Close Enough to Kill (9 page)

“You’ll have to give me directions to your house,” Jim said. “I don’t know where you live.”

“Huh?”

“You want me to take you home, don’t you? Or should I drop you off to pick up your Jeep? I assume you don’t still live at home with your parents.”

“No, I have my own place and my folks probably took my Jeep to my house for me. I live on East Jefferson Street. That’s two blocks down from Washington. One-oh-four. It’s the third house on the right, an old twenties bungalow. Pale yellow with dark green shutters.”

Jim nodded and continued driving. He had kept silent because Bernie seemed to prefer it that way; besides, he really didn’t know of anything to talk about other than the case they were working on together. He had immediately sensed the tension between them and wished he knew if he’d done something to create the problem. Too bad Charlie Patterson had gotten a call from his headquarters in Huntsville and had to drive back there overnight; otherwise, Charlie would have gone with them to question Brandon Kelley, and maybe his presence would have diffused whatever had set Bernie off. It wasn’t as if she’d screamed or chewed him out or told him that she was totally pissed. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had ruffled her feathers.

“This is it, right?” he asked as soon as he spotted the house. He knew it had to be the right one since the street numbers had been painted on the curb and glowed in the dark. And with the porch light on, the large brass numbers attached to the door frame were visible.

“Yes, this is it.”

He pulled into the drive and stopped at the brick sidewalk that led from the drive to the porch. As soon as he killed the motor, he opened his door, but before he got out, she said, “You don’t have to go to the trouble of seeing me to my door.”

He hesitated for half a second, then got out anyway and replied, “No trouble.” By the time he made it around to the passenger side, she’d already opened her door and gotten out on her own. They stood there and stared at each other for just a minute; then she started walking. He fell into step beside her, and together they rounded the truck’s hood, walked up the sidewalk and stepped up on the porch.

When they reached her front door, she stopped and turned to face him. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.” He made it halfway down the sidewalk before he turned around and called to her. “Do you want to go somewhere and get a bite to eat? We didn’t have any supper and I don’t know about you, but my stomach’s growling.”

She paused in the middle of opening her front door, squared her shoulders and glanced at him. “There is absolutely nothing open in Adams Landing this late on a Sunday night.”

“You’re kidding? Surely one of the fast-food places stays open past nine.”

“Not on Sunday nights.”

“Great. I guess I’ll have to settle for some peanut butter and crackers when I get to the house.”

When he walked away, she called, “Jim?”

He halted. “Yeah?”

“Want to come in and eat supper with me? I’m sure my mother brought some leftovers from dinner and put them in my refrigerator. She always loads me down with leftovers since she knows I seldom cook just for myself.”

“Lady, if you think I’m going to turn down an offer like that, you don’t know me.” He hurried up the sidewalk and was right behind her by the time she opened her front door.

She flipped on the overhead light as she entered the house, and Jim scanned the large, square-shaped living room as he came inside behind her. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find—maybe a plain, colorless decor with functional furniture—but this warm, homey room filled with comfortable-looking chairs and a sofa and what he figured were several antique pieces surprised him. The walls were pale yellow, with wide crown molding at the top and old-fashioned mopboard at the bottom. Floral silk curtains hung over plantation blinds at the windows. Standing there in the middle of the room, Jim got the oddest feeling. He felt at home, and God knew he hadn’t felt at home anywhere in ages. What was it about Bernie’s house that made him react like this?

It’s because this house, even this room, reminds you of your grandmother Norton’s house in Mississippi.

“Sit down and relax,” Bernie told him. “Turn on the TV or the radio or put on a CD while I go warm us up some supper. Do you prefer ham or fried chicken? Since Mama served both today, I’m sure there’s some of both in my refrigerator.”

“I’m not picky. Either is just fine with me.” But he didn’t sit down; instead, he followed her through the house and toward the kitchen.

She glanced over her shoulder and stared at him. “What?”

