“Yeah, she’s kind of pitiful, isn’t she? She acts like she doesn’t even know where she is or who her kids are.”
“Alzheimer’s is a horrific disease.”
“Thanks for coming here today,” Seth said, keeping his voice low. “I know you did it for me.”
“And you’re here for your grandfather.”
He leaned closer and whispered, “I think I should stay with Granddad and Nana the rest of this weekend. Is that okay with you? I know my weekends are supposed to be with you, but—”
“It’s all right, honey. I understand. And I’m so very proud of you.”
Seth’s eyes misted.
The church’s choir took their places quickly and then sang the first of six songs that were dispersed throughout the service. With her hands folded in her lap, Cathy let her gaze sweep over the audience in front of them and on either side. She recognized numerous faces. Edith Randolph, the second victim’s wife, sat directly in front of her, along with the Lutheran minister’s children and teenage grandchildren. She assumed the three Catholic priests to their left were here on behalf of Father Brian. On the other side of the church, not part of the reserved seating for the victims’ families, she caught a glimpse of Patsy and Elliott Floyd as well as Brother Hovater, although he seemed to be alone. Undoubtedly, he had allowed Missy to skip the funeral, which in Cathy’s estimation made him a good father. Reverend Phillips and his wife sat with several other black couples who Cathy assumed were members of his church.
She couldn’t help wondering how many area clergymen were attending today, each one thinking “But by the grace of God…” No one knew who would be next. And no one knew how the killer chose his victims. Of all people to target, why men of God?
Anyone who had known Mark had known what a fine Christian man he was. A good husband. A good father. How could anyone have thrown gasoline on him and set him on fire?
Cathy shivered as the memories of that day zipped through her mind, moment by moment of that terrible afternoon replaying vividly inside her head like some eerie slide show. She heard his screams, saw him on fire, his clothing and the body beneath burning. She could still smell that distinct scent of gasoline and charred flesh. A tight knot formed in her belly.
“Mom? Mom?”
Seth grasped her arm and shook her gently. She stared at him through a haze of tears.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he told her. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“Neither should you.”
“I’m okay. I—I wasn’t with Dad when he died. You were.”
She nodded, glad that her son understood how her memories of that fateful day were tormenting her.
“Go home,” Seth said.
“I think I should leave.” She kissed his cheek. “Call me this evening, okay?”
“I will.”
She quietly rose to her feet and made her way out of the pew, exiting on the opposite side from the Cantrells and her mother. She knew people were watching her, some whispering about her, but she didn’t care. Just as she made it to the open sanctuary doors, the first minister walked up to the podium and requested a moment of prayer.
Cathy rushed into the crowded vestibule, overflowing with people who hadn’t been able to find seating in the huge church, neither upstairs nor down. When she finally managed to make her way through the horde of mourners and emerged on the church steps, she stopped dead still when she realized the churchyard was overrun and that apparently outdoor loudspeakers had been set up to carry both the choir’s songs and the eulogies and addresses by various clergymen and friends.
By the time she reached her car, Cathy was trembling so badly that she dropped her keys on the pavement. And once inside her car, it took her three tries to get the key into the ignition. She beat her fists against the steering wheel in an effort to vent her frustration, but within minutes grief overcame her and she laid her forehead against the steering wheel and wept.
Jack had spent a couple of hours this morning with his contractor, Clay Yarbrough. Reconstruction efforts had begun on the upstairs of the house, with his mother’s bedroom the first room to be renovated. He had told Clay that he wanted Cathy’s plans followed to the letter and if there were any questions concerning even the smallest matter, he wanted to be notified. He didn’t want Clay going to Cathy. Hell, he didn’t want the guy anywhere near her. Call him old-fashioned, but he was proprietary when it came to Cathy. Maybe he didn’t have a right to be, but he was.
They hadn’t made each other any promises of undying love or forever after, and for now that was what they both wanted. But that didn’t mean Cathy wasn’t his. For two nights, he had claimed her in the oldest, most primitive way a man can claim his mate. Yeah, sure, sex wasn’t love, and it never had been with any other woman; but Cathy was different. The way he felt about her was different. It had been seventeen years ago and it was now.
The June sun grew hotter the closer it drew to two o’clock, so Jack removed his shirt, tossed it on the back fence and then picked up the weed eater he’d laid on the ground. He’d thought about hiring someone to do the yard work, and in the future, he still might. But for now, when he needed to vent some sexual frustration, manual labor was the best solution. After two nights in Cathy’s bed, he had felt deprived sleeping alone last night. Actually, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. He’d had way too much on his mind. He had thought about Cathy, of course, and her son. He’d thought for sure he’d have to fight the boy tooth and nail, but Seth had surprised him at the Ice Palace last night when he’d all but given Cathy and him his blessing to date.
Then he’d gotten to thinking about renovating this old house and eradicating every bad memory from the place. He liked the plans Cathy had drawn for the interior and exterior, her work equal to any professional’s. Around midnight, he had admitted to himself that he’d been envisioning Cathy living here with him.
