Close Enough to Kill (20 page)

Jim nodded. “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

Kevin responded immediately to her request, and as soon as he went inside the house, she turned to Jim. “Did someone find Thomasina?”

“Yeah, a motorist crossing Sunflower Creek just happened to notice a body lying on the bank, about ten feet from the water’s edge. The deputy who took the call got in touch with me a few minutes after he arrived on the scene. He says he’s pretty sure it’s Thomasina Hardy, says she looks like the picture her mother gave us. She’s naked. Posed. Her throat’s been slit.”

Bernie clenched her jaw. “Give me five minutes to get on some clothes. Dad should be home by then. He dropped Mom by Wednesday night church services on his way to play pool with some of his buddies.”

Just as she started to walk away, Jim grabbed her arm to halt her. She spun around and gave him a questioning look.

“If this guy holds true to form since he killed Stephanie Preston, he’ll start a new courtship soon,” Jim said. “He might have already chosen his next victim.”

“Oh, God, I know.” Bernie closed her eyes, absorbing the knowledge that another woman had been murdered and yet another unknown woman was in mortal danger. “I’m the sheriff. It’s my job to protect the people of Adams County. I’m doing a hell of a job, aren’t I?”

“Stop beating yourself up, honey. Nobody could do a better job.” Instinctively, without thinking about what he was doing, Jim slipped his hand around Bernie’s waist and pulled her into his arms. She went willingly and even allowed him to hug her for a few seconds before she pulled away from him.

“Come on in and talk to Kevin while I get out of this bathing suit.”

“I’m not sure Kevin will talk to me. He wasn’t very responsive when we tried to talk to him last night.” Jim followed Bernie, appreciating the view from behind. He’d never noticed how her hips swayed, how her butt moved up and down, how downright sexy she was.

But she’s not interested in you as anything other than a friend. She’s made that perfectly clear. A few minutes ago, when you had her in your arms, she could have stayed there a while longer, but she couldn’t wait to get away from you. Face it, Norton, you couldn’t get to first base with Bernie if you wanted to.

And strangely enough, he suddenly realized that he wanted to.

County coroner, Morris Claunch, confirmed what Jim and Bernie already suspected—Thomasina Hardy had been raped, tortured and ultimately murdered. The killer’s MO seemed identical to Stephanie Preston’s murderer. No surprise there.

Bernie had called in six deputies to protect the crime scene and keep onlookers at bay. Word had spread quickly in Adams County, and by the time the ABI Crime Scene Response Unit arrived, Bernie estimated that the crowd on and around the bridge crossing Sunflower Creek had grown from half a dozen when she and Jim had arrived to probably forty people now. After this, there would be no way to keep the general public from knowing that there was a serial killer loose in northeast Alabama.

Charlie Patterson drove up around eight-forty and officially took over the investigation. R.B. Granger showed up around nine.

“You’ve got a real circus on your hands, gal,” her dad told her. “You might ought to call in a few more deputies for crowd control.”

“I will, if I think we need them. But right now, we have everything under control.”

“Just making a suggestion.” R.B. turned from her and shook hands with Agent Patterson. “We’ve been seeing way too much of you lately, Charlie.”

Charlie grimaced. “Yeah, it’s bad, R.B. No way we can deny the facts. We’ve got ourselves a psychopath on our hands.”

Bernie suddenly felt insignificant, as if she were nothing more than R.B.’s kid and he was still the sheriff. Her father didn’t mean to undermine her authority, or by his mere presence here at the crime scene imply to everyone that his daughter couldn’t handle the situation without his help. He thought he was helping, that he was being supportive. After all, why shouldn’t she appreciate him sharing his vast knowledge and years of experience with her on a major case such as this?

“Sheriff,” Deputy Dennison called.

“Yeah?” R.B. and Bernie responded simultaneously.

“Over here.” Bernie motioned to the deputy who was bouncing his gaze back and forth between her and her dad.

“Sorry.” R.B. chuckled. “I keep forgetting my kid’s now the sheriff.”

Deputy Dennison smiled and nodded at R.B., then made his way straight to where Bernie and Jim stood with Ron Hensley, the three of them watching the ABI Crime Unit at work.

“What’s up?” Bernie asked.

“There’s a reporter and a photographer here from the
Daily Reporter
and crews from two Huntsville TV stations have shown up. How are we supposed to handle them? What do you want us to do?”

