Genny's Ballad: The Sisters, Texas Mystery Series, Book 5

by Becki Willis

  Genny recoiled from his touch. She pulled away, freeing her hand from his.

  The crooked alignment of his mouth was most obvious when he frowned. He offered a prime display of it now. “Why must you pull away from me, Genesis? You know I would never hurt you.”

  “I know nothing of the kind!” she spat. “You have been tormenting me for weeks, calling me, setting fires in my yard, leaving nasty messages for me to find. And now this!” She waved her arm in an arc to encompass the cavern around them. “You kidnapped me, brought me to this dungeon, against my will, where you left me alone in the dark for the entire night!”

  “It was for your own good, my sweet. I did not want you wandering away and getting lost. This cave can be treacherous. I wanted to keep you safe and unharmed. As for those other things, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  Genny ignored his denial. The man was not only a mental case, he was liar. “Do you call this safe? Unharmed?” She jerked her skirt aside to reveal her battered knee. “You did this to me, Pembrook. You left me alone in the dark and I fell.”

  To her surprise, he fell to his owns knees and bent over her legs, where his hands gently probed her scratches. “They don’t look too deep,” he murmured.

  “They’ll probably get infected, Pembrook. Do you know that caves harbor diseases? Wild animals hide in caves. Bats live down here.” She saw the doubt that moved into his eyes, and Genny pounced on the opportunity. Despite his sick obsessive mind, she remembered that he had a soft heart. She appealed to it now, making up a ridiculous story as she went along. “I once heard of a man who scratched his finger while exploring a cave. Just a tiny little scratch on his pinkie finger, right about here.” She held up her own finger to indicate the spot. “Do you know what happened to him, Pembrook? He became very ill. Coughing, a high fever. Then the redness set in. And the swelling. His finger was three times its normal size. His skin stretched until it could stretch no more. Became an oozing, festering, bloody mess.” She watched as his face blanched and his nostrils flared. “And then do you know what happened, Pembrook?”

  He swallowed and shook his head.

  “It. Popped.” Genny used her hands to mimic an explosion.

  Pembrook pulled back in horror, his face twisted in repulsion.

  She also remembered that he had a squeamish stomach. “All that vile, nasty infection oozed out, all green and yellow and filled with puss.” She reached her hand out as if to drip the very infection upon him. In his haste to get away, Pembrook fell backward on his rump.

  “And then do you know what happened? He died. That tiny little scratch on his tiny little finger killed him. All because he was inside a cave, just like this one.”

  “I—I would never let that happen to you, Genesis!” he cried.

  “Really? Do you have any ointment for me? Did you bring medical supplies with you?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Then how do you know the same thing won’t happen to me? How do you know I won’t get an infection and die, the same way that man did? I scraped both knees, Pembrook. Stumped my toes. Drew blood. The infection might already be inside me, spreading through my veins.”

  “I—I’ll bring you supplies!” he promised.

  “I might need a doctor, Pembrook.”

  His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re trying to trick me,” he accused.

  Genny lifted a cool shoulder. “Am I?” She coughed discreetly into her hand. “The least you could do is clean up my wounds. You could at least try to save my life,” she accused haughtily.

  He turned quickly away, fetching a bottle of water and napkins. He took off her sandals and began to pour water over her injures toes.

  “Ow!” Her cry of pain was sincere. The cold water stung.

  “Here, look at these,” he offered, thrusting a photo album her way. “This should take your mind off what I’m doing. I don’t mean to hurt you, my sweet, but you are right, I must clean your scrapes.”

  “Look at that toe, Pembrook.” She put a bit of whine into her voice. “Does it look swollen to you?”

  “A bit,” he admitted.

  “And red. It’s red, isn’t it? And filling with puss. I can already feel the infection setting in.”

  He pulled his hands away, the repulsion in the face.

  “It’s not contagious, Pembrook,” she said reproachfully. She waited until he began again, gently brushing the napkin over the ripped flesh at the end of her digit. “At least, I don’t think it is,” she added in a doubtful voice. “Probably it isn’t. I hope.”

