“Why’d you stop?” he asked softly.
“What if whoever called your mom has a weapon of some sort, a gun or a knife or…we don’t have anything to defend ourselves with or to defend your mom.”
Seth absorbed the reality of what Missy had just said. “We need to be quiet and not let anyone know we’re here. Understand? Our best chance of getting the upper hand is if we can take them by surprise.”
Missy shivered. “Oh, Seth, maybe we should wait for Deputy Perdue.”
“Look, why don’t you wait for Jack,” Seth suggested, keeping his voice quiet. “I’m going downstairs. I have to find out if my mom’s all right.”
“I know. It’s just that I’m scared.”
“Go back into the vestibule and wait for Jack.”
“But you might need my help.” She looked down the staircase. “I’m going with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Then let’s go. And be as quiet as you can. We don’t want to give whoever’s down there any advance warning, do we?”
Cathy’s head hurt something awful. She tried to lift her hand to rub the back of her head but found that she couldn’t move her arm. Her eyes flew open. Where was she? And what had happened to her? Think, Cathy, think!
When she tried to move again, she realized that her hands were tied behind her back, and when she tried to scream, all that came out was a muffled groan. She had been gagged!
Don’t panic.
She inhaled and exhaled several times in an effort to calm her rioting nerves. Then she tried to focus but found her vision slightly blurred, probably a result of having been hit on the head. But who had hit her? And why?
After repeatedly blinking her eyes, her vision cleared enough so that she could survey the area around where she lay. There on the floor, only a few feet away from her, was John Earl, his hands and feet bound. And someone had replaced the gag in his mouth. She tried to get his attention but realized that he was staring straight up at something or someone standing behind her.
Cathy’s heart raced as fear pumped a surge of adrenaline through her body. What was going on? Had she inadvertently walked in on a robbery?
Twisting around enough to move her head to one side, she followed John Earl’s gaze up and behind her.
Terror gripped her. Her muscles went taut.
Standing there looking down at them, a frighteningly sweet smile on her face and a small red gasoline can in her left hand, the Fire and Brimstone Killer pronounced a death sentence on both her and John Earl.
“The Lord has sent me here to punish you for your sins,” she said. “You, John Earl Harper, are an adulterer and a blasphemer. Pray for God’s mercy. And you, Catherine Cantrell, are a fornicator and a liar who sinned against your husband and your son. God has told me that you must die, too. He wants me to make an example of you as a warning to other women. Ask your Heavenly Father to forgive you.”
Jack pulled in at the Baptist church parking lot but didn’t see any sign of Seth and Missy. He figured they had beaten him here by a few minutes at the very least, which meant they were already inside the church. He didn’t know if the kids had simply concocted some elaborate story in the hopes of throwing suspicion off Missy for the recent string of murders or if there was some credence to their theory. But he knew one thing for sure—something about Cathy being lured to the church smelled to high heaven.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Lorie had told him when she’d called. “But my gut is telling me that Cathy’s in trouble. I’ve tried calling John Earl several times, and there’s no answer. The kids are on their way there now, and Seth’s ready to take somebody apart. You know how protective he is of his mother. Even if Cathy’s not in harm’s way, if he thinks she is, he could do something he’ll regret.”
Before getting out of his car, Jack removed his Smith & Wesson from his hip holster, checked it and returned it to the holster. When he got out, he surveyed the area. On a Monday afternoon, this section of town was quiet, with only an occasional passing car. The parking lot was 90 percent empty, and he suspected the few cars there weren’t related to any church business.
Finding the front doors standing wide open, Jack walked inside the vestibule and looked around, but didn’t see a soul. Lorie had told him that her cousin’s office was in the basement, so he quickly located the stairs and headed down, all the while hoping he would discover that he had no reason to be concerned about Cathy.