“I’m coming out to the kitchen to help you,” he said.

“Oh.”

Her kitchen was small, no more than twelve by twelve, and a set of long windows commanded most of the space on the back wall. The room had been wallpapered in tiny, navy blue gingham checks and white curtains hung at the windows and on the half-glass backdoor. The cabinets and appliances were all white, as were the small table and two chairs situated in front of the windows.

“So, what can I do to help?” he asked.

“Get us a couple of plates and some glasses.” She pointed to the top center cabinet. “And the silverware is in the drawer directly below.” Again, she pointed. “You set the table and I’ll see what I can find in the refrigerator.”

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, they sat across from each other at the table, two wiped-clean plates in front of them, along with two empty iced tea glasses and a couple of crumb-covered dessert plates.

Jim leaned back, rubbed his belly and sighed. “Your mother is a great cook. If possible, that food tasted better the second time around.”

Bernie groaned. “I ate too much. I shouldn’t have eaten dessert, but I cannot resist my mother’s Mississippi mud pie.”

Jim chuckled.

“What’s funny?”

“You are,” he told her, then added, “in a good way.”

When she stared at him quizzically, he explained, “It’s just that most women won’t eat like you did in front of a man. They pretend they have these delicate little appetites and nibble at their food.”

“You’ll learn soon enough that I’m not like most women.”

“What I said, I meant as a compliment, not an insult.”

“I didn’t take it as an insult.”

“Good.”

“I can put on some decaf coffee, if you’d like.”

Jim shook his head. “As tempting as that is, I’ll pass.” He scooted back his chair, stood and stretched. “After I help you clean up, I’d better head on home. Six o’clock will roll around in a hurry.”

She stood, picked up his plate and stacked it on top of hers. “You don’t have to stay and help me clean up. It won’t take a minute to put these things in the dishwasher. You go on and get a good night’s rest. We’ve still got a murder case to solve.”

“If you’re sure you don’t need my help.”

“I’m sure.”

She walked him to the front porch, then stood there and watched him as he got in his old truck. He paused, looked back at her and waved before he started the engine. She lifted her hand and waved, a soft smile on her lips. All of a sudden, Jim didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go back to his cold, lonely duplex. He wanted to stay here in this warm, inviting home…with Bernie.

Hellfire, what was wrong with him? He wasn’t attracted to Bernie, didn’t feel “that way” about her, so why was it that he didn’t want to leave her?

Because you felt comfortable with her, as if you’d known her all your life.

He rolled down the window and called to her, “See you in the morning, boss.”

Laughing, she shook her head and called back to him, “That’s Sheriff Granger to you, deputy.”

“Thanks for supper.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And thanks for the good company.”

“Same here.”

“Sleep tight.”

“You, too.”

Damn it, Norton, go home, will you? If you keep hanging around, she’s going to think you don’t want to leave.

I don’t.

Go home. You can’t stay here and sleep on Bernie’s couch, even if you want to and she might actually let you.
What would the neighbors think? Chuckling to himself, Jim put the truck’s gears into reverse and backed out of the driveway, then headed down Jefferson. Halfway to his duplex apartment an odd thought hit him. Not once while he’d been with Bernie had he thought about her beautiful sister.

Thomasina had worn a dress today instead of her usual slacks and blouse. Wanting to get into the old-fashioned romantic mood Brandon was setting for their relationship, she felt a dress was appropriate. Besides, she had great legs and she could showcase them in a just-above-the-knee hemline. Nothing too sexy, just slightly alluring. Of course, she’d had to contend with a few lascivious stares from her young male students, but she had simply ignored them.

Fingering the pearls around her neck, she thought about what Brandon might say or do when he saw that she was wearing his gift. Would he simply smile at her or would he tell her how pleased he was to see her wearing the pearls? Surely he would understand that her wearing the pearls was a sign of her willingness to begin a meaningful relationship.

