by Debra Webb
This was insane.
The doorbell rang and Rowan forced herself to shake off the ridiculous idea. She walked out of her parents’ room and to the door where Freud already waited. The double chime of the bell told Rowan the visitor was at the front entrance of the funeral home. She peeked out the living room window that overlooked the front parking area. Billy’s mother. Her truck was parked at the main entrance.
Rowan unlocked the door and headed along the corridor, Freud on her heels. At the top of the stairs her hand rested on the banister and she started downward, her mind ever aware that only a few feet away her mother had swung from that railing.
She shivered and quickened her pace.
At the door, she hesitated. “Sit,” she said to Freud.
The Brannigans had an old bluetick hound who was so sweet and not nearly as nosy as Freud. And though Dottie adored Freud, Rowan preferred he be on his best behavior whenever guests visited.
Freud dropped to the sitting position and Rowan reached to unlock the door. Considering the call she had just received, she checked to ensure it was indeed Dottie and that she was alone, then she unlocked the door.
Rowan pushed aside the worrisome call she had received and produced a smile for the lady. “Hey. Billy said you were coming by.” She opened the door wide for Dottie to enter and then closed and locked the door behind her.
Dottie grinned. “You know I can’t help myself.”
The older woman looked wonderful as always. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun, emphasizing the gray steaks at her temples. But Dottie wore her gray streaks like a badge of honor. She stayed fit and looked like a woman half her age in her jeans and pullover sweater.
For the first time ever, Rowan hoped she could usher Dottie away in a bit of a hurry. Though she cherished his mother, she needed to talk to Billy privately.
Rowan accepted the covered casserole dish. “It smells divine.” The aromas wafting up had her stomach rumbling. This would no doubt be far better than a bologna sandwich.
As they climbed the stairs, Dottie chattered on about the new yoga class being taught at a local gym. She urged Rowan to join for a way to destress. Rowan promised to consider the idea but deep down she recognized that she would never take the time to do so.
Freud traipsed along beside them hopeful that all those good smells wouldn’t be wasted on Rowan and Billy alone.
When they reached the kitchen, Dottie asked, “Do you have green beans or sweet peas? Either would be really good with this chicken and rice casserole.”
Rowan sat the casserole on the counter. “As a matter of fact, I believe I do.”
She kept a number of frozen and canned green vegetables handy. Over the past few months she had learned that whenever Dottie brought over a casserole or other entrée, which was at least three times each week, Rowan needed to produce a proper pairing. Dottie Brannigan firmly believed that every meal must include a green vegetable. No exceptions.
Rowan searched the cupboards until she found a can of sweet peas. “I’ll pop them in the microwave for a quick warm-up.”
While Rowan opened the can and dumped the contents into a microwave-safe bowl, Dottie passed along the news about the bake sale the ladies at church were organizing for a fundraiser. Billy’s parents were heavily involved in their church. For such a small town, Winchester had quite a number of churches. Rowan hadn’t been to church since she was a child.
Dottie suddenly stopped midsentence and said, “That reminds me, Billy’s father and I are sincerely hoping the two of you will join us for the Easter service.”
Easter. That was next month, wasn’t it?
“I’ll talk to Billy,” Rowan offered. “Unless work gets in the way, it sounds lovely.”
Rowan hoped Dottie didn’t see or hear the lie. It wasn’t that Rowan had anything against churches or Easter, but she wasn’t really a religious person. Beyond the fact that she hadn’t been since she was a child, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. Billy mentioned going to church with his parents from time to time but it wasn’t something he did on a regular basis as far as she knew. Special occasions, she thought.
Easter was certainly a special occasion. How long was the service? An hour? She could do that if it made Dottie and Wyatt, Billy’s father, happy. Billy parents had always been especially kind to her. This was the least she could do.
Dottie clasped her hands in front of her. “Wonderful! You haven’t been to church with us since you were a child. This way you can see what a beautiful chapel we have. It’s truly lovely. Dorothy Steele’s younger daughter is getting married there in May.” Her eyes lit with the news. “The fellowship hall is a perfect reception room, too. You just won’t believe how lovely it looks when decorated for a wedding.” She stopped and rubbed at her forehead. “I think Reverend Brickman mentioned having a Saturday left in July that’s not scheduled for a wedding already.”
Rowan closed her mouth, hadn’t meant for it to drop open. “Wow,” she said in an attempt to cover her surprise. “I can’t wait to see it.”
What else could she say?
Dottie sighed. “I’ve been to every wedding held in that church and they have all been spectacular.”
“Who’s getting married?”
Billy walked in, his hair damp from his shower. He’d pulled on jeans but no shirt. Rowan blinked, reminded herself not to stare with such lust since his mother stood only a few feet away.
Dottie rushed over to her son for the expected hug and peck on the cheek. “Dorothy Steele’s younger daughter—you remember Lacy, don’t you? She’s getting married at the church in May.”
Rowan’s face ached from holding an exuberant smile in place. “Dottie was just asking if we might be able to attend the Easter service next month. She wants me to see the chapel.”
