“Oh? And what’s that?”
“Be aware of your surroundings,” Ted said with an intensity Cassidy had never heard from him before. “I’d hate to lose one of my favorite patrons.”
Cassidy raised her eyebrows. “Well, that’s really good advice, actually. You know, this entire situation has put me on edge. The more I talk about it with you, the more real it gets, and the more frightened I feel.”
“You want me to keep an eye on you?” he asked.
Cassidy gave him a sidelong glance. “How would you do that?”
Ted narrowed his eyes and, leaning in, lowered his voice to a harsh, barely audible whisper. “Let’s just say I know people.” And his expression hardened. “You know, actually,” he said, withdrawing slightly, “I have another idea. I can teach you how to shoot a gun. You can use one of mine and—”
“No, I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m just being paranoid, is all. JJ’s starting to rub off on me.”
“Rubbing off on you, eh? And that brings me to my next question.” Ted paused, then cleared his throat. “Are you and this JJ character an item?”
“What! Oh my God! Absolutely not! He might be my best friend, but he’s more like a brother. That’s it, nothing more.”
“If you say so.” Ted gave her a sly smile.
“Yeah, I say so.”
“Hey, I had to ask. I don’t judge. You know, to each their own, and that sort of thing.”
“But come on. Really?”
Ted smirked. “I thought you said you two were friends.”
“We are. He’s my best friend. But that’s it!” And she made a chopping motion with her right hand.
Ted picked up a half-empty bowl of peanuts and stowed it behind the bar. “Well, great. That’s settled, then. Now I have another question.”
“Okay.” Cassidy let out a good-natured huff. “Just one more.”
“Who’s this pool guy you keep talking about?”
At once, an image appeared in her mind—a tall, dark, and handsome man with bulging biceps, flawless skin, and a slight Latino accent. “Pool guy?” Cassidy feigned irritation. “I’ve never mentioned a pool guy before.”
“Yes, you have. Remember last time you came in? You said he’d been skimming the pool, and you ended up skimming over him with the briefest of insults.” Ted shrugged with a knowing smile. “I figured it was a good sign.”
“Not much to say, really. He pissed me off while he was cleaning the pool, freaked me out when I was walking the dog, and is unbelievably attractive. Problem is, he knows he’s good looking, and his arrogance is kind of off-putting.” She played with the almost-empty beer bottle, contemplating changing her mind and having another, before she began to laugh. “We’d have such great looking kids. Which is really saying something, since I have absolutely no desire to even have children.”
“You’ve put some thought into this guy, I see.” Ted had an ever-growing smile.
“Not really. I need to be very selective who I get serious with, though. I’d want a guy who’s well-educated, intelligent, a good conversationalist; someone with a great sense of humor and an unparalleled physical cleanliness, including regular manscaping. Plus, I don’t want to be the breadwinner in the relationship. I might be wrong, but I can’t imagine finding all of that in a pool guy. Especially this one. I can barely get a caveman grunt out of him.” Cassidy rolled her eyes. “So, no. I haven’t really put that much thought into it. Although, I have to admit, the man is super cute.”
“Cass, you are a self-sufficient, independent, intelligent woman. You should get whatever it is you want in a man, and I know you’ll find him. Nothing wrong with taking the car out for a test drive, though, you know. Running it through its gears, kicking its tires. Catch my drift?” He wiggled his eyebrows which made Cassidy laugh.
She considered this for a moment, nodding. “Yeah... but he really didn’t give me a second glance.”
“Well, maybe you should ask him out.”
“No way!” Cassidy straightened to full height. “I absolutely do not ask guys out. I’m not desperate!” She glared at Ted, then amended her last statement. “Well... not that desperate. If he wants to get to know me, he’ll have to make the first move. A man putting a little effort into getting to know me, goes a long way.”
Cassidy played with her empty beer bottle some more, then added, “Presents aren’t a bad idea, either. Seriously. What’s a girl gotta do to get a boy to buy her something pretty? Pretty and shiny.”
