A Breath Away (7 page)

She thanked Laney and sipped her coffee, then took a few bites of her eggs. A tall man with a shoulder-length, black ponytail bustled in from the back. Joseph Longhorse? All grown up?

He had always been quiet, moody, angry. But she'd felt a kinship with him. Not a psychic one like she'd shared with Darlene, but they had connected. She'd been called white trash, while Joseph had suffered the cruel prejudices harbored by a few small-minded people in the town. The Barley boys had been especially ruthless, turning Joseph's Native American name, Strong Legs, into a joke because Joseph had been the shortest kid in the class. Not anymore. Now he was six feet tall, strong and tough. She bet they didn't mess with him now.

Laney returned to her table with fresh butter. “You are not an
asgi'na,
a ghost, are you? No, you are the little Baker girl come back, heh?”

Violet nodded, aware that a few of the other patrons pivoted to check her out. And some still tensed when Laney used Cherokee words.

“Yes, ma'am. I came back to bury my father.”

“Oh, my.” Laney flattened a weathered hand on her cheek. “I'm so sorry. I hadn't heard of your
edata
's passing.”

The man with the fair hair smiled. Violet leaned toward Laney. “Who is that man, Laney?”

She cast a look over her shoulder, then grinned. “The new doctor. Dr. Gardener. Handsome, huh?”

Violet shrugged, wondering why he was staring at her.

“The young women in town, they are all over him. But he seems to have eyes for you.”

“I'm not going to be here long enough to get to know anyone,” Violet said, hoping it was true.

A robust man at the bar swiveled on his stool, then dragged his bulk off and stalked toward her. Violet crouched back in her seat at the sight of his face. She would recognize his beady, unforgiving eyes anywhere.

Darlene's father.

“How dare you show yourself in this town again!” His sharp voice rose, echoing off the tile floors, then he slammed his fist on the table in front of her, rattling the dishes. “Did you know your daddy killed my baby girl?”

* * *

G
RADY HAD BEEN SURPRISED
at the number of photos Baker had of his daughter. He'd also been startled at his own reaction of seeing the homely little girl emerge into a shy teenager. Judging from the smile on her face, she hadn't recognized her own beauty.

There had been no pictures of boyfriends, though, prompting his curiosity about Violet's personal past. An area he shouldn't be concerned with at all.

Unfortunately, he and Logan hadn't turned up anything that would implicate Baker in Darlene's murder.

What had he expected? That Baker would have kept a souvenir all these years? Or a hidden file somewhere describing the secrets he shared with Grady's father?

Grady glanced in the small bathroom one last time and frowned. The edge of the faded bath mat had shifted, probably caught on one of their boots. Underneath, the flooring was discolored, an unnatural shade lighter than the rest of the linoleum. He squatted down, peeled back the rug and examined it. It looked as if it had been scrubbed with bleach. Nothing else in the house appeared to have been cleaned in ages. Why here?

He remembered the knot on Baker's head. He could have gotten it from a fall anywhere. Maybe even here. Grady leaned closer, studying the area for bloodstains.

The nagging doubts wouldn't let go, so he retrieved some Luminol from the car and sprayed the flooring. His hunch was right. Traces of blood shone through. He took a couple of samples, hoping he was wrong about the source. Hoping there would be no traces of his father's DNA in the mix.

But the argument between his dad and Baker echoed in his head.
“Some reporter's been asking about Violet,”
Baker had said. Who was that reporter and why would he want to speak with Violet? And why had Baker been afraid of him?

Logan finished, then left for the station. Knowing he wouldn't rest without answers, Grady decided to confront his father one more time. With Baker's body in the morgue and Violet in town claiming her father's innocence, it was time Walt Monroe started talking.

* * *

A
JOLT OF FEAR BOLTED
through Violet at the malevolence in Mr. Monroe's eyes.

“Did you know your daddy killed my baby girl?” the man bellowed.

Violet shook her head.

“Then get the hell out of town.”

Violet chanced a look at the other patrons, who all sat gawking at the scene, either too stunned by the confrontation to move or too intimidated by Monroe.

All except Joseph Longhorse.

The Cherokee's black eyes flared with contempt, reminding her of his temper. He started toward her—rather, toward Grady's father.

