The Lovers' Lane Murders

by Cynthia Hickey

  A wild shot whipped through a stalk a few feet from Jackson. It came from his left so he headed in that direction. Jackson cringed as the radio on his belt crackled. He quickly pressed the off button.

  Another shot, closer this time, had Jackson diving to the ground. He waited a few seconds before scrambling to his feet and moving forward.

  Frank would have a car waiting somewhere close. He had to find him before he reached his vehicle. The odds were not in Jackson’s favor.

  The wind stopped, making moving through the cornfield more difficult as any movement would cause the stalks to sway and give away his position. He shook his head at his dumb luck and pressed on.

  Sirens from the house meant the ambulance had arrived. Please stay at the house, Pressley. He wouldn’t put it past her to follow him. He also didn’t like her at the house alone, assuming the victim’s wife went to the hospital. The woman had shown a strong backbone, and with Pressley, she could hopefully hold off Frank.

  Jackson couldn’t worry about that now. He needed to find the man and stop the deaths.

  A car engine roared to life, spurring Jackson to a run. He left the field in time to see the taillights of a dark sedan speeding away. Jackson took aim and pulled the trigger, shooting out the back window. The second shot flattened a tire but didn’t stop the car. It swerved and kept going, sending a hubcap into a nearby ditch. Frank Beckett had done it. Again.

  Nothing to do but turn back. Jackson headed for the house and opened the back door. “Pressley?”

  When no answer came, he searched the rooms only to find the house empty. “Pressley!” An icy fist gripped his heart. Why couldn’t she follow his orders?

  “I’m here.” She stood in the back doorway.

  Jackson rushed to her, pulling her into his arms. “Why did you go outside?”

  “To wait for you.” Her voice muffled against his chest. “I heard gunshots and feared the worst.” She peered up at him. “Did you find him?”

  “No. He drove away.” He held her tighter, breathing in the scent of her fruit-fragrant shampoo. “I was afraid he’d double back and hurt you.”

  “I wouldn’t have made it easy for him.” She smiled. “I would have shot him, or tried to. I just want this all to end.”

  He sighed, praying she could pull the trigger if she had to. “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.” He ran his hands down her arms, then took one of her hands in his. “Let’s go home. We’ll repeat this all again tomorrow night. One of these nights, we’ll get lucky.”

  “Frank seems to be re-creating the news reports from Roy’s spree. Except, Roy’s ended after shooting the couple in a farmhouse. I don’t think Frank’s will.”

  He agreed. Frank wouldn’t stop until he was dead or behind bars.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Stupid cop. He’d ruined everything. How had Hudson and Pressley known Frank was at the farmhouse? Coincidence? Maybe. Next time, he wouldn’t be so careless.

  Fighting the urge to kill again, he sped up the mountain to his temporary home. Temporary, because once he took care of Pressley, it was time to move to new territory. Somewhere outside of Arkansas.

  His fingers drummed to the beat of the song on the radio as he tried to figure out how to get close to Pressley. It wouldn’t be easy. Hudson never left her alone. There had to be a way to draw the officer away from her. Frank was a smart man. He’d think of something.

  A deer darted from the woods. Frank cursed and yanked the wheel, sending the car barreling toward a tree. He yanked the wheel again. Instead of hitting the tree head on, he smashed the passenger side against the trunk. Air bags exploded.

  His curses increasing, he fought to free himself of the seatbelt, opened his car door, and tumbled to the ground. To think he’d almost met his end by a deer.

  Now what? He couldn’t very well call a tow truck. Frank reached into the car, snatched his gun from where it had fallen on the floorboard, and hiked to the cabin. Somehow, he’d have to find another vehicle, and soon.

  He wasn’t sure how long he walked before spotting a house set off in a field. No lights shone in the windows, but the fact cows slept in a meadow confirmed that the house was occupied. And living this far from town, there would definitely be a vehicle.

