Throbbing like a sore tooth, Cassaundra Reynolds pulled off highway ___ onto Meander Road

by Susan Shay

  “I’d call it yelling.” Vern stared toward the front as if considering a citizen’s arrest, then glared at Keegan. “Are you sure she’s all right?”

  Keegan scowled back at him. “I’ve been told, in no uncertain terms, to butt out. So I’m complying.”

  Always the peacekeeper, Mack looked hesitantly from one of them to the other. “Need some help with that coffee?”

  Relieved to have something to do that wasn’t emotionally upsetting, Cassie nodded. “I’d appreciate that, Mack.”

  Together they set up four cups, then, as Cassie poured the fragrant liquid in them, Mack put them on a small serving tray. “So are you and Keegan keeping company these days?”

  Surprised, she smothered her smile at the old-fashioned phrase. “Keegan? Not really. Why?”

  His eyes crinkled behind the glasses. “Just wondering. A girl as pretty as you are shouldn’t be alone, you know. You should be married, making a home and babies.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Mack. At least half of all marriages end up like Steve and Miriam’s.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the office where Miriam was still closeted with Steve. “And when there are babies, it’s that many more people who are in pain when the love dies.”

  Mack drew his brows together in concern. “Love doesn’t die, Cassie. Not true love.”

  Hoping to make him understand, Cassie shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mack. I know you were in love with your wife until the day she died. But sometimes, with the stresses and pressures of two income families, love doesn’t have a chance.”

  His frown deepened for a moment. “I’d never thought of it like that. I suppose you could be right.”

  “Everyone can’t be as lucky as you were.” With an encouraging smile, she picked up the tray and carried it to the table where Keegan and Vern were sitting. After she’d taken only one sip of steaming coffee, the front door chimed. “I’ll take care of this one, Keegan.”

  He glanced toward the front—where Miriam and Steve were still in the office. “Maybe I should check on—”

  Cassie barely shook her head. “They want to talk, so let them. If she needs us, she’ll let us know. I’m sure.”

  He nodded sharply. “The guys and I’ll finish deciding the fate of the world, then I’ll get the next one.”

  Trying to hide her sigh, she walked toward the front of the store, but was met by the boy from the bakery. “Here’s this morning’s order.” The kid shoved a large box into her arms.

  “Thank you,” she called after him as he hurried back to the door. Why the rush? she wanted to ask him, but she knew the answer—the same one they got every day. The quicker I’m finished, the quicker I can go home and get some sleep.

  Carrying the pastries to the back, she stopped at the men’s table and opened the lid. “They’re still warm, guys. Help yourselves.”

  Without hesitating, each one took a sweet roll, then grinned at her. “Aren’t you going to have one?” Mack asked.

  “Of course,” she answered. “I never pass up hot cinnamon rolls. It’s un-American.”

  “Or unlike most Americans, anyway.” Keegan licked his thumb before taking a big bite. After chewing for a moment, he closed his eyes and moaned. “God, that’s good. Better than my mama could have made, if she’d ever tried.”

  Vern set his roll and cup on the table, then clasped his hands. “Taking the Lord’s name in vain is a sin, young man.”

  Keegan glanced at Cassie, then forced a apologetic face. “Sorry, Vern. I know better.”

  Vern didn’t let up. “You should. I understand from Miriam that your mother raised you right.”

  “My mother?” Keegan’s voice cracked on the last word. “Aunt Hattie, maybe. But my mother just taught me how to neglect your family by hiding out in church, then call it ‘God’s work.’ The only thing that woman ever raised was her hand, in praise to a god who wasn’t even there.”

  “Honor thy father and mother,” Vern quoted dryly.

  Keegan’s grimace caused Cassie’s stomach to clench, but rather than voice his reply, he slammed his cup to the table and stalked away. In a few moments, she heard the vacuum running again.

  “That young man has some anger issues he should tend to,” Vern said around a mouthful of roll.