But the last thing Violet wanted was to make a scene. She especially didn't want Laney's son to suffer at her expense. This was her problem. She'd deal with it.

“I understand how you feel, Mr. Monroe.”

“You don't have any idea how I feel, Miss Baker.” A blood vessel throbbed in his forehead. “So don't play your little game of innocence with me. It won't work.”

“I'm not playing games,” Violet said, hating the quiver in her voice as she stood. “I just came here to bury my father. Then I'm leaving town.”

“If you know what's good for you, get him in the ground and get out of here today.”

Joseph inched toward her, but she threw up a warning hand. Holding her head high, she dug inside her purse, dropped some cash on the table, mouthed a thank-you to Laney, then turned and strode to the door.

She didn't breathe easy until she reached the car.

What had she expected? For Grady's father to welcome her or act concerned about her feelings? And
what about the other people in town? Did they believe her dad was a murderer?

Part of her wanted to drive straight out of town, but she had to talk to people, find out if anyone had known her father the last few years. Learn everything she could about him and the life he'd led.

Her resolve intact, she started the car and headed to the cemetery. She had been sent away before Darlene's funeral. And she'd never returned to visit her friend's grave.

It was time she did, and said goodbye.

* * *

H
E WAS WATCHING HER
.

Enjoying the view of her tantalizing skin, so pale beneath the blinding noonday sun.

It was time. Time to choose another one. If his mama knew, she'd stop all the fun. She tried to force the drugs on him, but they made him lethargic. He hated the pills. His sex didn't even swell like it should.

Damn her. Bitch.

She wanted to take away all his fun. Hell, he was doing this for her. And his father…

Always the father.

He was so tired. Tired. Tired. No, he couldn't let himself slip back into the threes.

The drugs would stop that, but he hated them. They robbed him of his pleasure. Made him feel numb, like a dead man walking.

So he didn't take them when she wasn't around. Even then, he held them in the back of his throat and spat them on the ground.

Yes, he could suppress the threes on his own.

One. One was his number. He was the one. The first one. The chosen one.

And one was all it would take for his sacrifice.

But she had to be perfect.

Back in his private lair, he'd already assembled the test tubes and needles, the surgical gloves to keep the conditions sterile. He couldn't take chances. No, this was too important. Mama said he had to have clean hands. He scrubbed them over and over until his skin was raw. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he realized the moment had come.

Time to meet her.

He breathed in the scent of the chase and watched as she disappeared into the deep thicket of hardwoods. The trees cloaked her innocence as if they could save her.

But nothing could protect her now.

Because he was the hunter. The hunter had his trap well prepared. And death surrounded it.

Only he would have to wait until nightfall to make the sacrifice….

* * *

V
IOLET DROVE STRAIGHT TO
the graveyard, her insides churning. She did not want to be here.

She hated graveyards.

Hated the concrete slabs, the monuments, the whispers of the dead…

Yet she had to talk to Darlene.

She parked the car in the shade, remembering the times she and Darlene had met under the sweet gum tree to play.

Playtime was over.

Sliding from the car on rubbery legs, Violet felt the humid air engulf her. She swatted at a mosquito as she picked her away across the lawn, among the graves.
Soon, she would bring her father here to rest. So close to Darlene.

But would he rest? Would he go to heaven or spend eternity paying for the murder of her friend? Or could he linger in some kind of limbo waiting for justice, for someone to prove his confession wasn't real?

As she crossed the ground, which was littered with leaves dry and brittle, the clouds and sky seemed to spin around her. Someone was watching her.

Breathing down her neck.

She whirled around, ready to fight, but grabbed at empty air.

Certain she was losing her mind, she plowed on, listening for footsteps. Leaves and brush crackled beneath her feet. Or beneath someone else's boots. Her vision blurred. Colorless eyes seemed to peer at her through the shadows of the trees behind her. No, the trees were shading her car. They provided safety.

At the edge of the forest, thick rhododendrons grew tangled along the iron gate. To the right, the mountains thrust upward, the sturdy pines guarding the graves like soldiers. A thick vapor curled in front of Violet. Her foot caught on a vine. The ground moaned as if the red clay was sucking at her feet, trying to drag her under. And she was slipping into someone else's mind. But it was so real, she felt as if it was happening to her.