  She saw him swallow again. He moved back a bit, so that he was not quite as near as before. Genny coughed again, not bothering to cover her mouth. He inched back a bit more.

  “What is this?” she asked idly, opening the album.

  “Houses, my dear. I want your opinion on which I should buy.”

  Most of the photos were of large estates or villas. Some qualified as mansions. The area and style did not look familiar. “Where are these?”

  “Most of them are near Paris, my dear, in the city where I first laid eyes upon you. Do you remember, my love, the first time we met?”

  “I remember,” she said grudgingly, turning the pages of the album.

  “Which house do you prefer? Open those flaps and you can see the floor plans for each.”

  “You’re moving back to Paris?” she asked hopefully.

  “I think it is best.”

  “I agree.”

  “I really don’t care which house you choose, my love. As long as you are there with me, I don’t care what house we live in. It’s your choice.”

  Genny’s head jerked up in surprise. “Me? Live there with you?”

  “Of course. Where else would you live?”

  “Here, Pembrook,” she said firmly. “I live here, in Naomi. I own a business here. I have friends here. I have roots. I have no intentions of leaving.”

  “We can keep your quaint little house here, if you like,” he offered, but his face registered his abhorrence. “But you will live with me, in France.”

  “I will do no such thing.” She jerked her foot away.

  “Of course you will,” he said smugly. “Where else would a wife live, but with her husband?”

  “Husband?” Genny jumped to her feet, ignoring the sharp bite of stone to her bare soles. “Are you insane? I will never marry you, Pembrook Harris, not if you were the last man on earth!”

  He stood, too, stretching to his full height. He towered over her, leaning in for a menacing effect. “You will marry me,” he said, his voice so deadly calm that it produced chills over her skin. He grabbed her arm. “Today.”

  “What!” She tried to jerk her arm away, but it was no use. He held it firmly within a punishing grasp.

  “That was my surprise, Genesis. I had a grandly romantic proposal planned, but you have ruined it now, with your childish attitude. Forced me to rush things. But no matter. The sooner you know, the sooner we can prepare for the ceremony. The sooner we can leave for our honeymoon and our new lives in Paris.”

  Genny stared at the unstable man in horror. He was deadly serious. In his warped mind, it was a fairytale come to life. He honestly thought she would willingly marry him and live with him, happily ever after in his alternate world of reality.

  She bit back the words that sprang to her tongue. Choked back the bitter curse she wanted to spit into his face. Heart rattling in her chest, the blood running through her veins like chilled ice, Genny forced herself to take long, soothing breaths. She had to play along. As much as it made her skin crawl and her stomach turn, she had to appease him.

  “W—Wedding? We—We’re getting married?” She hoped he would mistake her breathlessness for pleasure.

  “Yes.” When she did not immediately protest, a smile stretched along his off-kilter mouth. “Yes, my love. We are getting married. Today.”

  “But... where?”

  “Right here, my love, in this beautiful setti
ng.” He swept his hand wide, toward the twinkling crystals that hung from the ceiling of the cavern. “Can you think of a more fitting place than this, in nature’s own masterpiece?” A thought occurred to him. His smile widened. “We could do it now, in fact. I had planned to add more lights, and flowers. I made a new CD for the ceremony. I intended to surprise you, but now that you know, there is no need to wait. I can see that you are as anxious as I am to become one.”

  Genny willed herself to stay calm. “I—I don’t have a dress,” she stalled.

  “You look lovely, my dear. You are stunning, in that red.”

  Genny tried a new tactic. She looked down at the dress, touched the flared skirt. “But... I wore it for him,” she admitted, trying to sound ashamed.

  He put his arms around her, trying to pull her close. “Shh, my love. It’s all right. I understand. You didn’t know I would come for you, take you away from all this.”

  She pretended to be filled with remorse. Tugging out of his hold, she kept her head low. “It wouldn’t be right, marrying you in this dress. I—I need something special, just—” She swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “—just for you.”