Cathy stared up at the girl who stepped around her in order to reach John Earl. She stood over him, smiling down at him. Acting as subtly as possible, so as not to bring attention to herself, Cathy managed to bend her knees, bringing her bound-together ankles up enough to propel her body into a creeping motion. She slithered slowly, quietly, carefully. Her purse lay within reach, there on the floor, to the side of the desk. Her cell phone was in her purse, resting securely in its own little open pocket. But even if she could get to her purse, how could she, with her hands bound behind her, open the purse and remove her cell phone? And would there be any service since there had been none earlier?
“Oh, let the wickedness of the wicked come to an end. God judgeth the righteous, and God is angry with the wicked every day,” she recited the Scriptures to John Earl, a passage from the seventh chapter of Psalms. “God has judged you, John Earl Harper, and as His angel of death, I have come here to punish you for your sins.”
John Earl tried to speak, but his words came out a mumbled plea to his daughter as his eyes filled with tears.
With her attention focused on her father, she paid no attention to Cathy, leaving her free to back up against her purse and grab it with her fingertips. She pushed the purse between her bound hands and struggled with the magnetic catch.
“I believed in you,” his daughter said. “I trusted you above all others. I thought you would never disappoint me, never hurt me.”
Cathy prized her purse open and then slid her fingers inside to search for her phone.
“Oh, Daddy, Daddy…I loved you.” A fierce, animal-like growl came from deep in her throat. “Damn you to hell!”
Cathy glanced toward John Earl. His daughter stood over him with the open gasoline can in one hand. Dear God, no! No! Cathy’s mind screamed as she watched Charity Harper pour gasoline all over John Earl.
“No, Charity, don’t do it!” Seth screamed.
Charity lifted her head and turned around, shifting her gaze from the unopened lighter she held in her hand to Seth and Missy standing in the doorway to the minister’s private office.
“Go away,” Charity said. “Do not interfere with the work of the Lord.”
“This isn’t the Lord’s work,” Seth told her. “This is the Devil’s work. How can you even think about killing your own father?”
Charity laughed, the sound frighteningly maniacal. “That’s just it, you see. John Earl Harper isn’t my father, just as Mark Cantrell wasn’t your father.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but whatever you’re thinking, you have to know that your dad—that John Earl—hasn’t done anything wrong. He wasn’t having an affair with—”
Charity screamed. “Don’t say that woman’s name!”
Seth’s heart stopped for a millisecond. He glanced down at where his mother lay on the floor, her eyes pleading with him to be cautious, to do nothing to send Charity completely over the edge. He nodded to his mom so she’d know that he understood.
“You don’t want to do this,” Missy said. “Whatever you think your father has done, it can’t be as bad as what my father did.”
Charity glared at Missy. “That’s just it. What my father—my real father—did was every bit as bad and then some. At least your father didn’t get you pregnant, did he?”
“What are you saying?” Seth asked. “Are you pregnant?”
Charity screeched with laughter, the sound utterly hysterical. “Not me, stupid. My mother. My grandfather raped her over and over aga
in from the time she was a little girl, and dear, devout, good Christian woman that she is, my Grandmother Long didn’t do anything to stop him.”
“Yes, I know,” Missy said, drawing Charity’s attention directly to her while Seth cautiously moved toward his mother. “Ruth Ann shared the horrors of her childhood with me in order to help me.”
“My poor, pitiful mother. She was only sixteen when she found out that she was pregnant with her father’s baby,” Charity said, her eyes glazed with madness. “I was that baby. I heard Mama and Grandma talking one day a couple of years ago. They thought they were alone in the house. They were discussing the night that Mama’s father died in a house fire.”
She looked from her two intended victims on the floor to Seth and Missy. “My grandmother poured gasoline on him while he slept that night, and she set him on fire. Finally, she did something to stop him. But it was too late then, too late for my mother and for me.”
Lifting the red can in one hand and the lighter in the other, Charity whirled around and shouted at Seth, “Don’t go near her. Once I have finished with John Earl Harper, I will bring down God’s wrath on Catherine Cantrell. I believed all women would be spared, but I now know that wicked women must be punished as well and your mother will be the first.”