If he’d never been sent to the Middle East seventeen years ago during the Gulf War and wound up as a POW, and if Cathy had waited for him instead of marrying Mark Cantrell, how different their lives would be now. He figured they would be married and have a couple of kids, but they wouldn’t be living here in Dunmore.
As the night had worn on, he’d slept on and off, until a bomb had exploded in his nightmares and he’d found himself sitting straight up in bed and drenched in sweat. Damn, would those reenactment dreams never end?
Jack was so engrossed in his thoughts and with the weed eater’s loud motor drowning out every other sound, he wasn’t aware that a car had pulled into the driveway until he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he snapped his head around to search and find what he’d seen in his peripheral vision.
Cathy, in a neat black dress and black patent-leather heels, emerged from her old Jeep Cherokee. The first thing he noticed was the necklace of stark white pearls caressing her throat and lying against the black bodice of her dress just above her breasts. When he’d called her this morning, she had told him that she was meeting Seth, the Cantrells and her mother in Decatur at Bruce Kelley’s funeral and would probably spend the afternoon with her family. A part of him hated that she still thought of Mark Cantrell’s parents as family, especially considering the hell J.B. Cantrell had put her through since her return to Dunmore.
She walked toward him, eagerness in her step, and he realized that something was wrong. He turned off the weed eater and laid it on the ground. As she approached, he pulled a rag from the back pocket of his jeans and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and chest and the dirt from his hands. After tossing the rag on the ground, he took several long, quick steps to meet her.
“Hi,” she said, her gaze fixed on his face.
“Hi.” When she just stood there looking as if she might faint, he grasped her upper arms. “What’s wrong, honey? Are you all right?”
She pushed herself against him, her pretty black silk dress absorbing the moisture still clinging to his bare chest.
&nb
sp; “Hold me, Jack. Please hold me.”
Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her. “What happened? I thought you were going to the funeral.”
Burying her face against his shoulder, she clung to him. “I went, but I couldn’t stay. I tried not to think about Mark, about the day he died, but I couldn’t stop the memories.”
He brushed several comforting kisses across her forehead. “You shouldn’t have gone.”
“I know, but I didn’t want Seth to go without me.”
“Is Seth all right?”
“Yes, he’s the one who told me to leave. He’s with his grandparents.” She lifted her head and looked squarely into Jack’s eyes. “My son has grown up a lot since Mark died. He’s becoming quite a young man. I, uh, I want the two of you to get to know each other, to like each other.”
“Honey, he’s your son. I already like that about him.”
She looked at Jack in an odd way, a way that sent a jolt of uneasiness through him. “What is it, Cathy? Just tell me.”
“I need you, Jack.”
He studied her expression for a full minute. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m saying I want us to make love.”
When he didn’t immediately respond, she asked, “Don’t you want me?”
“Night and day,” he told her. “With every breath I take. But honey, if there’s going to be three in the bed, I’ll decline.”
“Three in the bed?” she asked, genuinely confused.
Suddenly she realized what he’d meant, and she laughed.
Not the reaction he’d expected.
“You have no idea how really, really stupid that comment was,” she told him. “The only time there has ever been three in my bed was when Mark was my husband.”
He stared at her, uncertain if he’d understood her correctly.
“Don’t you get it?” she asked him. “You were always the third one in my bed, the man in my heart and on my mind every time my husband touched me.”
“God in heaven,” Jack growled. Then right there in his yard, exposing them to any passersby, he kissed her with a brutal hunger that he couldn’t suppress.
He swung her up into his arms, carried her across the yard and to the back door, not giving a damn who saw them. They barely made it into the kitchen before he set her on her feet, unzipped her dress and shoved it off her shoulders and down her hips. Seeing that she wore only a bra and panties—no slip and no pantyhose—he shrugged off his jeans and kicked them aside. Then he lifted her up and onto the kitchen table. While he unhooked her bra, she caressed his damp chest and belly before diving her fingers below the waistband of his briefs. When she curled her hand around his penis, he thought he’d die.
Where the hell had he put that extra box of condoms he’d bought at the drug store yesterday? He hadn’t taken them upstairs, had he? No, he’d left them, along with the shaving cream and razors he’d purchased, in the plastic shopping bag that he’d put on the kitchen counter.
He leaned over her, kissed and then suckled each breast. Damn, he felt on the verge of exploding.
“Give me a second, honey.”
“Jack.” She held out her arms to him.
“I’m not quite ready,” he told her as he backed away and hurried to the far end of the kitchen, where he’d left the Dunmore Drugstore bag lying on the counter. He raked through the contents, tore open the box of condoms and retrieved a gold foil wrapper. Within seconds, he had ripped it apart, taken out the condom and put it on.
When he returned to Cathy, he saw that she had taken off her panties and sat there in a partially reclined position, her legs spread wide, revealing the lush, dark bush covering her mound. After slipping between her thighs, he slid his hands under her hips and brought her to the edge of the table. She lifted her arms up and around his neck. He hoisted her hips and thrust inside her.
Moaning with pleasure, she hung on for dear life, undulating to the rhythm of his lunges. He eased his hands out from under her and moved them smoothly up her back. As if sensing that his embrace held her safely in place, she leaned back, tossing her long brown hair behind her as she went wild in his arms.