  The back door gave a slight squeak when he pushed it open. Obviously, the occupants didn’t expect anyone way out here and didn’t lock their doors. Frank grinned. They made it easy for him. He stepped into a small kitchen and listened.

  No barking, no cry of alarm. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and moved to the next room, rolling his shoulders. Dang, those airbags hurt when they deployed. He’d feel sore for a few days. A set of car keys rested on a small table near the front door. Frank pocketed them and glanced down the small hallway. Should he risk killing the home’s occupants or leave while the going was good?

  He took the safe path and left the house the same way he’d come. Frank found a car and a small pickup in a makeshift carport. The keys fit the truck. Two minutes later, Frank drove slowly away from the house.

  ~

  “Pressley?” Jackson knocked on her bedroom door.

  “Go away.” She pulled the blankets over her head.

  “We have to check on a stolen vehicle. The chief doesn’t want to pull any of the other officers off finding Frank.”

  She kicked the sheet off her legs. “I thought that’s what we were doing.” Lack of sleep always made her cranky. Today was no exception. “I’m coming.”

  It wasn’t a surprise that Chief Larson would send Jackson on less important items. His main objective was to keep her safe until Frank came for her. But how could they do both? Help find Frank and serve the community before they collapsed from exhaustion?

  She plodded to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, washing the grit from her eyes. Dark circles shadowed them. With a sigh, she changed into jeans and a tee-shirt, her normal attire it seemed. Pressley would love to dress pretty again, see a spark of admiration in Jackson’s eyes, but chasing a killer and visiting crime scenes didn’t call for a dress and heels.

  The aroma of brewing coffee greeted her as she headed for the kitchen. “Bless you.” She gratefully accepted the travel cup Jackson held out to her.

  “We’ll pick up breakfast on the way,” he said. “You okay?”

  “Just sleep-deprived. The coffee will help.”

  Jackson led the way to his car and headed up the mountain. They spent a lot of time in his car. More than at his house, it seemed.

  When would life go back to normal? But that would mean it was time for her to go home. Pressley cut Jackson a sideways glance. What if she didn’t want to walk away from this man? She’d never met one so honest, kind, and upright. She was smart enough to recognize a gem when she saw one.

  Pressley groaned inwardly. Jackson might call her sweetheart, but maybe he did that to all the women in his life. It didn’t mean he wanted a relationship with her. She was nothing more than a job to him. The thought sent a pang through her heart. The coffee offered no distraction from the pang. Now, she was not only tired but depressed. What she needed was a good, solid night’s sleep.

  Jackson sent a worried look her way. “Are you sure it’s only tiredness?”

  “Yes.” She forced a smile. “Maybe we can squeeze in a nap before hitting the streets again tonight.”

  He reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  There he went, being kind again despite her grumpiness. She rested her head against the seat back and released a long exhale. Show yourself, Frank. I’m tired.

  Jackson passed a car on the side of the road, then backed up. “That looks like Frank’s car.”

  She turned her head. “He isn’t the only person who drives a dark sedan.”

  Shoving his door open, he stepped out of the car. “I agree, but it’s worth taking a look. You can stay there.”

  “No, thanks.” She followed him, circling the car, noting the skid
marks on the road. “What do you think happened?”

  “Looks like the driver swerved to avoid hitting something and lost control. My guess is a deer. Accidents happen a lot on these country roads.” Jackson climbed through the driver’s door and shoved aside the air bags to open the glove compartment. He held up a slip of paper. “Registered to Frank Beckett.”

  ~

  Had Frank been heading home or searching for his next victims? Since a truck had just been reported stolen and no one was killed at the home of the owner, he must have been headed to his hideout. The mountain they were on wasn’t large, but it was heavily wooded. Maybe they’d just run across their first piece of luck.

  He radioed for a tow truck and also asked for a helicopter, then he turned back to Pressley. “I’d like to search the immediate area before heading to the house of the stolen truck.”