He was coming for her. She heard his muttered cry. Felt the heat in his brutal stare. Sensed his hiss of delight at her fear.

She had to run. Escape. Pumping her legs, she fought for air. Searched for a way out of the dark maze. But the trees ahead merged into a mass of slaty gray. Mist
curled beyond them, rising like steam. Fingers of hot air encircled her, choking her.

His breath scorched her neck. He was behind her. Closing in. He would catch her soon and lay her in his pit. Then it would all be over.

God help her! She ran faster. Her arms and legs ached. Her breathing grew sporadic. She had to get away. She couldn't let him catch her.

But she was trapped. She'd reached an impasse. An iron gate blocked her way. Trees too tall and dense to squeeze through. Panic seized her. Which way should she go?

A hand snaked out to grab her. She tried to scream.

Then a voice reached her ears, “It's time to offer your blood. I am the
gi'ga-danegi'ski,
the blood taker. I must take it for the father.

“And then tonight, my sweetness, you must die….”

M
AVIS
D
OBBINS WISHED
like hell she could leave Crow's Landing. Wished she could start a new life someplace where no one knew her or her son.

Hell, she knew her boy was trouble. She'd been fighting his evil side for years and was flat out exhausted from it. But Dwayne was hers, and a mama had an obligation to take care of her baby.

Even if her baby was thirty-two years old and half the town thought they were both crazy. Oh, she'd caught the looks at breakfast this morning, just like she noticed them every other morning for the past twenty years. She had to ignore them. Because as much as she hated the town, she also needed it to keep Dwayne safe.

Needed it to keep his secrets.

Guilt over his accident still weighed heavily on her mind. She'd thought he wasn't quite right when he was little. But then again, she weren't no rocket scientist herself, and her old man hadn't had the sense God gave a rooster. Then Dwayne had been acting up one day, fell off the back of his daddy's pickup and hit his head. He hadn't been near normal since.

She'd lost him that rainy afternoon, and soon after, his daddy.

Trying not to dwell on the past, she finished scrub
bing the toilets at the Rest Easy Nursing Home outside of town, tossed her rubber gloves in her work bucket, then headed to the phone to check in. Every day she had to leave her boy for a few hours to work. But she was always a nervous wreck until she talked to him at lunch-time. Then again in the afternoon, until she got home and locked them both in for the night.

But it was better than having him locked up somewhere else.

Thank God for Mayor Tate and Reverend Wheeler. The good-old-boy mayor had covered up Dwayne's indiscretions over the years, or she wouldn't be able to walk down Main Street with her head up at all. Of course, the mayor's help had come at a high price, one she hadn't always wanted to pay. But in the end, she had. After all, a mama did whatever she had to in order to protect her child.

God bless his soul, Reverend Wheeler had counseled her through the worst of the crises. He'd given her the faith to accept what she couldn't change. The fact that her son would never fully recover was one of those things.

The fact that she was scared of him and what he might do was another.

Doc Farmer had helped her with the medication. But then he owed her.

She dialed her home number and thumped her foot up and down while she waited. By the fifth ring, she was sweating bullets. Where in the hell was that no-account boy? He knew better than to go out by himself. What if he hadn't taken his medication…?

One of the nurses walked by, carrying a bedpan, and Mavis reminded herself things could be worse. Dwayne
could be physically handicapped, too, and wearing diapers, or bound to the bed and needing that bedpan like poor Miss Laudy.

Or she could be old Mrs. Baker, who'd just found out her boy killed a child, and who needed nursing care herself.

Praying Dwayne had just gone out in the yard to play with that mangy dog he'd named Snake, she punched the number again, and wiped sweat from her neck when he still didn't answer. Finally, she slammed down the receiver and hurried over to the desk.

“I'm taking my lunch hour now. I'll be back to do the east wing in an hour.”

Willese, the volunteer at the desk, patted her hand. “Everything all right, Mavis?”

“I've got to go home for a minute.”

Willese offered a sympathetic look, and Mavis headed to the door, nearly running.
Please don't let him have taken off again.
The last time, just last week, he'd been gone over twenty-four hours. She'd nearly lost her mind. She still didn't know where he'd been and what he'd been up to. But she had an idea, and it weren't no good.