“Great, just great,” Bernie mumbled under her breath. “Don’t let any of them get beyond the barricade, and do not answer any questions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Deputy Dennison stood there fidgeting, apparently not knowing whether to stay or go.

“And tell them that the sheriff’s department will make a statement at”—she glanced at her watch—“I’ll brief the press no later than eleven o’clock, before then if possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s all, Deputy.”

Dennison all but clicked his heels as he turned and headed toward the barricade up above the creek near the roadside. Bernie groaned silently when she looked at the crowd again.

“They’ll be coming in by the busloads if we don’t do something,” she said.

“Why don’t you order roadblocks half a mile in each direction?” Jim suggested.

“Good idea.” Bernie looked at Ron. “Go up there and announce to all those concerned citizens that we’re blocking off a one-mile section of County Road One-fifty-seven immediately, and if anyone doesn’t want to get delayed leaving later, they’d better go now.”

“Sure thing,” Ron said. Then just as he walked off, he stopped dead still and cursed. He turned around and came back over to Bernie and Jim. “Thomasina Hardy’s sister and brother-in-law are up there in that crowd. I just saw her sister.” Ron gritted his teeth tightly and took a couple of deep breaths. “When I dated Thomasina, I got to know the family pretty well. They’re good folks.”

“Look, why don’t I handle explaining to the crowd about the roadblocks while you make arrangements to get them set up,” Jim said to Bernie. “And since Ron knows Thomasina’s family, let him talk to her sister and brother-in-law.”

Bernie nodded, then as Jim turned to leave, she called, “Wait just a minute, Jim.” She looked at Ron. “If the sister wants to speak to me personally, let me know and we’ll work out something. We’ll need someone to ID the body. See if the brother-in-law will do that.”

“I dread talking to her sister. Amanda and Thomasina were really close.” Ron cleared his throat. “Thomasina deserved better than this. She was a nice person. Too good for me, that’s for sure.”

Bernie patted Ron on the shoulder. As soon as he headed up the embankment toward the bridge, she turned to Jim.

“I have to decide what to tell the press. How much information do I release to the public? Where do I draw the line between what the public needs to know and what I need to keep under wraps?”

“Good question.” Jim glanced over at R.B., who was dogging every step Charlie Patterson made, then looked at Bernie. “You’re second-guessing yourself because your father is here. Stop doing that. You don’t need his opinion or his approval to make a decision. Trust your own gut instincts.”

“Can I do that—trust my own instincts?”

“I trust your instincts,” Jim told her. “I trust you.”

The power behind his statement overwhelmed her. She didn’t know how to respond.
Get a grip. He didn’t say I love you. He said I trust you.
But she knew, deep in her soul, that trust between two people was the second most powerful emotion. You could love someone, but if you didn’t trust them, you had nothing.

Tears threatened the false calm she tried so hard to project, not just to Jim, but to everyone here tonight. “Thanks.”

Jim looked at her as if he wanted to touch her, as if he’d like to hold her, comfort her, reassure her. And oddly enough, she felt his caress—the tender touch that he expressed through his gaze.

“I won’t share any specific details,” Bernie said. “I’ll say that we suspect a link in the murders of Jacque Reeves in Jackson County and the murders of Stephanie Preston and Thomasina Hardy. I’ll try to avoid the use of the term
serial killer
. I don’t think the fact that all three were young, attractive brunettes is a secret, so I’ll mention that.”

“Reiterate that the ABI is in charge of this investigation.”

“Right. And I’ll stress that there is no need for panic, but everyone should err on the side of caution.”

“They’re going to want to know about suspects.”

“Of course they are.” Bernie felt the beginning of a stress headache. “And all I can tell them is that although we interviewed several people of interest in the Stephanie Preston case, we do not at this time have a suspect and it’s too early in this new case to make any other comments.”

“I believe you’ve got it down pat.”

“Oh, God…” Bernie’s stomach churned. She felt like she was going to vomit.

“What’s the matter? You look green.” Jim held out his hand, as if to grab her arm.

She jerked away. “I’ll be okay. I’m just sick to my stomach and I’ve got a headache coming on, but I don’t want to announce to the world that the sheriff is so emotionally wrung out that she can’t handle the job she was elected to do. I’ll give female law enforcement officers a bad name.”