Ted chuckled, and patted the back of Cassidy’s hand. “You, kind of have to be nice to them. Just give the guy a break, and remember, most people start off slow. You know, meet for coffee or drinks. You can bring him by the bar, and I’ll check him out for you.”
“We’ll see. Anyway, on that note, I gotta get going. Poor Max has been holding his bladder for a while now, and I don’t want him to worry about me, either. He’s my big, strong protector, and I want to make sure to keep him loving me unconditionally.”
Cassidy grabbed her car keys and Louis Vuitton purse, and headed for the door.
“Wait, Cass!”
She stopped and turned, hand on the door.
“Be careful. And stop back soon. I’ll be worried about you.”
Cassidy offered up a warm, reassuring smile. “I’ll see you soon. I promise.” Then, she waved and walked out of the bar, making a mental note to visit Ted’s Bar and Grill more often and not when she just needed a drink. It was a grill, after all. Maybe she’d try the food. Plus, Ted was a great listener with wise advice.
Cassidy drove home, mindful to avoid all of the usual speed traps and checkpoints, while musing over their discussion. Ted’s demeanor had definitely changed when she’d mentioned she was scared. Did he have a darker side to him, too? And should she be afraid of him? Was he capable of killing someone? After all, she’d discussed her patients with him numerous times. Wouldn’t be that hard to look someone up online or in the phone book; you could find anyone anywhere if you really wanted to, these days.
Cassidy shook her head. Such an overactive imagination! Ted was a great guy who wanted the best for her... right?
She glanced at the back seat through the rearview mirror.
Empty.
With a sigh of relief, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pushed the gas pedal down a little harder. Her own bladder was now dangerously full, and she needed to get home fast.
CHAPTER 16
T
he mood in Chester’s room had taken a sudden and unexpected dangerous turn, and he felt the blood drain from his face as he watched pure evil walk toward him. He glanced around his chair for something to defend himself with. To his left sat a heavy glass candy dish... just out of reach. To his right stood his walker, still just out of reach. He looked down at his knobby, arthritic hands; they were weak, and the left one trembled as it squeezed the tube of Bengay he’d been applying to his aching joints.
He knew there wasn’t much time left. He’d felt this way before, during WWII, and knew how desperate this situation had become. If he wanted to live, he’d need to act—fast.
The devil he’d invited into his home was rapidly closing the distance. Chester tried to stand—something he hadn’t done independently in over a year. But desperation and fear had strengthened his withered legs, and he found himself uneasily upright. Visions from the war flashed through his mind, and his long-dormant combat training began to surface. Oh, how he wished he were young and spry again! His heart pounded in his ears, sweat ran down his face, adrenaline pumped through his veins as his body prepared to fight, which was his only option. Without his walker, flight wasn’t going to happen.
But a good defense was a strong offense, so Chester raised his hands high and lurched forward, slamming his right fist down onto his adversary’s chest. But, his efforts did little to slow the monster’s advancement, and a desperate sob broke free as he grabbed onto his enemy, only to find himself toppled onto the floor. As he hi
t, a sharp, stabbing pain streaked across his right hip, accompanied by a sickening crack. Chester knew in his heart he’d just broken his hip, and as the pain shot up his back and down his right leg, threatening to push him into unconsciousness, he struggled to remain in the fight, pulling at hair, at clothes, at anything he could get his stiff hands on. Worst case scenario, his blood would mix with the killer’s.
Chester fought for what seemed like hours, though he suspected it’d only been seconds—minutes, at best. Soon, the room began to darken under the continuous blows from the killer’s unrelenting onslaught. Ribs cracked, and pain surged with each fist fall. Chester widened his eyes as his vision narrowed and blurred with hot tears as he fought against each agonizing breath. But he refused to beg for his life and took what he sensed was his last shot at survival: he shoved his right thumb into the attacker’s face to try to gouge out an eye. But Chester realized his efforts had come too late. His right arm was wrenched upwards and to the side, snapping under the brutal force.
