by Joanna Wayne
“Undressing was always my speciality.”
Heat climbed her body and flushed her face as new images tangoed through her mind. A trail of clothes, hastily shed, leading to any surface big enough for two naked bodies. The sofa, the floor, the shower. Her mind reeled as she rescued Blair from the tub and started down the hall, Ray and Blake a step behind.
“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.” Ray’s boisterous rhyming echoed down the hall.
“Why, Ray, I didn’t know they taught nursery rhymes in law school,” she quipped, doing a poor imitation of a mother without worries.
“Oh, yeah. It’s basic first-year trial procedure. Did Humpty really topple on his own, or was the wall’s poor construction the reason for the fall?”
“And what was the verdict?”
“The jury’s still out.”
“I can identify with that.”
Ray caught up with her as she reached the door. One arm around a wriggling Blair, he used the other to grab her elbow and pull her to a stop. “The jury is in on your case. The man is as good as caught, and he will be tried and convicted.”
“You sound so sure.” He was, of course, but he didn’t know the way this man could move in and out of a building, an apartment, a bedroom without being seen. He didn’t know the cold aura of terror this man carried as a shield.
“I am sure.” His fingers trailed down her arm. “I’ve made mistakes before. This time I won’t.”
Mistakes, flaws, limitations. Easy excuses that got him off the hook, let him walk away from responsibility, let him pick and choose when and how much to risk.
She watched Blake climb Ray’s chest, his red head bobbing up and over his father’s shoulder, a father he and his brother might never get the chance to love.
And that might be Ray’s biggest mistake of all.
Her heart constricted. The last thing she wanted for her boys was a father who’d turn his back on them, taint their lives with rejection, poison their self-confidence with denial.
She hugged Blair to her, her lips burying in the whisper soft baby hair. She loved her boys so much she had to protect them at all costs from any source of danger or heartbreak. That was the only fact she was sure of.
That and the knowledge that she couldn’t let Ray tear the heart from her again.
JODIE PULLED A light yellow sweater over her head and smoothed it over the top of her brown flannel skirt. The temperature was hovering in the high fifties, and in Natchitoches that constituted sweater weather. Cotton, of course. Wool was about as useful to Louisianians as steak to a vegetarian.
Bending at the waist, Jodie let her hair fall free, fluffing it with her hands and then straightened to standing position. Loose curls bounced around her shoulders, falling into casual disarray, wild, the way Ray liked it. A quick stroke of blush and a swipe of bronze lipstick finished her grooming routine.
Turning sideways, she checked her profile in the full-length oval mirror that swung from a frame of cherry. Not bad for the mother of twins, she acknowledged, running her fingers along the smooth lines of her stomach. She was five pounds less than her prepregnancy size.
Too bad her petite figure had only worked against her. Another trait the stalker found appealing. It was spelled out in one of his notes, in red, and in words that still sent icy shivers through her.
She hugged her arms about her. A week ago, she’d just begun to relax, to believe that moving to Natchitoches had been the solution she searched for.
But now she was walking the tightrope again. The only difference was that this time she was never alone. Ben was nearby during the day and well into the night, under orders from Ray not to leave until he arrived.
Which was getting later and later. She might have enlisted his aid in bathing the boys once, but, as always, Ray had his own priorities, and they obviously didn’t include baby-sitting.
The last two nights he’d arrived at Grams’s house after the boys were asleep, and he’d dressed and disappeared in the mornings without stopping in the kitchen for more than a fast cup of coffee.
Jodie suspected he’d have preferred to have had that in his dad’s law offices if he’d been sure Grams wouldn’t have followed him down there to make sure he drank one of hers. She was upset enough he wouldn’t binge on bacon and eggs and other artery-choking breakfasts.
Ray Kostner, man of the hour, ready to play. Ready to boss and protect. Her guess was his hour was up and he was sorry he’d ever jumped into the macho male protector role. Maybe he’d tell her that this afternoon after they visited the hospital.
Finally, Gloria’s doctors had agreed to let their recovering patient have visitors outside the immediate family and the police. Detective Butch Deaton had spoken with Gloria once. He’d left her bed convinced Gloria had been alone in the shop when her heart had dived into a state of massive shutdown.
He’d delivered the message to Jodie in person, staying for dinner at Grams’s invitation, assuring them both that he was watching the house even though the evidence pointed to the stalker’s being in New York.
Jodie wished she shared his certainty. But if he was wrong, if the stalker had been at the florist shop that night, then his face might be embedded somewhere in Gloria Bigger’s subconscious. All they had to do was pull the description out of her, and she could put a face to the formless monster.
A last glance in the mirror, and Jodie decided to tie her hair back from her face. Ray liked it flying loose, and she had no desire to ignite desire. She’d make sure he knew she was with him only because he had insisted on bullying his way back into her life, not to set a husband trap.
She slid open the top drawer of the dresser. The usually neat stack of scarves were fluffed instead of folded, as if someone had tossed them and let them parachute into place. Ice water coursed her veins.