“Oh yes,” Dottie urged. “It’s perfect for a wedding. You know what I mean. You were Charlie Reed’s best man at his wedding. Remember how lovely everything was?”
Billy met Rowan’s gaze, his expression tight with the same discomfort as hers. “I do remember.”
“Everyone would love to see you, Ro.” Dottie turned back to her. “We’re all so excited that you and Billy are officially a couple now.”
“What’s that awesome smell?” Billy said, raising his head and sniffing the air the same way Freud might.
Rowan bit her lips together to prevent a grin while Dottie described the casserole she had made from scratch.
Thankfully the agony didn’t last much longer. As they walked Dottie down, Billy promised he and Rowan would attend the Easter service with the caveat that work could get in the way.
At the door Dottie hesitated. “At our last Friends of the Library meeting, we discussed whether you might be willing to speak and sign copies of your book, Rowan. I know the book has been out for a while, but you’ve never done a signing here and the library would just love it if you could do one there.”
The Language of Death. Rowan’s one and only book—nonfiction, of course—had been released more than a year ago, a few months before her father’s murder. She’d written about her life growing up in a funeral home and her work with the Nashville Metropolitan Police Department. The book had been an unexpected success. It had also, she firmly believed, been the trigger that set off Julian’s rampage.
Rowan swallowed back the answer she would have preferred to give and said, “Yes, of course. That sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Dottie hugged them both before leaving. Rowan stood at the door while Billy walked his mother to her truck. He was a good son. Rowan was well aware he would make an amazing husband and an incredible father.
But she couldn’t think about that right now.
Julian was still out there. And if she had dared to allow the danger he represented to fade to the back of her mind the slightest bit, the call about Josh was reminder enough not
to be so careless.
Certainly Josh had made plenty of enemies in his career with the Bureau who might seek revenge, but this wasn’t about just any enemy. This was about Julian.
Rowan knew it with every fiber of her being.
She waved as Dottie drove away. Before she could help herself she wondered if the woman would be so eager to marry her son off to Rowan if she fully understood how close evil lurked to her. That it was possible the bastard’s sinister blood ran through Rowan’s veins.
Rowan didn’t have children, maybe she never would, but she felt certain she would not want any of her children involved with someone like her.
Clearly Billy hadn’t told his mother everything.
He sauntered toward her and Rowan’s heart skipped a beat.
“You should tell your mother more about me,” she offered. “Maybe then she wouldn’t be so determined to plan our wedding.”
Billy smiled and Rowan’s heart melted a little more. “I’ve told her everything that matters.”
He stopped in front of Rowan, leaned down and brushed a kiss across her lips.
When they had closed and locked the door. He draped his arm around her and coaxed her toward the stairs. “I say we eat and then we—”
“Josh Dressler is missing.”
Billy stopped, turned to her. “What happened?”
Rowan passed along all that April Jones had relayed, which was precious little. The news battered her emotions again as she retold it. No matter the differences she and Josh had, this was wrong. This was nothing more than additional proof that Julian was capable of anything.
She should never have allowed herself to slip into complacency.
“This is what he does,” Rowan reminded Billy. “He goes after the people who are connected to me.” She pointed at the door. “That woman who just left—your mother—doesn’t want to lose you, Billy. I don’t want to lose you. Being here, being with me, puts you in danger. The worst kind of danger.”
Billy drew in a big breath, then let it go. “You’re right on both counts, Ro. I know this.” He reached out, traced her cheek with his fingers, then curled them around the nape of her neck. “But don’t ask me to leave because I won’t. I’m staying right here with you. Addington isn’t dictating what I do.”
Before she could argue, he went on. “And don’t ask me to stop feeling the way I feel, because I can’t. This is us, Ro. All of this. The good, the bad and the uncomfortable. We just have to deal with it.”
She pushed her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his bare chest. Tears burned her eyes and she wanted to scream at herself for being so weak. So damned weak. If she was completely honest with herself, she didn’t want Billy to go. Ever. She didn’t want him to stop feeling what he felt for her.
And the very idea scared her to death.
Four
Tuesday, March 10
The body had been stretched out atop Norah DuPont’s grave.
Crouched next to the dead guy, Billy shook his head. Four months. He and Rowan had enjoyed four months without any trouble related to Addington or any of the other ugliness associated with the history between him and her folks. Until the call about Dressler last evening, Billy had even dared to believe that maybe the ordeal was over. That Addington had crawled off into some hole and died either due to complications resulting from the injury Rowan had inflicted or from a heart attack or cancer or some other fatal illness.
But they weren’t that lucky. Whatever the hell the bastard had started, it was still alive and well. Apparently, so was he.
The killer—Addington or one of his associates—had put a single bullet in the back of the man’s skull. Judging by the entrance wound and the lack of an exit wound, Billy estimated the weapon used was a .22 or something along those lines. An up close, professional-style hit. No indications of a struggle. Considering how heavily muscled the victim was, whoever had put him down no doubt caught him by surprise or drugged him first. Otherwise, Billy was having a hard time with the idea that the shooter had overtaken the man without a serious struggle. Unless maybe he was outnumbered; even then Billy doubted he would have gone down without a fight.
