a glow of pride and admiration for her. “You’re doing great. I’ve never known anyone like you. You spend all your energy worrying about other people, and all your time doing things for them. You’re strong, physically and emotionally. When you get your mind set on something, you never give up, which may or may not be a good thing.” He looked for a smile, but she was watching him somberly.
“Hey,” he said, touching the corner of her mouth. “Smile for me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I can bear it if you die, too.”
The words hit his heart with a thud. He wasn’t planning to die. That wasn’t what scared the crap out of him. The trust and hope and, yes, even love, in her small, strained voice were what just about did him in.
He pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home and turned to her. “I’m going to do my best not to die, Holly.”
Jack reached out and placed his palm against her cheek. She closed her eyes and lay her hand on top of his. “And if I can help it, nobody else is going to die because of this bastard.”
BY THE TIME the funeral was over, Holly felt as fragile as a teacup too close to the edge of a table. Her great-aunt had never had children of her own, and for many years it had been obvious to Holly that caring for her and her sister was a burden to Bode. But she’d been vivacious and fun-loving, and she’d taught them how to cook, how to dress and how to have fun with life. The saddest part of losing her was remembering the person she’d once been.
Uncle Virgil had done well. Debi had sat beside him and he’d held her hand the whole time. Somehow, while Holly had been doing her best to take care of her family, they had learned to depend on each other. It was a gratifying feeling, if a lonely one.
All Holly wanted to do now was go home and sleep for a day or two, preferably with Jack at her side. The outpouring of love and sympathy from the people of Maze was heartwarming, but it was also exhausting. It seemed that every single citizen of Maze had turned out for Aunt Bode’s funeral.
Holly saw a new side of Jack, tall and elegant in his da
rk suit, as he greeted strangers and fielded questions and comments. He stood like a bulwark between her and the cloying sympathy of the well-meaning but sometimes suffocating neighbors and friends.
After a poignant graveside service during which it started to rain, Holly was ready to take Uncle Virgil home, and make sure he and Debi were okay.
As they rode back to the funeral home in the limousine, Holly put her hand on Jack’s arm. He automatically covered her hand with his and bent his head.
“After we spend a little while with Uncle Virgil and Debi at his house, we should be able to go home.”
Jack gave her a guilty look. “Do you think you could ride with them? I need to be in Jackson when that DNA warrant is executed. Sheffield could be our man.” He glanced at his watch. “If I leave five minutes ago and drive like hell I can make it.”
As sudden and sharp as a slap in the face, the reason Jack was here hit her. He’d played his part so well, she’d forgotten.
There was a killer out there, and Jack was here to catch him.
Comforting the victim, making her fall in love with him, was just a perk of the job. Holly winced. She was overemotional right now, and unfortunately, she’d allowed herself to depend on Jack way too much in the few days he’d been here. She’d better get used to handling things alone again.
Tears she’d held at bay all day pricked her eyelids. “Sure. I can ride with them. No problem.”
“Unless you’ll go with me. I wish you would. I’d prefer not to let you out of my sight.”
And she savored every second by his side. She considered going, just to be with him. But the idea of spending hours at the police station in Jackson, not to mention the possibility of facing Donald Sheffield, was more than she could handle. She shook her head.
“It’s okay. I know you don’t want to leave your family right now. But promise me you won’t go anywhere. The only person that’s going to be investigating suspects is me. Got that?”