  “He’s just worried about his sister. He didn’t mean...” Didn’t mean what? That there was no God? That his aunt had done more toward raising them than his own mother? That was exactly what he believed, and thinking about it again made her want to cry for him. For the loneliness that chilled his soul.

  “Yes, he did.” Mack’s voice was soft, as if Keegan could hear over the roar of the machine. “But arguing with him won’t change it. That’s something a man has to learn as he passes through this life.”

  When the men finished their breakfasts, they accompanied Cassie to the front to pay, since she hadn’t yet set up the register in the coffee shop and wouldn’t be able to until Miriam came out. As they handed her their money, they heard Steve shout, “She was nothing but a damned waitress, Miriam. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you understand—”

  “You’d better go. Now.” Her soft words were more chilling than a shout could ever be as she opened the office door. “I can’t believe you care so little about someone you’ve slept with.”

  “I ca—I don’t think you un—” Suddenly realizing they had an audience, Steve bit off his words, glared at the three of them and slammed out of the bookstore.

  With a dark scowl, Miriam once more closed her door.

  Cassie wished she could follow her friend, but knew she wouldn’t be welcome. “Well, guys, I hope the rest of your day is better than your breakfast has been.”

  Mack’s smile was easy. “The food and coffee were great, but the atmosphere was a little charged. I’m sure things will even out.”

  Vern nodded stiffly, then followed Mack out the door.

  As the day grew later, more and more people came in to shop until Keegan was forced to put away the vacuum. When both Cassie and Keegan were busy and several people were waiting by the register, Cassie picked up the phone to dial the office. “Miriam, there’s a line waiting to be checked out, and I’m busy in the coffee shop.”

  “What about Keegan?” Her voice was nasal, as if she’d been crying.

  “He’s dealing with Miss McCollum. You know someone has to hold her hand for her to even buy a card, and she’s choosing something for her great-grandson’s fifth Christmas. ‘One of the most important, you know.’ ” She lifted her voice to a soft falsetto, but it didn’t make her friend laugh.

  Miriam just waited a moment, then blew out a long breath. “All right. I’m coming.”

  The tension stiffening Cassie’s spine eased some as she replaced the phone. Maybe now Miriam would brighten, and things around the store would get back to normal. Having her hiding out in the office was terrible. Cassie needed to see her, to have someone whom she could laugh with over silly things that happened during the day. Keegan was more than pleasant to be with, but laughing with him was just different. Things that were funny with him just weren’t the same.

  When they reached the end of the long day, Cassie counted down the register in the coffee shop and carried it to the office. As she reached the half-open door, she took the drawer insert in her left hand and knocked.

  The light was brilliant, blinding, sending pain bursting through her eyes and into her head. The crash that followed, more painful than before, caused her to fall to her knees, hands over her ears to protect them from the excruciating echo that reverberated again and again.

  The room. The register drawer. The bills scattering around her. All vanished.

  Her heartbeat slowed as a sharp breeze cooled her face, bringing with it the smell of decaying leaves. Uncertainty fluttered within her momentarily, but then a fire ignited in her soul.

  Discipline, the reason for one’s time in this world. Life’s lessons—at Mother’s knee.

  Dim m
emories of fear in the pit of her belly when she’d disobeyed a warning not to venture too close to the stove. Being held against the glowing red elements until the burn and smell of her own searing flesh was too much to bear. Now only a glimpse and she would see the indentation of melted, discolored skin, a constant reminder to obey. Another memory replaced the first. Stripes cutting into her back with a leather strop for misunderstanding permission to leave her allotted space. Then, as if watching a movie, one punishment after another played before her. Overblown. Overstated. Overdone.

  But never forgotten—even if the pain were to be outlived, the scars made certain of that.

  To be learned, chastisement must be powerful, unforgettable. It was God’s decree. Bring up a child in the admonition of the Lord. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Vengeance is mine.

  We are not placed on this earth to enjoy our time, but as a preparation for Glory. And to assist others in finding the way.