“No—don’t even think about doing it,” Seth said.
“You don’t understand,” Charity told him. “I am following God’s instructions. He chooses the wicked ones to be punished and sends me to do His bidding.”
“Did you kill my father?” Missy asked.
“God’s angel of death killed Donnie Hovater.” She looked directly at Seth. “And Mark Cantrell and the others, too. Like my grandfather, who was also my father, all blasphemous men of God and wicked women must be punished. They cannot be allowed to continue their evil ways.”
Seth watched helplessly as Charity upended the red can, poured the remainder of the gasoline over Cathy and dropped the empty can on the floor.
Jack stood several feet behind Seth and Missy, keeping his presence unknown for the time being. He had already called for backup and instructed headquarters that emergency vehicles should silence their sirens when approaching the church. An ambulance had been dispatched, along with units from the Dunmore Fire Department.
As he moved in closer, he drew his Smith & Wesson. When he reached the doorway, he slipped to one side, his presence shielded by the wall. Seth glanced over his shoulder, and his gaze met Jack’s. Jack pressed his left index finger over his lips, issuing Seth a warning not to give him away. He knew how scared his son must be. Hell, he was scared out of his mind. He had to stop this pitiful young girl from harming anyone else. The thought of how close Cathy was to being set on fire frightened him more than anything ever had. He had faced down his stepfather’s wrath and taken his punishment. Often he had faced death on a daily basis as an Army Ranger. But if anything happened to Cathy, if she were badly hurt, if she died…
“Charity, please don’t do this,” Seth said, his voice quivering slightly.
That’s it, Son, keep talking to her. Keep her distracted.
Jack hated the thought of shooting a young girl, but he had to stop thinking of her as anything other than a threat to the woman he loved. He had been listening to the girl’s ravings and had come to the conclusion that Charity Harper was mentally unbalanced. Anyone capable of such brutal murders had to be either crazy or pure evil or a combination of both.
“Don’t try to stop me,” Charity told Seth. “I don’t want to hurt you. God doesn’t want any innocent souls harmed, but I must do His bidding.”
“God doesn’t want you to kill my mother,” Seth said. “She’s a good person, a good mother.”
“She’s a liar and a fornicator!”
Using both hands Charity flicked open the lighter. The flame burned high and bright, a red-orange golden glow. She quickly activated the flame lock mechanism.
Jack stared at the tiny oval flame shimmering at the tip of the lighter Charity held tightly as she waved it back and forth, first over John Earl and then over Cathy.
“Please, Charity, please…” Seth took a tentative step toward her.
“Don’t come any closer!” she screamed as she lowered the lighter toward her father.
Jack had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, but he had no choice.
He lifted his weapon and zeroed in on Charity. When Missy saw him, she gasped silently, then eased up beside Seth, tugged on his arm and pulled him aside. When Jack shot Charity, she might drop the lighter, and there was a damn good chance it would set Reverend Harper on fire. There was only one chance to prevent that from happening.
Jack aimed and fired. “Seth, grab the lighter!”
The bullet hit its target—the center of Charity’s chest. She fell backward from the impact. Her eyes widened in shock as her body rebelled against the assault. She dropped to her knees, still clutching the lighter. She stared sightlessly at her father, then tossed the lighter toward Cathy as she crumpled to the floor, face down.
The lighter sailed straight toward Cathy.
Seth dove forward, his arm outstretched, his palm open.
Jack held his breath.
Realizing the lighter was a hairsbreadth from igniting the gasoline soaking her hair, skin and clothes, Cathy rolled backward against the desk.
Seth caught the lighter in his palm, then quickly snapped it shut and closed his fist around it.
Jack rushed into the room and clamped his hand down on Seth’s shoulder. When his son turned to him, he hugged the boy. Seth hugged him, and then they both knelt beside Cathy. Jack jerked the gag out of her mouth and untied her wrists as Seth untied her ankles.