She had arrived early this morning, hoping to meet up with Brandon in the faculty lounge since he, too, had an eight o’clock class, but he’d been a no-show. Her disappointment must have shown on her face because Marianne Clark had asked her if something was wrong. She’d lied to the middle-aged busybody who was teaching basic biology for the summer quarter.

“I’m fine,” Thomasina had said. “Just thinking about how to motivate my students. Not too many of them are actually interested in history.”

And today during the morning classes, she had been as disinterested in the rise and fall of the Roman Empire as her students had been. She’d caught herself daydreaming more than once, and for the past thirty minutes, she had practically counted the minutes until her midday break. When the class ended, she grabbed the sack lunch she’d brought, rushed out of her building and headed straight toward the arts department. If she didn’t catch a glimpse of Brandon, she could walk casually by his office, which was adjacent to the art studio. And if anyone asked her what she was doing there, she had the perfect excuse. The students’ artwork was on display for the entire month of July. Sketches, paintings, sculptures.

As nervous as a thirteen-year-old on her first date, Thomasina made her way down the corridor toward the studio. The door stood wide open, so she simply paused and glanced inside, doing her best to act nonchalantly. The studio was empty. A couple of students passed by and spoke. She smiled at them, nodded and walked past Brandon’s office. The door was closed. Approaching the door cautiously, not wanting anyone to realize that she was checking to see if Dr. Kelley was in, she eased over to the closed door and listened. Nothing. Not a sound. But he could be in there, eating quietly or reading or just resting.

Why don’t you knock on the door and say hello? Tell him you came over to look at the students’ artwork.
But if she did that, would she appear too eager? Would her making the next move be appropriate or would he prefer for her to wait for him to take things to the next level?

But she didn’t want to wait, was tired of waiting. She wanted to hurry things up just a little, to at least reach the point where they acknowledged the fact that they had a relationship.

Garnering all her courage, Thomasina curled her hand into a fist, reached up and knocked on the door. Her heartbeat thundered maddeningly in her ears.

No response.

She knocked again. A little harder and for twice as long.

“He’s not there,” a familiar male voice said.

Sucking in a deep breath, Thomasina turned and faced Scotty Joe Walters with a smile. The handsome young deputy was in charge of the D.A.R.E. programs in the Adams County schools and assisted with the neighborhood watch programs and the senior citizens programs such as T.R.I.A.D. The junior college provided the sheriff’s department with a storage area for books, booklets, pamphlets, and other items used with the various programs and they also allowed the sheriff’s department to use their auditorium facilities for various group meetings and events. Scotty Joe was such a familiar face around Adams County Junior College that he seemed like a member of the staff. Everyone liked the good-looking deputy. The guy was always friendly and cordial, and he had the kind of gentlemanly manners every mother wished her son had. She wasn’t sure how old he was. Mid-to-late twenties would be her guess.

“I beg your pardon?” Thomasina acted innocent, as if she had no idea what he’d meant.

“Dr. Kelley. He’s not in his office,” Scotty Joe said. “You were looking for him, weren’t you?”

“Well, actually, I came over to take a look at the student art that’s being displayed this month and I just thought I’d say hi to Brandon while I’m in his building.”

“You just missed him. Robyn Granger picked him up in her snazzy little yellow sports car. I figure they’re headed out somewhere for lunch.”

“Oh.”
Please, dear God, don’t let what I’m feeling show on my face. Don’t let Scotty Joe figure out that I’m hurt and disappointed and on the verge of bursting into tears.

“Hey, you okay, Thomasina? You look sort of green or something.”

“It’s nothing. I didn’t eat breakfast and I guess I’m just hungry,” she lied as she held the tears at bay.

“Is that your lunch you’ve got with you?” He eyed the small brown paper bag she held so tightly that her nails bit into the flesh of her palm.

Easing her death grip on the bag, she nodded, but heaven help her, she couldn’t respond verbally because she was choking down her on-the-verge-of-erupting tears.