  She gripped tighter the spike locked in the pliers in her right hand, then hefted the propane torch in her left. Plenty of fuel to heat the spike. To remove the sin from the woman’s body and soul, it must be white hot. White, the color of purity. The color of piety. The color of God.

  A fresh memory filtered into her mind. Screams of contrition. Tears of penitence. Begging, pleading, beseeching until she was certain the woman now knew the way.

  And so...the baptism of fire.

  Chapter Ten

  Lying on the floor with the stench of scorched flesh in her lungs, Cassie swallowed hard as she fought to keep from vomiting. Sweat prickled down her spine, then dampened her entire body, but the flush of heat was immediately followed by a teeth-jarring chill. Hugging her thighs to her chest, she pressed her face hard against her knees, trying to blot out the atrocities she’d witnessed.

  Dear God. The murderer had been in the store again. He’d left his emotions somewhere—everywhere? On the counter? The register? The office door? The floor?

  Anger and frustration slithered along her nerve endings to seep into her soul. She could feel the disappointment that clouded his reason, taking him to endeavors she didn’t want to know about, yet was beginning to understand. But with everything she could see about the monster, she couldn’t tell if the killer was a man or a woman.

  As the nausea receded, she lifted her head. The cash drawer lay on its side, the bills and change littered the floor around her like confetti on New Year’s Eve. Legs weak, she leaned against the nearby wall to wait for her strength to return.

  “My God. What happened? Did you trip?” The caring in Keegan’s voice was more than she could handle.

  “No. I’m fine,” she choked. Tears burned as her mind careened to her vision. A flash of clarity constricted her throat as comprehension dawned. The woman she’d seen in the cellar was Twyla, the woman Steve had been with the night they’d seen him at Ron’s—and she was dead.

  Unable to control the convulsive sobs trying to escape, she hid her face in her hands. It was bad enough to be unable to restrain them, but with Keegan watching, it was unspeakable.

  As she struggled to contain the excruciating pain filling her mind, she was surprised when he gathered her into his arms, then helped her to her feet. “You aren’t fine. You sit here while I finish up, then I’ll take you home.”

  Unable to stop herself, she let him help her into a chair, then accepted the wad of tissues he thrust into her hands. As she blew her nose, he stroked her shoulder in an effort to comfort her. Too bad there was no comfort in a world where such hatred existed.

  She forced herself to concentrate on something—anything—besides the horror in her mind. Keegan, picking up the money from the floor. Keegan, finishing only the chores that were absolutely necessary. Keegan, turning off the lights so they could leave the store. And then they were in his car, heading back to the apartment house.

  “In just a few moments, we’ll be home.” He said the words as if home was a synonym for safe haven.

  Maybe for most people, but there was no place she could hide from the horrors that invaded her mind. No place where someone else’s emotions couldn’t reach her.

  Keegan glanced at Cassie as he found a parking space at the apartment house. Wishing Miriam was home so he could let her deal with this...this...whatever, he watched as a shudder shook Cassie’s entire body. Could this be an act? Part of her psychic come-on? A way to gain his sympathy?

  He’d seen many consummate actors in the ranks of bunko artists—the great and mighty Boz being among the best—but not one of them could come close to Cassie’s performance. The tears, the weakness, the racking sobs. If it was an act, she deserved an award.

  But from the look in her eyes, he couldn’t imagine it being a performance. Of course, he silently laughed at himself, maybe he just didn’t want it to be faked. He threw the car into park, then waited a moment. When she didn’t seem to notice, he touched her shoulder. “We’re here.”

  She jolted as if he’d zapped her with a cattle prod, then looked into his face. In the shadows thrown by the streetlight, her blue eyes lost their color to look gray in the darkness, and were shadowed with misery.

  Afraid she’d stay right where she was if he let her, he got out, then rounded the car to open her door. As if she’d forgotten she was still in the car, she tried to get out without releasing the seatbelt, then looked frightened when she couldn’t move.