Trembling, she clutched the top edge of the dresser for support. She was overreacting. The stalker couldn’t have been here in her bedroom. They had been home every day. But even as she whispered the denial, she knew her words were a lie.
She ran her fingers beneath the scarves, searching until they encountered the prickly edge of the scrap of paper she knew she’d find. She pulled it out, her heart racing, blood rushing to her head in dizzying spurts.
This time the note was a Valentine, homemade from red construction paper and a thin parchment doily. The words were written in red ink. She forced her gaze to fasten on them, shimmying as they were between her shaking fingers.
Roses are red
My heart is blue
Don’t run away again
Or you’ll pay the price, too
Pay the price, too. Like Roling. Her insides churned sick-eningly. A man who killed for no reason except some sickness that festered in his mind, and he had been here, in this room. Steps away from her sons. Steps away from Grams.
But the killer wanted her..
The hinges on the door creaked behind Jodie, and she spun around. Ben stood in the shadow of the door, watching her. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Jodie stuffed the note in the front pocket of her slacks. “You frightened me, Ben.” She struggled to steady her voice. “Is something the matter?”
“Yea, ma’am. I need to talk to you.”
His gaze darted about the room, and he fingered a baseball cap, bending the soiled bill, the muscles in his arms strained as if it were a task worthy of his strength. Her heart beat erratically.
“Has something happened? Did you see someone?”
“Oh, no ma’am. It’s nothing like that. It’s just, well, it’s my son, Grady.”
“Grady?” She tried to focus on Ben’s words instead of the fear that twisted inside her. “Is he sick again?”
“No. It’s not that. But he’s here.”
“In the house?” Her mind skittered crazily over every frightening possibility.
“No, of course not. In Natchitoches.”
“You mean he’s back for a visit?”
�
��No. He’s packed up and left New York. Moved back in my place. Says he got fired and couldn’t afford to pay his half of the rent up in Brooklyn. I think his roommate kicked him out, though he wouldn’t admit it. He always defends those so-called friends of his.”
She shook her head. “But he didn’t live in Brooklyn. He lived in Pittsburgh.”
“Not for six months or more. Didn’t Miss Emily tell you?”
“No, she must have forgotten. Are you saying that you were in New York all the time you were out of town?”
“Yes ma’am. I thought you knew.”
“Why didn’t you call me, Ben? Why didn’t you visit me?”
“I don’t cotton to those subways much.” He stared at the carpet. “Besides, you didn’t ask me to.”
“I didn’t know you were in town. When did Grady arrive in Natchitoches?” she asked, her mind whirling with frightening suspicions.
“A few days ago. He needs a job.”
She knew what Ben was after, but the last thing she wanted was his son hanging around the house. There was little chance he was the stalker, but she couldn’t take even little chances. “Maybe he can find employment in town,” she suggested, trying to sound positive.
“Yes ma’am. Maybe so.”
“With the Festival of Lights preparations in full swing and the Christmas tourists about to invade, I’m sure there are several local businesses that can use some extra personnel.”
He looked at her doubtfully, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Any other time, Ben. But things are not going well.” She reached in her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the note. Her flesh crawled and her hands grew clammy. The madman had held this same note in his hands. Maybe minutes ago.
“What is it, Miss Jodie? You look like a ghost’s walking over your grave.”
“The stalker. He was here, Ben, in this room.”
“He couldn’t have been. I was here all the time, Miss Jodie. I had the walkie-talkie on every second.”
“I’m not blaming you, Ben,” she said quickly. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s always like this. He moves silently, invisibly, like a phantom.”
“What do you want me to do, Miss Jodie?”
“I need you to stay here in the house with Grams and the boys while I go to the hospital to see Gloria Bigger. I wouldn’t go now, but it’s necessary.”
“I won’t leave them for a second.”
“I don’t know what we’d do without you, Ben.”
“With all Miss Emily’s done for me over the years, I’m just glad to be on the doing end for a change. Besides, I like you a whole bunch, Miss Jodie. You know that”
He studied his shoes. “I was wondering, Miss Jodie, do you think I could bunk in the boathouse for a while? That way I’d be here on the premises all the time, and Mr. Kostner could just come and go like he wanted. He wouldn’t have to come around at all when he was working late.”
Unexpected disappointment settled in her stomach, cold and hard. It was so like Ray to weasel out of a responsibility she’d never asked him to take on. “Is this Ray’s idea?” Her words came out rougher than she intended, more like an accusation.
“No, ma’am. I haven’t even talked to him about this. I know he’s helping out around here now, but I don’t see as where I live is any of his business.”
A little resentment leaked from his tone. It took Jodie by surprise. It was out of character for Ben, at least out of the character he showed around her. Maybe Ben ran a lot deeper than the easygoing surface he displayed when she was around.
“I haven’t talked to Miss Emily, either.” He shuffled his feet and twisted the cap in his hand. “Not yet, anyway. I thought I’d ask you first. Truth is I was thinking about moving in the boathouse anyway, before I knew you were moving back home. That was if Miss Emily didn’t object. She needs someone to keep an eye on her, what with her memory coming and going like fireflies on a starry night.”