All at once, a horrible sound accosted him.
At first, the intense noise had startled him, but before long, it’d come as no surprise as Chester recognized the sound of his own terrified screams. Then, his body relaxed, and he met his killer’s stare. Content with his life and relieved that his late wife would never have to find him like this, Chester felt a modicum of peace, and hoped he’d soon join his beloved.
Pain seared across his chest, taking his breath away. Chester craned his neck and, looking on in horror, witnessed the killer’s last action as she readjusted the weapon in her left hand, tightened her grip, and plunged the pair of scissors into his heaving chest again... and again.
Chester desperately wanted to die with honor, with dignity, and that time had come. He no longer cried out in pain, didn’t ask for mercy, or even struggle to escape. Instead, he again met his killer’s stare, until his vision began to fade. His own ragged breaths, gurgled with blood, the last sound he’d ever hear.
ERNEST STOOD OUTSIDE of Chester’s living room window, shocked by what he’d just witnessed. The first murder he’d seen had been by accident, but these last two times, he’d followed the killer, curious at first, but now terrified.
Ernest stood, speechless, numb that he’d just watched a man take his last breath and now lay perfectly still. He’d seen his share of death and suffering while fighting in Vietnam, and he’d been different ever since. The doctors had called it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or some such thing. He didn’t care about the name; he cared about being unable to lead a normal life. Since the war, he could neither look people in the face nor speak with any kind of fluidity, except to his beloved little white dog, Lily.
Now, Ernest knew he shouldn’t have been looking through other people’s windows. He knew he should have tried to stop the attack, or at least call the police. And he certainly shouldn’t have been hanging around to see what would happen next. He knew he needed to leave and never follow this monster again, since it always left death in its wake. But he couldn’t turn away.
Time passed. How much, Ernest didn’t know. The shadows in the room had grown long, though, and covered the horrific scene inside. He strained to see what was happening, glimpsing something both shocking and horrifying: the monster appeared to savor the kill by smearing its victim’s blood slowly over its arms, letting it ooze through clenched fists. Then, the monster slumped onto its side, like a sated lion after a feeding frenzy.
Finally deciding to leave, he attempted to slink away, undetected. Unfortunately, he stepped onto the pointy end of a rake he hadn’t seen, and it fell with a clatter against the window. At once, Ernest knew he was in trouble. No possible way the attacker had missed the commotion. It was time to run.
Without another moment’s hesitations, Ernest ran with everything he had in him, despite his legs being old and weak. Soon, his breath huffed out in short gasps, and his heart pounded in his ears. He wouldn’t make it much longer. He began muttering an old mantra, one he’d used in Vietnam, one that had saved his butt more times than he could count: “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Hurry, hurry, hurry.” But just as his confidence began to rise and he felt he might be in the clear, he picked up on a horrifying sight coming into his peripheral vision—fast. The killer was closing in, and was almost upon him.
Run, run, run, he pleaded with himself.
The killer lunged, and Ernest felt strong arms wrap around his head and neck, but the harder he pulled to get free, the tighter the arms squeezed. Too far away now from the last row of homes in the development to cry out for help, Ernest reached back and groped for the attacker’s face, only managing to yank out a small lock of hair. Pounding fists battered his face, and within seconds, he tasted the iron-rich tang of his own blood. His nose shattered and lips split under the barrage. Blood pouring into the back of his throat began to choke him, unable to swallow or spit it out fast enough. He coughed—gagged.
Ernest thudded to the ground, the back of his head bouncing off a well-manicured lawn. The assault slowed, and Ernest stared through watery eyes as the attacker crouched beside him, arms extended. He sensed an opening and kicked upwards—hard—and landed a solid blow to the monster’s stomach, which enabled him to roll over and scramble up onto his hands and knees. Ernest crawled away as fast as he could, making it to a small tree at the edge of the property, where he steadied himself back onto his feet and hobbled away, deeper into the woods.