  Frightened? His imagination must be getting the best of him. Maybe he should write novels for a living instead of newspaper articles. “Hang on there a minute.” Stooping inside, he reached for the buckle with one hand as he touched her waist with the other. He might as well have a little enjoyment out of it. Right?

  After she was out of the car, she all but collapsed against the hood. Seeing she’d left her purse, he grabbed it, then slammed the door and moved to her side. She leaned heavily on him as they headed toward the house, and when they went in, she allowed him to lead her into Miriam’s apartment.

  And she still hadn’t uttered a word.

  “You need a glass of brandy.” Steering her to the couch, he went into the kitchen and poured a glass, then as an afterthought, poured another. What was that old saying? If you can’t beat them...? When he returned to the living room, he found her in the middle of the sofa with her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped protectively around them.

  He dropped down beside her. “Here, take this.”

  “Thank you.” As if spoken on a sigh, the words were almost too weak to hear, but she obligingly tipped the glass against her lips until the liquid reached them.

  If she swallowed any of the alcohol, it wasn’t enough, so when she looked for a place to set the glass, he gently pushed it back toward her lips. “Try again. It’s only bracing if you actually swallow some.”

  Amusement flickered briefly in her eyes, then she closed them as she turned the glass up again. This time he was sure she took a drink, because after swallowing it, she shuddered as if it burned all the way down.

  When she finished, she reached past him to set the glass on the table at the end of the couch. At least she’d relaxed some. Both feet now rested on the floor, and her arms weren’t banded around anything. Too bad she couldn’t have chosen me to put them around, he thought as he went to the kitchen for the brandy bottle.

  After pouring more for each of them, he handed the tumbler back to her.

  She tried to push the glass away. “I really d-don’t need anymore.”

  “It’ll help you sleep.” He placed it in her hands. “The night will just slip away before you know it.”

  With hope in her eyes, she took a healthy swallow, then choked.

  “Sip it, though,” he suggested. “Chugging makes it come back up, and with brandy, the second coming isn’t a nice thing.”

  “I wouldn’t think so.” She chuckled stiffly. “In all the time I’ve known Miriam, I’ve only seen her drink once until she got sick.”

  He clenched his jaw for a moment. “Was that
after Steve left her?”

  This time her chuckle was more relaxed, natural. “No. It was during her bachelorette party before the wedding. The girls had hired a stripper, then when he got down to his Speedo, Miriam told him to pick up his stuff and take a hike. Then we started playing a game one of the girls made up, where every time someone mentioned a man, they had to chug a beer. Miriam lost.”

  “Sounds about right.” Keegan set his glass down, then, unable—or unwilling?—to stop himself, touched Cassie’s face. Her skin’s creamy smoothness drew his fingers across her cheek. As he traced her jaw to the dip in her chin, then glided his fingers along the length of her neck, she tipped her head back and, luxuriating in his touch, let her eyes drift shut. Settling her even closer to him, he inhaled deeply and filled his lungs with her sweet fragrance. He flattened his palm, stroking her throat while he resisted the temptation to slide his hand lower. As if drawn by a force beyond himself, he tilted his head. Just a simple kiss, he promised. Without passion—or pleasure.

  But as their lips met, something rumbled through him, surprising him as nothing had in years. Maybe ever. He wanted her—with every ounce of his being. Wanted to touch her, taste her, kiss her again and again. To make love to her.

  More than anything, he wanted to know her. To learn her thoughts and feelings. To be able to predict her words and actions and temptations. To hear the stories of her youth until he could repeat them back to her. He wanted to be in her world. To walk with her. Talk with her. To make her laugh. To hold her when she cried. To be that special someone in her heart and live there for the rest of his life.

  As he ended the kiss, a voice inside him jeered, Where did that come from? Man, are you losing your mind?

  Glad he hadn’t spouted the nonsense rattling in his head, he chanced a glance at her. At first, she looked startled, but with a blink another emotion took over. Lips parted and eyes lowered, she glided her hand from his belly to his chest, making him wish he’d taken off his shirt so he could feel her fingers against him.