“You’re only human,” Jim told her. “You haven’t eaten since lunch, have you? That’s part of what’s wrong. And just a little while ago, you had to take a look at a pretty young woman who was brutalized and murdered. The second woman in your county this month. There’s a serial killer out there, probably getting ready to strike again, and we don’t have a clue who he is or how to stop him. And I said
we
. Both Charlie Patterson and I have had experience with serial killers before, but neither of us can come up with a suspect.”

When she tasted the salty bile that rose up her esophagus, she forced it down and read herself the riot act.
You’re not going to get sick. You’re not going to cry. You’re not going to act like an emotional female. Remember, you are the sheriff. You’re strong and tough and in control.

A hundred tiny drummers beat a fast-paced tune inside her head.

“I’m okay,” she said. “You go up there and handle the crowd while I get the roadblocks set up.”

He gave her another one of those tender, concerned looks that made her feel as if he’d wrapped his arms around her. She turned and all but ran from him, knowing that if she didn’t get away from Jim Norton, she was liable to fall smack-dab into his big, strong arms.

Robyn locked the backdoor of her fitness center, dropped the keys in her shoulder bag and headed up the back alley toward the side street. She liked having her own apartment within walking distance of her job, but more than anything, she loved the privacy living on her own afforded her. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy being around her parents. She did. They were great and she loved them to pieces. But at twenty-eight, she neither wanted nor needed her parents’ supervision or protection.

When Robyn reached the end of the alley, she noticed that the traffic along Main Street had slowed to a trickle. There usually wasn’t much going on downtown on a Monday evening. That’s why she didn’t keep the fitness center open past six on Mondays. As she passed Adams Federal Savings and Loan, she noted the digital time and temperature displayed on their billboard: six-thirty-seven, ninety-four degrees. Damn, it was hot. But this was the first week of August in Alabama, so she could expect nothing less than hot and humid. You’d think by six-thirty the temps would have dropped below ninety, but even when they did drop later tonight, the humidity would make it feel like a sweltering steam bath.

Pausing on the sidewalk to adjust her left sandal, that had picked up a piece of gravel in the alley, she caught a glimpse of Scotty Joe Walters driving by. He threw up his hand and waved. She waved back at him.
Now, there’s a prime piece of horseflesh.
Sooner or later, she’d have to get around to sampling it. But at present, she was juggling two lovers—Paul and Brandon. Things were winding down between Brandon and her. They were more off than on these days, which suited them both just fine. Neither of them liked being exclusive. But Paul was becoming a little too possessive to suit her. She didn’t see them still dating two months from now. Although Paul was rich and handsome—two things that appealed to her in a man—he wasn’t all that good in the sack. He was far more concerned with his own satisfaction than hers and kept wanting her to tell him how great he was. What a bore!

If she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she kind of missed Ron Hensley. He was the best lover she’d had since coming back to Adams Landing, but he liked to play the field as much as she did. She’d heard a rumor that he was having an affair with a married woman and several names had been mentioned, including Amber Claunch, the coroner’s wife, and Abby Miller, who owned the Kut and Kurl beauty salon. She knew both women well enough to know that neither was a faithful wife.

When Robyn neared the bookstore, she decided to go inside for a frozen coffee and to pick up the latest issue of
Glamour
magazine. The moment she entered the building, she sighed as delicious, cool air enveloped her. She paused several steps from the coffee bar when she saw Reverend Matthew Donaldson sitting at one of the tables placed along the row of windows facing the street. But before she could turn around and hurry toward the back of the store, he saw her, smiled and waved.

“Good evening, Robyn.” He rose from his chair.

Oh, God, she didn’t want to spend another minute in that man’s boring company. In the pulpit, he was all razzle-dazzle, hellfire and brilliance. And just looking at him—curly dark hair, sexy blue-gray eyes, and spectacular bod—you’d never suspect he was such a humdrum stick-in-the-mud.

Smiling, she curled her fingers, lifted her hand and gave him a little, shy wave.

“Won’t you join me?” Matthew asked.

Jeeze, how do you turn down a minister’s cordial invitation in a public place?
Suddenly, Robyn saw her salvation.
Thank you, God.
Sitting at a back table, absorbed in reading a hardback book and sipping on a cup of coffee, was the answer to her prayers. Raymond Long.

Robyn approached Matthew. “Why thank you, Reverend Donaldson. I’d love to join you, but I’m afraid I can’t. I’m meeting someone.”