After putting some distance between himself and the killer, Ernest paused to glance back through the trees. The distant, shadowy figure stood facing his direction, its form eerily still. Ernest continue to run—past trees, over shrubs, through flowerbeds, stumbling along on his way to safety. A few hundred yards more, Ernest glanced back again. This time he was alone, and he let out a sigh of relief.
He turned toward the wooded area that abutted the housing development. There, a few yards away, sat his little white dog, Lily, tied to a small palm tree, patiently waiting for his return. Ernest had stumbled just past the tree line, when a noise snapped behind him. Lily barked out a warning, sprinting forward to the end of her leash, and Ernest spun around—but it was too late. Something hard and heavy slammed into his chest, making it painfully difficult to breathe.
Lily’s frantic barking did little to deter the attacker as Ernest railed against the onslaught, desperate to stay alive—if not for himself, for Lily. Evening deepened in the woods, descending upon the helpless old man, his only thoughts were now on his precious, sweet Lily who was witnessing his brutal death. He wanted to sooth her, tell her it was going to be okay, but he couldn’t. Her plaintive canine cries haunted his last moments on Earth.
CHAPTER 17
C
assidy sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding in her chest, breaths coming in short gasps. Sweat began to trickle down her face and back, chilling her to the bone. After inhaling deeply, calmly, which did little to relax her, she looked over at her clock.
2:15 a.m.
Nightmare? Intruder? Instantaneous insomnia? Cassidy listened, but heard no unfamiliar or unwanted sounds.
Creak!
She stiffened, and her heart raced even more, every sense hyperaware, searching for potential threats. Max lay on his back at the foot of her bed, eyes open, unconcerned about the noise. Cassidy reached for the Louisville Slugger that leaned against her nightstand, sweaty fingers tightening around the bat’s neck, and she raised it into a swinging position. She slipped out of bed, crept toward her bedroom door, and placed her ear against it.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when a cold, wet dog nose pressed up against the back of her upper thigh. She spun around to stare at Max, who wagged his tail, happy she was awake and playing a game. Cassidy gave him the sit-stay gesture, and he immediately complied. Again, she pressed her ear to the door, but heard nothing out of the ordinary.
After thirty agonizing seconds of indecision, Cassidy reached for the doorknob, pausing a second to steady her hand. She
re-tightened her grasp on the bat and, making a mental note to add a deadbolt to her bedroom, eased the door open a crack, preparing for the worst.
No one pushed in from the other side, and no new sounds came from the living room. Emboldened by the simple fact she was still alive, Cassidy opened the door the rest of the way. She’d half-expected to see her apartment in shambles—tables overturned, lamps knocked onto the floor, papers strewn about in chaos—just like the ones in her favorite cop shows. To her surprise and great relief, everything sat just as it had from the previous evening.
Cassidy navigated through the living room in near-darkness, going to the front door to find the deadbolt locked, the chain in place. She slowly exhaled and flicked the light switch, illuminating the apartment and washing away her fear of shadows and things unseen.
Just to be on the safe side, however, she began searching the main living area for intruders, bat gripped tightly and held up high. Her first stop: the living room closet. Not large, but big and empty enough for someone to hide in it. Cassidy turned the knob, then flung the door wide, both hands now clutching the bat, ready to swing.
Nothing.
She used it as a spear, poking it hard between the clothes hanging on the main rack.
Still nothing.
She closed up the closet and sidled over to the sliding glass door that led out to the small, covered balcony. Heavy drapes obscured the outside from view—another perfect place for someone to hide. Though her apartment was on the second floor, it’d still be easy enough for someone hell-bent on killing her to climb up there and wait for her to fall asleep. Cassidy grabbed a fistful of drapery and counted to three.
Clang, scratch, clang!
Her grip tightened on the fabric and her breaths quickened. Someone was out on the balcony!
Clang, clang, scratch, clang!
Cassidy flung the curtain aside, nearly tearing the rod down from the wall.
The Cure May Kill You: A Cassidy Hudson Mystery Page 11