  “I have a dress,” he confided. When she jerked her eyes up to his, he smiled. “It was another part of the surprise. I had everything planned for the perfect wedding. But we don’t really need it, do we, my sweet? Wouldn’t you rather be married now, right this minute?” He pulled her back toward him.

  Genny picked at his sleeve, trying not to be so obvious as she leaned back, straining to put distance between them. His hands were on her waist. “A girl dreams about her wedding, Pem.” She deliberately used the term she once used, way back when. Back before she knew he was psychotic.

  He was instantly remorseful. “You are right, of course. You, of all people, deserve the perfect wedding.” He pulled away and fished inside his pocket. “But I do have your ring. An engagement ring, just for you.”

  A nightmare played out before her eyes. Pembrook went down on one knee and took her hand, slipping a ring into her finger. His pale eyes glowed eerily in the lamplight. Shadows played across his face, making his crooked smile look particularly menacing. “Genesis Baker, would you do me the grand honor of marrying me?”

  Genny’s hand trembled as he slid the ring onto her finger. When she saw the familiar marquee shaped diamond, her heart shuddered to a stop. Blood rushed to her brain, making her lightheaded. Her heart thumped back into rhythm, but the pace was too fast.

  She recognized the ring. It had belonged to Suzanne Morgan, and Genny had admired it many times upon her finger. Momma Morgan, as Genny called her, had promised the ring to Genny, specifically naming it in the will. But because she never took the ring off her finger, it was assumed destroyed in the fire that claimed the Morgan’s lives. Genny thought she would never see the ring again.

  Yet here it was, upon her finger. And it could only mean one thing. Genny choked back a sob. She tried to keep the fear from her eyes, the desperation out of her voice. If Pembrook had the ring, he had taken it off Momma Morgan’s hand. And that meant he had been there, before the fire.

  She had suggested as much to the detectives, but they checked out the Englishman’s alibi, and claimed he was innocent. No charges were ever made against the man, even though Genny had wondered, deep in her broken heart, if he might have had something to do with the suspicious deaths.

  And now she knew.

  “Genesis?” he prompted, when she took too long to answer. “Will you marry me?”

  It was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. One little word. Three simple letters. Her heart was like ice. Her voice was but a whisper as she forced it from her dry mouth.

  “Yes.” The word was swept away by the tears that rolled down her face.

  When he would have kissed her, Genny began to cough. She curled her shoulders inward, complaining of the cold.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she trilled. It was easy to make her teeth shatter; fright had a way of doing that. “I—I have a chill,” she claimed.

  “Cold? It’s warm in here.”

  It was true. The cave’s interior was warm and pleasant. Even last night, after the shock and the lingering effects of the drug had worn off, Genny was pleasantly warm. But she could not let him know that.

  “Probably an infection setting in,” she claimed. “My toes look puffy. And the one has started to bleed again.”

  “I shall bring back a first aid kit, when I bring the wedding preparations.”

  “Hurry, Pembrook,” she said. “We—We can’t get married, not if I’m sick.”

  “I will go now,” he promised. “I’ll book a flight for Paris as soon as the ceremony is done.”

  She nodded, pretending enthusiasm. Then she began to cough again, making it sound as pathetic as possible. “Bring my mittens,” she urged.

  “Yes, yes, I will hurry,” he said, his tone urgent.

  “Can you leave a light this time?” she asked.

  “No, my sweet, you need to rest.” Despite his claims of love, he intended to leave her there, in the dark, once again. “Sleep, my love, and when you awake again, I will be here, and we will be married.”

  Genny wanted to gag. He must think we’re in a scene from a Shakespeare play, she thought. He is sick. Sick, sick, sick. Demented. And he killed Momma and Pop Morgan! I have to get away from here!

  “Yes,” she agreed, limping back to her cot. She was careful not to disturb the one blanket. In fact, she decided it was time for a hot flash. She flung the covers aside. “Where did that heat come from? I’m burning up now!”