“Charity?” Cathy asked.
“Dead,” Jack replied. He knew he had hit her in the heart. There was no way she could have survived.
“Help John Earl,” Cathy said to Seth as Jack lifted her to her feet.
Jack slid his arm around Cathy’s waist and held her against him as Seth and Missy untied John Earl. As soon as he was free, he rushed to his daughter, knelt down and pulled her lifeless body into his arms.
When the emergency crews arrived a few minutes later, they found John Earl still holding Charity, his face ashen with grief and his eyes filled with tears. Missy was clutching Seth’s hand tightly, and Jack held a gasoline-soaked Cathy in his arms.
Chapter Thirty-five
Almost everyone in Dunmore had shown up during the visitation hours at the Baptist church on the day of Charity Harper’s funeral. The funeral itself had been a private event attended only by Charity’s family and a handful of close friends. Cathy had stayed at Seth’s side during the service and afterward had taken him home, where Jack had been waiting for them. No one, not even John Earl and Ruth Ann, had blamed Jack, but Cathy knew better than anyone how he agonized over having had to kill Charity in order to save two other lives. What had transpired that afternoon in the church basement had brought Seth and Jack together in a way only a shared tragedy could have. They had bonded as comrades, as Cathy’s protectors, and the trauma they had shared had helped speed up the healing process for all three of them
Two months later, the Harpers, along with their foster daughter, Missy Hovater, moved away from Dunmore. John Earl had been assigned to a church in Louisiana. No one ever mentioned that Charity had accused her grandmother of having set her husband on fire all those years ago. Somehow, in the grand scheme of things, it really didn’t seem all that important. Ruth Ann had told Lorie that the family’s only hope of ever having any chance at a somewhat normal life was to move as far away from Dunmore as possible.
For several weeks, Seth had nursed a broken heart over Missy’s departure, but by Thanksgiving he was dating Bracey Carter, the girl he’d taken to the Homecoming Dance in October. Cathy was thankful that her son’s feelings for Missy had been little more than a teenage crush.
Although she had longed for Seth to live with her his junior year in high school, he had opted to live w
ith J.B. and Mona until next summer.
“Granddad and Nana need me more than you do right now,” he had told her. “Besides, you and Jack need time to work things out before you have me underfoot all the time.”
The holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s—came and went. Jack moved in with Cathy permanently on New Year’s Eve. On Valentine’s Day, he proposed. They set their wedding date for mid-March during Seth’s spring break and moved into Jack’s big, newly renovated Victorian home.
Maleah hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, and God knew she wished she could walk away and pretend she’d never seen Griff and Yvette Meng talking quietly on the patio. Their conversation was none of her business.
But why had they waited until Nic had driven into Knoxville for the day to meet? For the past several months, Nic’s marriage had taken a turn for the better, ever since Griff had confided to her about his frequent trips to Europe.
“I can’t really explain everything,” Nic had told Maleah. “But it seems that someone from Griff’s past—the past he shares with Sanders and Yvette—has resurfaced and is posing a threat to them and to me and Barbara Jean. To anyone close to Griff.”
She had wanted to question Nic further, but hadn’t. If Nic was satisfied with Griff’s explanation, who was she to doubt him?
Maleah paused near the open patio doors and pressed herself against the wall to hide herself from view.
“It is not possible,” Yvette said, her dark, almond-shaped eyes wide with concern. “Malcolm York is dead. We killed him. Whoever this man is, he is not York.”
“I agree,” Griff replied as he put his arm around Yvette’s slender shoulders. “But he’s been seen more than once by those who knew York, and they swear the man is his twin.”
Yvette grasped the lapels of Griff’s sport coat. “You have to find him, whoever he is. Use whatever means necessary. Take Meredith with you. Go back to France. I cannot relive that nightmare. Do you hear me, Griffin? I will not!”
Silent Killer Page 39