“And she’s very lucky to have you looking out for her. It’s fine with me if you move in. I’m sure it would be fine with Grams, too. But what about your son? He might not be too happy about your running off and leaving him.”
“Not that boy. He don’t care a good two cents about my company. It’s the freebies he’s here for. I don’t fool myself. Not anymore. He don’t have no more use for me than his momma did.”
“In that case, we’d love having you. If you need anything, we can raid the attic. There’s enough furniture up there to fill a couple of plantation homes.”
“I don’t need a thing. Those old bunk beds that used to be in your room are out there. A TV, too. And Miss Emily put a microwave out there last winter so’s I could warm my lunch and make me some of that instant hot chocolate when my old bones got chilled. And if I get a notion to do more than open a can or two, why that old range your grandpa used to fry fish on still works. They don’t make ‘em like that any more.”
“Then it sounds like you’re all set.”
The purr of Ray’s engine drifted through the open window. “I have to go now, Ben. Just watch the boys and Grams until I get back. And if anything happens, anything at all, call Butch Deaton at once.” She scribbled down a couple of phone numbers. “The top one’s his office, the bottom one’s his beeper.”
“Did you tell him the stalker’s been here?” “
No, but I will. I’ll call from Ray’s car phone.”
“Take care, Miss Jodie. A woman like you, so pretty and sweet. You can’t trust a man. Not any man.”
“I’ll take care, Ben. But I do trust some men. I trust you.”
She gave him a quick hug and walked to the boys’ room. Before she left the house, she needed a second alone with them. She was the one the stalker wanted, and there was no reason to believe he’d hurt her children. Still, even the thought of his evil invading their lives filled her heart with overwhelming dread.
She couldn’t sit back and wait any longer. The note beneath the scarves had robbed her of that choice.
Chapter Seven
Jodie climbed into the passenger seat of Ray’s car without waiting for him to play gentleman. He slid under the wheel and started the motor.
“You look upset,” he said, backing out of the driveway and into the street.
“I had a visitor today.”
“Who was that?”
“The stalker.”
He turned to face her, deep grooves forming in his forehead. “What happened?”
She told him the story of finding the note. He let her talk uninterrupted, the muscles in his arms straining the fabric of his shirt, the veins in his neck and face popping out like the lines on a road map. A car pulled in front of him, and he slammed on the brakes, a string of curses flying from his lips. She was sure the car had not provoked his fury.
“How did he get inside the house without being seen or heard?”
“If I knew that I could stop him.” She reached for the cellular phone. “I have to call Butch Deaton. I’m supposed to tell him at the first sign of the stalker.”
Ray listened while she shared the story again, but this time he reached over and wrapped his hand around hers.
“Tell him to get someone out there on the double. Check every door and window for forced entry. And comb every inch of your bedroom for fingerprints.”
She repeated his directions into the phone.
“Who’s coaching you, Jodie? It wouldn’t be Ray Kostner, would it?”
“Ray and I are on the way to the hospital to talk to Gloria Bigger.”
“I’ve already talked to her. She doesn’t remember anything about that night.”
“I know, Butch. But I’ll feel better if I talk to her myself.”
“I understand. I know how tough this is on you. We’ll find the man, Jodie. I’ll have a crime scene team at your house in minutes.”
“I appreciate that”
“I’ll get back with you later today. And don’t worry about a thing. The NYPD might not have caught hi
m, but we will.”
She finished the conversation and hung up the phone as Ray swerved into the hospital parking lot.
The harsh odors of disinfectants blended with the sweet smells of gladioli and daisies as Jodie and Ray stepped into the hospital room. Sunlight peeked through half-open blinds, creating lined patterns of shadows on the bleached white bedsheets and the chrome of the side railings.
“Company. It’s about time.” Gloria greeted them from an almost upright position, propped as she was on three pillows. Her face was a pasty hue, her eyes encircled by gray layers of puckered skin.
Jodie stopped, knowing she shouldn’t stare, but unable to look away. She’d run into Gloria at the checkout counter of Wal-Mart a couple of weeks ago. That image haunted her now. Then Gloria had been the picture of health, a chubby middle-aged matron full of gossip and glowing comments about the twins.
“How are you?” Jodie asked, stepping closer and taking Gloria’s hand.
“Too puny to be half as ornery as I like, but I’m getting there.”
A smile wrapped around Jodie’s heart. The woman might be weak, but the zest for living was still there.
“You were never ornery,” Ray said, flashing a smile and his charm. “Belligerent at times, but never ornery. You managed to control me in Sunday School for a couple of years if I remember correctly.”
Gloria scooted up higher in the bed, her thin lips breaking into a smile. “That’s an attorney for you. Always changing your words to say the same thing in a different way, just so no one knows what they’re talking about. His dad’s the same way.”
The three of them chatted for a few minutes, the way people do who’ve known each other’s families for all their lives but have never been close, touching the surface of safe topics. Today, the talk was mostly about doctors and their fading bedside manners and about the growing size of injection needles.
It was ten minutes into the visit before Ray managed to steer the conversation into focus. “Did anything unusual happen at the shop the night you had your coronary?”