She waved toward the back table. Raymond seemed oblivious to her presence, but she didn’t let that deter her. Marching purposefully toward her goal, she breezed passed Matthew. When she reached Raymond’s table, she paused. He kept reading.

“Raymond, sugar, I’m sorry I’m running late.” Robyn curved her fingers over his shoulder and squeezed. “Order me an iced coffee, will you? I’m hot and simply dying of thirst.”

As if he’d actually been expecting her, Raymond closed his book, laid it on the table, removed his gold-framed glasses and motioned to the waiter. Raymond removed her hand from his shoulder, brought it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“I never mind waiting for you,” he said.

Robyn sat down in the chair beside him, cuddled her shoulder against his and whispered in his ear. “Thanks so much. I owe you one.”

Raymond shrugged. “Any particular flavor?”

“Huh?”

“For your coffee.” He nodded to the waiter who stood by their table.

“White chocolate, please.”

“You heard the lady.” After the waiter scurried off, Raymond turned halfway around in his chair and studied Robyn. “You’re going to get cold in here wearing nothing but short-shorts and a halter top.”

“If I do, you can order me some hot coffee.”

“Staying long, are you?”

“I’m not leaving until Reverend Donaldson is gone.” She batted her eyelashes at Raymond in a mockery of blatant flirtation. “Unless you want to walk me upstairs to my apartment.”

Raymond chuckled. “What would you do if I took you up on that insincere offer?”

“What makes you think it’s insincere?”

He gazed at her, a puzzled expression on his face. She looked at him, really looked at him, and liked what she saw. Raymond was not handsome, but he had a good face. Large, kind brown eyes. A prominent, manly nose. Full, rather sensuous lips. And a strong jawline. His hairline was receding just a bit and she suspected that by forty, he’d be partially bald.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“What?”

“How old are you? I know you’re a little bit older than Bernie, but I don’t remember how much older.”

“I’m thirty-four.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“I know.”

“When you got a divorce, why did you move back to Adams Landing? And why on earth are you living with your mother?”

“Adams Landing is home,” he told her. “As you know, my father died last year and Mother’s had a difficult time running the business. It just made sense for me to come back here and take over the hardware store.” His lips lifted in a quirky, contemplative smile. “As for living with Mother—why not? She cooks my meals, does my laundry, and is doing her best to find me a new wife. The lady wants grandchildren very badly.”

Robyn laughed. “Tell me about it. My mom is driving me and Bernie nuts because she wants grandkids so much. You are aware of the fact that our mothers had their hearts set on getting you and Bernie together.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Yeah, I know. Bernie feels the same way. She likes you and all, but—”

“Bernie and I understand each other.”

The waiter returned with a large iced coffee, placed it in front of Robyn and smiled flirtatiously with her. She reached up, tapped him on the chest and said, “You shouldn’t come on to a lady who’s on a date with another man. It’s bad manners.”

The young waiter, probably no older than twenty, turned as red as a clown’s nose and said, “Yes, ma’am.” Then he hurried off.

“Are we on a date?” Raymond asked.

Robyn twisted the straw in her drink around and around, then grinned at Raymond. “Yes, I think we are.”

“Do I get to walk you home afterward?” he asked.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes, I do. Very much.”

Raymond might not be rich or handsome, but he was rather charming. And she’d known him forever, since they were kids, knew he was a good guy. She’d bet if she asked him in when he walked her to her apartment, he’d accept the invitation. And she bet that if she came on to him, he wouldn’t turn her down the way Matthew Donaldson had.

Abby stroked the strand of cheap pearls as she reread the latest note her secret admirer had sent.

The first note and sketch had arrived five days ago, last Wednesday. Today, she had received a note, the pearls, and a new sketch.

She knew that quite a few guys in Adams County had a thing for her. Some were bold enough to proposition her outright, the way Ron had done. And others admired her from afar. Knowing she could arouse men’s passions did a world of good for her ego. But she’d never been approached by such a romantic man in such a romantic way. She laid the pearls aside and lifted the ink sketch. Whoever had drawn this picture had captured the sexy, sultry side of her nature, one she reserved for the bedroom. Either this man had once been her lover or he instinctively knew how she’d look right after making love.

The only guy she’d ever fucked who had the least bit of artistic talent was back in high school—Tim Burcham, Holly Burcham’s cousin. But Tim had gone off to college, had become an architect and now lived somewhere in Virginia.