Billy would rather walk barefoot across hot coals than to have to tell Rowan about this. He studied the man who lay atop her mother’s grave, his arms folded across his middle as if he’d been posed in a coffin. If all that wasn’t enough, there was the fact that the victim appeared to be the same man who’d rescued Rowan last October when she was abducted by Wanda Henegar and Sue Ellen Thackerson. Whether he was or not, he damned sure looked like the forensic artist’s rendering of the bald guy with the mustache and the long beard. The victim’s jeans were dingy, well-worn. He wore leather biker boots and a wallet chained to his belt. The wallet was empty as were his pockets. No ID, no loose change, no nothing. The T-shirt beneath the leather bomber jacket sported a well-known motorcycle logo.
“Run his prints,” Billy said to Clarence Lincoln. Lincoln was his right hand and the best detective in the department. Billy counted on him and Lincoln had never let him down. “See if he’s in the system.”
“Looks kind of like—”
“I know,” Billy said, cutting him off. “Let’s not put that part in the report until we have more information.”
“Got it,” Lincoln assured him. “No need to stir up that hornet’s nest just yet.”
Billy had no intention of bringing Rowan into this until he had no other choice. The fact that the guy was stretched out on her momma’s grave sort of negated any possibility that this wasn’t connected to her or to Addington, but Billy could always hope. The case had lingered in the news for the better part of a year. Could be a copycat going for attention. It happened.
Now he was just grasping at straws.
Lucky Ledbetter, the assistant coroner, arrived to take possession of the body. Seemed strange not to see Burt next to him. Burt had been a fixture in this county for all of Billy’s life. Not having him around would take some getting used to. There was also the question of who would finish out his term.
The sheriff and a judge would have to work out that quandary. Maybe a special election. Until then, Ledbetter would be in the hot seat. Billy had no idea if Ledbetter had any aspirations of taking over the position, but if he did, Billy was good with that. Ledbetter was a good man. Billy had never known him to be anything less than thorough when he and Burt were called out.
Since Addington had a habit of leaving notes tucked into his victims’ mouths, Billy had Ledbetter check. The victim was in full rigor already. Opening his mouth was no easy task but Ledbetter knew all the right techniques to loosen things up. The extra effort was for naught since the guy’s mouth and throat were empty.
“Thanks anyway, it was worth a try,” Billy offered.
“I’ll get him to the lab,” Ledbetter said. “I assume you need whatever they can give you ASAP.”
“That would be nice.” Billy wasn’t holding his breath. His department wasn’t the only one who needed results ASAP. “Do me a favor, Ledbetter.”
The deputy coroner glanced up at him. “Sure thing, Chief. Name it.”
“When you prep him for shipment look him over for any potentially identifying marks or tattoos and pass anything you find along to me. That’ll save us the wait for the official report to learn anything like that.” Part of Ledbetter’s prep would include bagging the victim’s clothes and personal effects for evidence and a thorough documentation of the body’s condition.
“Will do.”
Leaving Ledbetter and his assistant to the task of bagging the body in preparation for transport from the scene, Billy headed toward the main gate of the cemetery. This was the oldest and most popular cemetery in the city. It was reasonably large for a town the size of Winchester. The brick wall that circled the perimeter of this section of the cemetery was the original one built nearly
two hundred years ago. Vines and ivy had claimed a good portion of it, leaving little of the brick exposed.
The forensic folks were scouring the area for footprints or any other evidence related to whoever had brought the body to the cemetery and placed it on that grave. With no blood at the scene, the victim had obviously been murdered elsewhere. His being dumped here was to send a message to Rowan.
Billy gritted his teeth to prevent roaring his outrage. Why the hell after all this time would the son of a bitch do this? Had his injury kept him out of commission for the past few months? Or had it taken him this long to find the bearded man who had kept Rowan from becoming a victim of two desperate women?
Maybe the FBI wasn’t the only law enforcement agency monitoring that old cell phone number of Addington’s. He may have known that Rowan was in that shack all those months ago and had sent someone for her but the bearded man got to her first. Addington would have been outraged. If that was the case, he would have wanted to exact his revenge.
Billy had toyed with the scenario that Addington had sent the bearded man to prevent Rowan from being injured or worse. But he wasn’t giving the bastard that kind of credit. Especially now with that same bearded man dead and presented like a trophy after a deadly hunt.
Lincoln caught up with Billy on the sidewalk outside the cemetery wall. “Got the prints loaded. As soon as we have a hit—assuming we get one—Saunders will let me know.”
Milly Saunders was one of their newest recruits. She was damned good with all the electronics and software. Billy hoped she would help bring the department up to par on using the latest technology in their investigations. He was grateful to have Saunders on their team.
“Good,” he said to Lincoln. “The sooner we know who this guy is, the better I’ll feel.” If Billy’s suspicions were correct, he would need to notify the task force. Since Dressler was out of pocket, he would reach out to Detective April Jones.
Lincoln looked up, scanned the gathering clouds. “Looks like the storm is starting to gear up.”