  “Are you feverish?” Pembrook worried.

  “Bring Tylenol,” she said, flinging her hand across her forehead. “And bandages for my feet.” She named off several other items she would need, hoping to keep him away as long as possible. She might need the extra time to find her way out of the cave.

  When he left, she watched the glow of his light retreat down the corridor. At this distance, it was hard to tell which direction he turned, but she thought the light faded to the right. So either she had missed a hidden exit, or Pembrook used the passage as a decoy, traveling in the exaggerated loop to throw her off course. It would have been far easier to go through the room where he originally held her, but it would have also shown her the way out.

  Genny allowed him plenty of time to make the trek through the crooked tunnel. When she was certain he was gone, she put on her shoes, turned on her cellphone, and went to retrieve a lantern. She chose a different light this time, wanting a fresher battery. She grabbed her purse as an afterthought and looped it over her head. The red dress, after all, had no pockets. She briefly considered changing into the pants in her bag, but she wanted to take as little time as possible. She had a cave to conquer, and a madman to escape.

  Genny followed the passage to the right of her alcove, to the room with the pit. She found the exit that, from this angle, was practically hidden by rock. Had there been other exits such as this that she had missed? She hoped not, else she had a lot of backtracking to do.

  Genny scrambled out of the room and turned right, taking the ventricle she had opted against last night. It made a wide sweeping turn and led into — and out of — another room similar to the holding room. The ground rose at a distinct incline, giving Genny hope.

  She came to another grotto, this one smaller than the others. There did not seem to be an exit. Genny circled the room, but found nothing. With a frown, she held her lantern high and went back through the opening to the corridor she had come from. The tunnel dead-ended into the room.

  “So how do I get out of here?” she asked aloud. Her voice echoed in the enclosed space, reminding her that she was trapped beneath the earth.

  No time to think about that. She had an exit to find.

  Genny retraced her steps. Twenty paces back, she saw the cleft she previously missed. It hid behind a long twisting piece of drapery, the calcite drippings from overhead forming a perfect camo
uflage for the slit. From this angle, the exit was obvious. Genny stepped through the fissure and found herself in a wide room, again with no obvious way out.

  It reeked of a peculiar odor. Drugs? she wondered. She sniffed again. No, this had an earthier smell. More like... animals. Pigs, but with a musky whang she had never smelt before.

  Genny directed her light toward the floor of the room. Mud smeared across the rocky surface, and there were definite signs of animal fetes. It reminded her of the tilled soil in front of Cutter’s house and the mess he attributed to the wild hogs.

  Genny’s heart tapped out an accelerated beat. Was it possible that the hogs had been here? She saw a patch of what looked like wiry hair caught on a jagged rock. There were odd scrapings along the walls, none more than three feet off the floor.

  So if the hogs had been in here, and if there was no sign of them out in the corridor...

  Genny began to search along the walls, looking for the exit. She held her lantern high, casting light further into the room. Along the far wall, stalactites had dripped deep enough to connect with the stalagmites rising up from the floor, forming a series of beautiful columns. The columns now stood like sentries, guarding three shadowed but distinct openings into the rock.

  Genny peered into the cavities, wondering which artery led to freedom. Choosing the wrong passage could lead her deeper into this underworld playhouse, and cost her precious time. Making a hasty decision, Genny stepped into the first cavity, searching for signs of the hogs. A few feet in, she turned around and tried the middle tunnel. When she saw no hoof prints after a dozen paces, Genny retraced her steps. She hoped the third and final option offered more hope.

  At first, it was difficult to see the marks along the petrous floor. Lumps of broken flowstone littered the path, along with small rocks and clumps of old mud. When she saw another patch of wiry hair scraped along the wall of the tunnel, Genny wanted to cry with relief. Two dozen more steps, and she thought she saw a faint hint of light. She went a bit further and turned off her lantern.

  Yes! Up ahead, she saw a distinct glow against the limestone walls. The light was weak, but it offered a circle of glorious illumination. Genny swore she could feel a rush of fresh air.