She really couldn’t think of anyone in Adams Landing who was an artist, except that art professor over at the community college, Dr. Brandon Kelley. About six months ago, he’d started coming into her salon for a haircut and a manicure every few weeks. They’d exchanged some harmless sexual banter, but he’d never actually put the moves on her. Could he be her secret admirer? If he was, he just might be able to give Ron Hensley a run for his money.

Just as she gathered up the items lying on her kitchen table, her telephone rang. She hurriedly stuffed everything into the small box they’d come in, stood up and grabbed the receiver from the wall phone.

“Hello.”

“Abby?”

Not recognizing the voice and wondering if it might be
him
, Abby shivered with excitement. “Yes, this is Abby. Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t identify myself immediately. This is Reverend Donaldson. I was wondering if I might stop by and see you for a few minutes this evening.”

Reverend Donaldson? “I—uh—sure, I guess. But why?”

“Your mother-in-law, Glenda Miller, asked me to speak to you.”

That old witch!
“Speak to me about what?”

“I’d rather not discuss this over the phone.”

“Then by all means, come on over and we’ll talk face to face.”

“Thank you. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Make it thirty, will you?”

“Thirty minutes, then.”

Fuming, Abby hung up the phone. Just what was her mother-in-law up to? Had Glenda found out about her affair with Ron and was siccing the new minister on her? Or was it something else?

With her gift package under her arm, Abby hurried into her bedroom, tossed the box onto her bed and rummaged through her closet. She wanted to be wearing just the right thing when the good reverend paid her a visit.

Robyn’s climax sent off explosions through her whole body. She writhed and moaned and clutched at Raymond’s head positioned between her thighs. Her heart raced; her body soared. And her mind turned to mush.

“Oh, God, that was wonderful,” she told him.

He worked his mouth up over her mound, across her belly, dipped into her navel, and then ventured upward to her breasts. When he braced himself over her and came down to suckle one breast and then the other, she bucked up off the bed and clung to him.

“I want you inside me,” she murmured.

“Not yet.”

“Yes, please.”

“I need to protect you,” he said.

“I’m on the pill.”

“I should still wear a condom and I’m afraid I don’t have one.”

She gazed up into his tortured face and smiled. “It’s okay. I have some in the nightstand.” She nodded to her right. “Take your pick.”

He eased off her, opened the nightstand drawer and stared at the variety. “Do you have a preference?”

“Just a plain old ordinary rubber will do just fine.”

He nodded, then sorted through the supply and retrieved a condom. When his trembling fingers couldn’t quite manage to rip apart the packet, Robyn got up on her knees, crawled over beside him and took the packet from him.

“Here, let me do it.” She ripped the shiny plastic apart, removed the condom and scooted out of bed. “I’ll put it on for you.”

When she went down on her knees in front of him, he sucked in a deep breath and groaned. She smiled when she saw the look on his face—a combination of fear and hope and disbelief. How fabulous it was to have a man so in awe of her. She loved the feeling of power it gave her.

Robyn reached out and circled his penis. Pumping his erection several times she sighed. “I guess you know that you’ve got an impressive cock.” Before he could respond, she leaned down and covered the bulbous tip with her mouth.

“Oh, God!” Raymond cried.

She pressed her tongue against him and sucked gently. He moaned deep in his throat, then clamped his hands down on her shoulders and held her in place. She sucked him for a while, taking all of him into her mouth, then coming up for air, she licked him from tip to root, repeating the process over and over again.

“Robyn…I don’t think I can stand much more of that. You’re driving me crazy.”

She eased off slowly, then took the condom, still in one hand, and fitted it over his rock-hard dick. “Which way? You choose the position.”

“I’ve dreamed of you being on top,” he confessed, his cheeks flushed.

She gave him a shove, toppling him back on the bed. “Then lie back, big boy, and let me fulfill your dreams.”

She climbed on top of him, situated herself over his erection and impaled herself. He filled her completely. When she dangled her breasts over his mouth as she began a slow, steady rhythm, he wasted no time in sampling her offering.

Within a few minutes, Robyn couldn’t hold back because it felt so good to have him inside her, to be on top of him and able to maneuver her body for the greatest sensation. She rode him hard and fast. And when she came, she cried out her satisfaction. A minute later, Raymond came, all the while kissing her like crazy.

“I love you, Robyn. I’ve always loved you.”