Ten minutes later, Mavis's ancient El Camino barreled down Pine Needle Drive. As she passed the run-down Baker shack, she remembered the rumors in town, that Baker had thrown himself off the cliff, that his daughter was back to bury him. Would Dwayne do the same for her when she kilt over?

Panic stabbed at her. She couldn't get sick and die. Who would take care of Dwayne then?

She screeched into her driveway, jumped out, then shuffled through the grass to the house. It was empty.

Her stomach knotted when she noticed the pills sitting on the table. Dwayne had taken his medication this morning, but now he'd missed a dosage. Even one would throw him off.

She twisted the dishrag into knots in her hands. Where on God's green earth was that boy?

* * *

G
RADY'S FATHER WASN'T HOME
, so he drove into town, his senses on alert for his dad's white Cadillac. Once he'd have known exactly where to find his old man—the town hall. Monroe had once been entrenched in the politics of the small town and had loved the title of mayor—until Darlene's death. Then he'd stopped working, stopped socializing, stopped caring about anything. Not the future of the town, his son's or his own.

A small car whizzed by, and Grady did a double take, thinking it was Violet's. But the car was a VW. Violet had been driving a Civic. Where had she gone? Was she in town?

He scanned the side streets and parking spaces for her car, but didn't spot it anywhere. She didn't have old friends living here, did she?

No, Violet's only friend had been Darlene.

Determined to question his father during the light of day, when he might actually find him sober, Grady took a chance and stopped by the Redbud Café. In spite of his snobbery toward the Longhorse family, his father usually ate at least one meal a day at the establishment.

Grady lumbered inside, scanning the room, curious at the odd looks the locals shot his way. What was going on?

Normally he'd assume his old man and Baker had gotten into another public brawl, but with Jed gone…

Kerry fluttered a wave, then darted toward him. He forced a smile, although the waitress's hopeful look suddenly irritated him. He didn't want anyone expecting anything from him, not ever again. He'd just let them down.

She pumped up her breasts. “Well, Sheriff, what can I do for you today?”

He ignored her innuendo, checked to see if Joseph Longhorse was watching, but didn't see the man. “Have you seen my father?”

Heads snapped sideways and downward. Whispers hushed instantly. Laney Longhorse turned her head away and began slicing an apple pie. Something was definitely up.

“He was here a while ago,” Kerry said.

“Left right after he told that Baker girl where to go,” Bart Stancil added with a snort. “Thought they was gonna pick up where your daddy and Jed left off.”

Grady gritted his teeth. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Probably to follow her and make sure she left town,” Kerry offered.

Laney frowned in disapproval. Violet had dragged Darlene along to visit the older woman sometimes. She'd filled their heads with Native American legends that had fascinated the girls. Darlene had tried to tell their father, but Walt Monroe hadn't allowed talk about the ancient legends in his house. Just as he hadn't allowed Violet.

Grady had hated his father's prejudice back then. He'd treated Violet like some kind of leper just because she was poor.

He didn't like his attitude now, either.

Not that
he'd
treated her much better….

What if Violet was an innocent bystander in this whole damn mess? He was the sheriff, responsible for all the people in town.

Any time he'd lost his way over the years, he'd tried to think of Darlene. She was his dose of humanity. The rich kid who hadn't differentiated between herself and a girl no one else wanted as a friend. Peculiar or not, she had loved Violet dearly. What would his baby sister want him to do now? Let their father vent his bitterness and anger toward Violet and run her out of town? Protect her from the truth about her old man?

But what if she had known the truth or she'd learned it over the years and had kept silent? Then she had betrayed Darlene….

Ignoring the knot of emotion festering in his throat, he turned to leave.

Kerry touched his arm. “Don't you want to stay and have some coffee?”

He glanced down at her hand and wished things had been different. But he couldn't give her what she wanted. He just didn't have it in him. “No, thanks.”

Then he strode out the door, hoping she'd finally get the message.

As he drove out of town, he told himself his easy dismissal of her had nothing to do with the blue-eyed woman his daddy had tried to run out of town.

* * *

S
HE WAS SO COLD
. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

Where had he taken her?