Within minutes they both came, first she and then he a second later. Panting and trembling, they clung to each other while their bodies enjoyed the aftershocks of their orgasms.
Cathy and Jack spent the afternoon alternating between making love and exploring the three stories and partial basement of Jack’s house. Instead of going out to eat, they grilled steaks and prepared corn on the cob and veggie kabobs on the grill. Seth called on her cell phone around six, and she assured him that she was okay.
“You didn’t go home, did you?” Seth had asked. “I called earlier and didn’t get an answer.”
“No, I didn’t go home. I didn’t want to be alone.”
“Are you with Jack Perdue?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good, Mom. I’m glad you’re not alone.”
“Are you okay?” she’d asked him, wishing he didn’t feel obligated to comfort his still-grieving grandparents.
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s been a rough day for Nana and Granddad. Nana’s been crying a lot. They need me, Mom. You understand, don’t you?”
“I understand.”
For now, she would not interfere. J.B. had shown he was willing to compromise when he agreed to allow Seth to spend weekends with her. But eventually, she would have to take Seth away from them, out of their home and away from the daily influence of J.B.’s narrow-minded beliefs. Just not yet. During her hours with Jack, she had forgotten about the Fire and Brimstone Killer and had forgotten about Mark and how he’d died. Sweet relief, even if only temporary.
Her time with Jack seemed surreal, almost as if she were having an out-of-body experience. She was happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long, long time. And it wasn’t just the great sex, which alone was enough to make her ecstatic. No, it was the sense of being accepted for herself, for who she was, flaws and all. And not just accepted, but appreciated. Jack had always had a way of making her feel special.
They had ended their day doing yard work, then showering together and making love again before falling into deep, manual-labor-tired sleep.
When the phone rang late that night, Jack uncurled his arm from around her naked body, reached across her and grabbed his cell phone lying on the bedside table.
“Yeah, Perdue here.”
Because their bodies were so intimately aligned and he was lying halfway across her, she felt it when he instantly tensed.
“Son of a bitch!” He moved away from Cathy and swung his long legs off the opposite side of the bed. “I’m on my way.” Pause. “No, no, I can find it.”
Cathy sat up, reached out and grabbed Jack’s arm. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“Get up, honey, and put on some clothes,” Jack told her as he flipped on the overhead light. “You can go with me, but you’ll have to stay in the car. Understand? There’s been another murder.”
She slid to the edge of the bed and stood. “Who?” Her voice trembled.
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Donnie Hovater.”
“Merciful God!”
Fifteen minutes later, Jack parked in front of the house where Cathy had lived with Mark during the last years of their marriage. A row of emergency vehicles lined both sides of the quiet street located less than half a mile outside the city limits. One of the things she had always loved about this place was the two-acre lot that provided a huge front- and backyard. Residing here had combined the best of both town and country living.
When Jack opened the driver’s side door, he turned back and told Cathy, “Stay here.”
“If I promise not to get in the way…?”
“As it is, Mike is going to chew my ass out for bringing you with me.” When she looked at him pleadingly, tears in her eyes, he heaved a heavy sigh. “Just keep your distance and don’t say or do anything. Understand?”
At the edge of the driveway, he paused when he saw Mike, who from the looks of him had also come straight out of his bed. It was only then that Cathy checked the time. She glanced down at her wristwatch and noted that it was 1:48.
Mike threw up his hand and motioned to Jack. Then, when he saw Cathy, he frowned. While Jack walked toward his boss, she stayed at the end of the driveway but scanned the yard and the front of the house. Suddenly her heart leapt into her throat. Missy Hovater sat on the porch steps, her eyes glazed over as if she were in shock. A slender redheaded paramedic stood over her, talking to her. Cathy eased back out into the street and went around several vehicles, doing her best not to get in the way as she circled around and entered the yard from the other side. Everything maternal within her wanted to reach out to Missy, but what could she possibly do that the medic couldn’t?
She managed to get close enough to hear what the young man was saying to Missy and yet was still far enough away not to be intrusive.
“Miss Hovater, please let us help you. You’re in shock, and unless—”
“Don’t touch me,” Missy cried. “I’m contaminated!”
“Please, miss, just let me put this blanket around your shoulders to keep you warm.” He held the blanket out to show her.
“Get away from me!”
Another medic, a little older, approached and pulled the young man aside. “We’ll have to sedate her and take her to the hospital. Trying to talk to her isn’t working.”
“Wait!” Cathy called out to them before she realized what she was doing.
Both men turned to her. “Who are you?” the older guy asked.
“I’m Cathy Cantrell. I’m a friend of the family. Missy knows me. Please let me talk to her.”
The two men exchanged concerned glances. Then the older medic said, “Go ahead, ma’am. See what you can do.”
Cathy took the blanket from the young medic, walked over to Missy and sat down beside her. “Missy, may I put this blanket around your shoulders?”
Missy looked at her, a blank expression in her eyes. She nodded. “All right, Mrs. Cantrell.”
Silent Killer Page 30