“I brought my lunch, too,” he said. “Bologna sandwich, dill pickles, a bag of chips, and a couple of brownies from Cummings Bakery.” He held up his brown paper bag, which was twice the size of hers since hers contained only a banana and a bag filled with carrot sticks, raw broccoli, and raw cauliflower. “Want to join me? We could get a couple of Cokes from the machine down the hall, then go out to the gazebo and share our lunches.”

The tears Thomasina had been struggling to control suddenly broke free and trickled from her eyes and down her cheeks.

“Hey, gal, don’t do that.” He reached out as if he was going to touch her, but let his hand hang there in midair. “Don’t waste your tears on him. He’s not worth it.”

As the tears seeped into the edges of her mouth, she sucked in a deep breath, then bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out loud.

Scotty Joe opened his lunch sack and pulled out a paper napkin, then held it out to her. “Here, dry your eyes. You don’t want somebody seeing you like this. It would be all over school by the end of the day.”

She grabbed the napkin and dried her eyes. “What—what would be all over school?” she asked as she looked right at him and saw pity and concern in his big blue eyes.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Don’t pay any attention to me.”

“It’s not what you think.” She patted her damp face, then crushed the napkin into her fist and searched Scotty Joe’s face again. “I’m not one of Brandon’s girls, one of his women.”

Scotty Joe grinned from ear to ear. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. You’re far too good for him, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“You don’t like Brandon?”

“It’s not that I don’t like him.” Scotty Joe’s tanned cheeks flushed. “I guess it’s just that I think it’s downright wrong of him to take advantage of the girls he teaches and of women in general.” Scotty Joe hung his head shyly.

“If that offer to share our lunches is still open, I’d like to take you up on it.” Thomasina managed a weak smile.

“You bet it is,” Scotty Joe told her. “And the Cokes are on me.”

Charlie Patterson laid the preliminary reports down on Jim’s desk, then took a seat in one of the old vinyl and metal chairs in front of the desk. Looking like a man who hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, Charlie had arrived from Huntsville fifteen minutes ago, while Jim had been out for lunch. He’d gone with Ron Hensley and John Downs to Methel’s for the Monday special—meatloaf, creamed potatoes, green peas, and homemade rolls—topped off with banana pudding, which was almost as popular as the restaurant’s peach cobbler. When they arrived back at the office, he’d found Charlie sharing coffee and chocolate chip muffins from Cummings Bakery with Lieutenant Hoyt Moses.

“I called Bernie’s office and left a message for her to come on over,” Charlie said. “No point in going over everything now and then again with her.”

“Wish I could hang around,” Downs said. “But I’m due in court at one-thirty. I have to testify in the trial about that big marijuana bust we made back last fall.”

Jim nodded, then glanced at Hensley. “Bring in another chair. We’ll be one short when Bernie gets here.”

“She’s here,” Bernie said from the doorway.

Jim looked up from where he sat behind his desk and motioned for her to come into his office. Downs paused to say hello to Bernie on his way out and Hensley spoke to her as he headed off to commandeer another chair.

“What have I missed?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Jim told her. “We’re just getting started.”

She glanced at Charlie. “Rough night?”

“Does it show?” he replied.

She grinned at him. “Only around the edges.”

He grunted. “Our ten-year-old kept us up all night with a stomach virus. When I left this morning, she was finally resting and had been able to keep down some 7-Up and crackers.”

“How many children do you have?” Bernie asked.

“Three girls. Eight, ten, and thirteen.” Charlie chuckled as he got up and offered Bernie his chair by pointing to her and then to the chair. “Lucky for them, they all look more like their mother than they do me.”

“I guess your wife will be glad for you to wind things up here and come home to stay.” Bernie accepted the offered seat.

“I think I miss her and the girls more than they miss me.”

“I doubt that.” Bernie smiled. “Take it from somebody who was a daddy’s girl, at the ages your daughters are, there’s no other man in their lives as important as their father.”