  “Okay. There’s a slim chance Frank might be lying wounded somewhere, right?”

  “If we could only be so lucky.”

  After half an hour of searching, Jackson determined Frank had gone ahead on foot. He’d bet his favorite boots the truck had been stolen by the very man they sought. A few minutes later, they arrived at the house of the stolen vehicle.

  A man, armed with a rifle, stepped onto the porch as Jackson and Pressley climbed out of the car. Jackson retrieved a fingerprint kit from the trunk. “I’m Officer Hudson. This is Pressley Taylor. We’re here about the stolen vehicle.”

  “Glad to meet you. I’m Harvey Olson. My wife is Hazel. Come on in.” He stepped back and held the door open. “We never lock our doors. That’s how the thief must have gotten in. We won’t make that mistake again.”

  “If the thief is who we think it is, you’re lucky to be alive, Mr. Olson.” Jackson pulled a small notepad from his jacket pocket. “Can you describe the vehicle that was taken?”

  “A dark green Ford 150. Had my hunting rifle hanging in the window. The thief took the keys right off that table.” He pointed to a glass dish that held another set of keys. “Best I figure, he came through the back door. The missus locked the front. Said she felt like she needed to. I wish she would’ve locked the back.”

  “Probably wouldn’t have made a difference. Mind if I check the back door?”

  “Go ahead. Nothing to see, though.” Mr. Olson stepped aside to let Jackson pass.

  Jackson dusted the door handles and frame, then used tape to lift the print. If the prints didn’t prove to be Frank’s, he’d be surprised. He turned and walked from the kitchen, stopping right outside the door and glanced down a short hall. “Where were you sleeping?”

  “First room on the right.”

  The Olsons were very lucky indeed. “Where is your wife now?”

  “She went to town for groceries. I don’t want her to know this killer roaming the countryside might be the thief. It would give her a heart attack.”

  “No need to frighten her unnecessarily. Make sure to lock your doors and keep your gun handy. Where did you keep the truck?”

  “Follow me.” He led them to a double carport. “Had it parked right here. The scoundrel drove off bold as brass. Good thing I have insurance. I’ll get it replaced, but I loved that hunting rifle.”

  “Sorry for the loss.” Jackson understood. He had a fondness for his handgun, something a law enforcement officer was rarely without. “We’ll let you know if we find your truck.” He motioned his head for the silent Pressley to follow him back to the car.

  “Frank could have killed them.” She turned to face Jackson. “Why didn’t he?”

  “Maybe he’s injured and thought holing up for a while the better choice.” They could hope for that at least. It would mean no murders for a few days.

  She glanced down the road. “He’s here, somewhere close. I feel it.”

  Jackson glanced up to see a helicopter fly over. Good. They’d listened this time. “The pilot will make note of every building he spots. Frank has to be in one of them. We’ll check them all.”

  What would she do once Frank was caught? Pressley had come to town to find out the identity of The Phantom. She’d done that. Now, she was helping to catch Frank, relying mostly on her instincts, which were good if not better than Jackson’s. Then, she’d leave. The thought punched Jackson in the gut. Would she stay if he asked her? What a ridiculous question. “What job did you leave to come here?”

  She laughed. “After caring for my grandmother for the last couple of years, I thought about writing a book. That’s the second reason for coming here. I still plan on writing the true account of The Phantom. Grandma left me enough to live on for a couple of years. After that—” she shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. I’ve always wanted to be an author. Now I have the opportunity.”

  That brightened his spirits a bit. She could write anywhere. Maybe she’d stay in Texarkana if he asked her to. But first, they had to catch a killer without becoming victims.

  He sent her a smile. “Let’s head to the station, fill out the theft report, then head home for a few hours of shut-eye. How does that sound?”

  “Like heaven.” She grinned. “Hopefully, tonight’s driving around will be a waste of time.”