She opened her eyes and tried to see through the darkness. Shadows obliterated the light. She couldn't see, couldn't make out his face. Dear God, she didn't
want to die. She was young, she had plans, she had to finish school, get her master's degree. Teach awhile. She had always wanted to work with little children.

And she wanted to get married, wear a long white wedding dress, have babies of her own. See her mother be a grandma. What would her mom do when she was gone? She was all alone….

A tear seeped from her eye and rolled down her cheek. She tried to lift her hand to wipe it away, but her hand was numb. He'd tied her down like an animal. She couldn't move.

Panic rippled through her. She couldn't give up. She had to fight.

She tried to squirm, to escape, but it was useless. Whatever drug he'd given her had robbed her of life. Everything was numb except her mind.

She could still think. Could feel the horror of what he was going to do to her.

Then his hand touched her. Icy fingers pulled at her clothes. The stale scents of sweat and other body odors assaulted her. Nausea rose to her throat, nearly choking her. One button popped open, then another. Cold air brushed her torso. His hands slid lower. Lifted her slightly. Lowered her skirt and began to slide it down her legs. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died in the back of her throat.

Finally she gave in to the fear, closed her eyes and prayed for darkness.

Death had to be better than this. She would go to heaven. She had to. She had been a good girl. There would be no pain on the other side.

His fingers brushed across the bare skin of her abdo
men. Then he dribbled warm water on her belly. A cry tore from her throat. She only hoped that he made it quick.

And that one day, someone found her killer.

She had to get help.

Violet struggled to clear the vision and orient herself. She was still in the woods beside the graveyard. But another woman was going to die. She could sense her fear, see her losing consciousness. Feel the prick of the man's fingers as he trailed his nails over her skin.

Just like in her vision, she was weighted down. She couldn't move.

She was suffocating from the darkness.

“Help me.”

Violet gasped for air, hearing Darlene's childlike voice crying out, too. No, this time it was the woman's.

Was it real? Or was she going crazy?

His fingers brushed her bare stomach, and she jerked.

It was real. He was taunting her. Baiting her. He wanted her to know what he was doing.

* * *

G
RADY UNDERSTOOD EXACTLY
how it felt to be on the receiving end of his father's hatred. But he had no idea how Violet would react to it. Especially since she'd suffered enough trauma already the past few days.

He cranked up the engine of the squad car and drove through town, once again scanning the streets. This time for Violet. He checked the obvious. The florist. The funeral home. But he didn't see her car. Other than her childhood home, Grady could think of a couple other places she might go. The morgue or the graveyard. Or maybe the sweet gum tree. Since the coroner hadn't yet released her father's body, and the sweet gum was near
her house, he hedged his bets and decided to check the graveyard first. He had to pass by there anyway on his way home.

He should just let her be alone. Let whatever his father had said to her stand.

It wasn't as if Grady wanted her to stay around, anyway, or that he could console her. Not until he knew the whole truth.

The squad car took the ruts in the mountain road with no trouble. Perspiration trickled down his neck and dampened his shirt, the open window circulating hot air as the noon sun beat down on the asphalt. He swiped at the sweat and steered onto the graveled road that led to the small church. Violet's Civic was parked near the entrance, empty. She had either come to visit Darlene's grave or her mother's.

He parked, then sat in the hot sun for a minute, batting away the flies, contemplating his next move. He wanted to put this case to rest. To know that Darlene's murder had gone avenged. But too many questions still taunted him.

Violet's doubt over her father's guilt clouded the case even more.

Did she know something she wasn't telling?

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he opened the car door and stepped onto the drive. His gaze scanned the rows of gray granite markers, some graves well-kept, others left to the weeds, as forgotten as the loved ones who lay six feet under. His father had hired someone to tend Darlene's mother's grave or it would be overrun by kudzu by now. And Darlene's… Grady visited it yearly, on the anniversary of her death, but had forced himself not to become obsessive.

Violet was nowhere to be seen.

He squinted at the shafts of sunlight slanting through the trees surrounding the property. A shadow moved in the distance, then retreated. A man with long hair tied back in a ponytail? Joseph Longhorse?

A scream suddenly echoed from the thicket. The shadow darted the opposite direction. Grady started to follow.