Hensley brought in a folding chair, opened it and sat; then he reared back and placed his hands on his thighs. The guy swaggered when he walked, his every action proclaiming his cocky attitude, and there he was sitting back like he owned the world. Jim studied his deputy, but when the guy’s gaze met his, Jim focused on Bernie. She looked today as she looked every day. Neat and orderly. Brown slacks, white blouse, minimum of makeup, simple gold jewelry, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

As if sensing that he was staring at her, she turned and looked right at him. Their gazes connected and held. He smiled. She smiled. Jim figured they had the makings of a firm friendship. The more he got to know Bernie, the better he liked her.

Charlie tapped his fingers on the file folder lying on Jim’s desk. “I brought the preliminary report on Stephanie Preston. As we all know, her death was caused when the carotid arteries were severed when her attacker slit her throat, pretty much from ear to ear. Her throat was cut from left to right in a manner indicating the killer was behind her, probably on top of her, and that he jerked her neck backward and brought the knife down and across. There were no signs of defensive wounds, so it’s unlikely she tried to fight him. The knife had a smooth blade, which means no distinctive marks from the blade on the neck. And the knife was very sharp. The murderer probably made sure it was sharp because his intent was to end her life quickly and relatively painlessly.”

“I thought we had decided he had tortured her, so why would he care if her death was quick and painless?” Hensley asked.

“Good question.” Charlie glanced at Jim.

“He’d gotten whatever it was he had wanted from her, from raping her and torturing her,” Jim said. “When it came time to end things, he was through with her. All he wanted was to get rid of her quickly. I’d say he thought of the way he killed her as a reward to her for having given him what he’d needed from her.”

“What sort of sick mind would look at it that way, would believe that she’d given him anything?” Bernie frowned. “She didn’t give. He just took everything from her, even her life.”

“Our boy is not only one sick puppy, but he’s smart,” Charlie said. “He trimmed her fingernails and toenails and cleaned out from under the nails, leaving no trace evidence. And he washed her hair and her body before he dropped her off in the middle of nowhere.”

“Then he’s no run-of-the-mill nut case.” Bernie draped her right arm across her waist, then propped her left elbow atop her right fist and rested her chin atop her tilted left hand.

“You’re right—he is a nut case and definitely not run of the mill,” Charlie agreed. “Whoever he is, he likes rough sex, he likes to make his victim suffer and he’s smart enough to remove any evidence on the body.”

“What about any evidence from where her body was found?” Hensley asked.

Charlie shook his head. “Nada, at least so far.”

“And that’s about what we’ve got,” Jim said. “Nada. We’ve ruled out our three most likely suspects—the husband and two former lovers.”

“Yeah, their alibis checked out,” Hensley said. “So that leaves us back at square one.”

“If only someone had seen something the night Stephanie was kidnapped.” Bernie rubbed her thumb across her lips. “The last anyone saw of her, she had just exited the building and was heading toward her car. So what happened between the building and her car? There is no evidence she made it to her car, but then again there’s no evidence to indicate she didn’t.”

“Y’all didn’t find anything that belonged to her in the parking lot, did you? Not a notebook or scattered papers or her handbag or—”

“Nothing,” Bernie said. “And her purse and books weren’t inside her car either, which we figured meant she’d taken them with her.”

“Unless the guy who abducted her gathered up all her belongings after he nabbed her.” Jim tapped his fingers against the desktop as he mulled things over in his mind. “If she took the items with her, then I have one question. Why, if she was being abducted, would she have hung on to her purse and other items instead of trying to fight this guy off?”

“She didn’t fight him, did she?” Bernie tightened her left hand into a fist and huffed under her breath as she figured out Jim’s theory. “Damn it, she knew him. And for some reason, she went with him willingly.” Bernie looked straight at Jim. “Am I right? Is that what you’re thinking?”