  No time spent with her would be a waste.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After a week of no deaths and no sighting of Frank, local law enforcement decided he’d crawled off to die after his crash on the lonely road. Pressley knew better. Evil only waited for its chance to strike again.

  Life in Texarkana returned to normal. The curfew was lifted, and the teenagers started hanging out again. Pressley shook her head and let the curtain on Jackson’s window fall into place.

  With the danger seemingly gone, she had no more reason to stay in town except for the man sipping coffee at the kitchen table. He hadn’t asked her to leave, didn’t seem to resent her being in his house. In fact, they’d settled into a routine of sorts. He’d go to work, and she’d follow and write on her book at whatever desk was empty at the moment.

  “What’s wrong?” He glanced up from his coffee.

  “Nothing.”

  He chuckled. “Even I know when a woman says nothing, she means something. Sit, sweetheart. Tell me what’s on your mind?”

  She poured her second cup of coffee of the morning and joined him at the table. “Do you think Frank is dead or moved on?”

  “Nope.” He put a hand on hers. “He’ll show his ugly face again.”

  “I feel as if I’m spinning my wheels here.” She swallowed past the burn in her throat.

  “Why?” His brow furrowed. “You said there’s nothing for you at home.”

  “I came to fulfill my grandmother’s wish, and I have.”

  “So? Stay. I’ve plenty of room. No need to be in a hurry to go.”

  She studied his face. Did he actually want her to stay? Why didn’t he ask? The warm look in his eyes gave her hope, but she wanted to hear the words from his lips.

  “The FBI agents are leaving today. The reporters have already gone.” She returned her attention to the cup in her hand. “That leaves us with limited resources if Frank returns.”

  “See? You’re needed here.”

  “For how long?”

  “For as long as it takes. He’ll either show his face again or we’ll find his body. I’m hoping for the latter.” He rose and rinsed out his cup. “Ready to head to the station?”

  “Yes.” She took another sip and rinsed her own cup before retrieving her bag from her room.

  The day consisted of mundane calls about vandalism, disturbing the peace, and Pressley writing while Jackson filled out reports. Going along with him on his rides helped break up the morning and kept boredom at bay. Still, her nerves stretched tight, waiting for news of another murder and praying one never came.

  “Ready for lunch?”

  She glanced up from her laptop to see Jackson standing over her. “Sure.” She packed the computer and followed him outside. “What do you feel like?”

  “Tacos.” He grinned. “I
know the perfect place. We can purchase them and eat by the lake if you’d like.”

  “Sounds great.” She hoped they had fish tacos.

  Jackson purchased chicken for himself and fish for her from a trailer with outside seating. Food in hand, he drove them to the lake.

  Pressley couldn’t help but remember the last time she’d been there with him, at night, after one of Frank’s murder attempts. She was definitely glad it was daytime.

  The sun sparkled on the water as she helped Jackson spread an old blanket on the ground. After they sat, he handed out their lunch and drinks. “Nothing like a day by the water,” he said.

  She nodded. “Except for nighttime when the moon leaves a trail of silver.” What was she doing? That sounded like an invitation for him to bring her at night. “I bet you brought plenty of girls here when you were in high school.”

  “Not so many, but there was one that I really liked. We mostly went to Lovers’ Lane, back when it was safe to go parking.”

  “It’ll be safe again. What happened to her?”

  He shrugged. “We went to different colleges and drifted apart. What about you? Ever had a special guy in your life?”

  “Once, but he wasn’t thrilled with the amount of time I spent looking after my grandmother. She took priority in my life for a few years. His leaving showed me he wasn’t the one for me.”

  “Idiot.” Jackson smiled and bit into his taco. Sauce ran down his chin.

  Before she could think better of it, she reached over and wiped his face with her napkin.

  His gaze softened as he leaned forward and kissed her, softly at first, then cupping the back of her head to bring her closer. He tasted slightly of chicken spices. She closed her eyes and gave in, returning his kiss with the emotions rising within her. Again, she mentally coaxed him to ask her to stay.