The Dying Game (23 page)

Griff gave her a skeptical look, then changed the subject when he asked, “What time is your appointment with Sonya Todd’s boyfriend?”

“He’s supposed to come here to the Wingate at ten this morning.”

“If Judd’s okay—and I mean really okay—have him sit in on the meeting. Introduce him to this Dryer guy and let him know that Judd lost the woman he loved to the same killer. Common ground is always a good place to start a conversation.”

“After we meet with Paul Dryer, I plan to talk to some of Sonya’s neighbors this afternoon,” Lindsay said. “There’s always the possibility that someone knows more than they think they do.”

Griff nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “Why don’t you go ahead and take your shower? When Judd comes back, you two can go out for breakfast.”

“Are you suggesting a breakfast date?” She forced a smile.

Griff studied her closely as he finished off his coffee, then set the cup aside. “Judd is a damn fool.”

“Yeah, I agree. But he’s a damn fool still in love with his dead wife, and without some sort of miracle, I don’t think that will ever change.”

“Miracles happen.”

“Ooh, watch it there, Mr. Powell, you’re sounding rather philosophical this morning.”

Griff chuckled.

Lindsay placed her half-full cup beside Griff’s empty cup on the desk; then made her way over to her open suitcase sitting on the luggage rack. “How long are we going to be here in Tupelo?”

“I’m not sure. A couple more days at most. Unless we get a break in the case, there’s no need to stay.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if we actually caught him this time.” She removed a pair of clean panties and a bra from her suitcase before heading for the bathroom.

“Yeah, it sure would be great. And if Nic Baxter is the one to get him, that’s fine with me, but something tells me that if we’re the ones who crack the Beauty Queen Killer case, she won’t feel the same way.”

“She might. You never know.”

Lindsay went into the bathroom and closed the door before she realized she’d forgotten her toiletries case. Just as she opened the door, she heard Griff’s voice, low and deep. She peered into the suite. He was talking on his cell phone.

“How’s everything there?” Griff asked. “That’s good. I’m glad Barbara Jean seems to like Yvette.”

Lindsay started to interrupt, say excuse me, and retrieve her toiletries case, but Griff’s next comment stopped her.

“Run a check on Nicole Baxter for me,” Griff said. “Dig as deep as you need to. I want to know everything there is to know about her husband.”

Her husband?
Lindsay didn’t know Nic was married.

“Yeah, it was a surprise to me, too,” Griff said. “Look, keep this just between us. Understand?”

Lindsay eased the bathroom door closed. How did Griff know Nic was married? And why was he so interested in information about her husband? Surely he didn’t intend to use the info as leverage of some sort in dealing with Nic.

No, he wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t Griff’s style to use blackmail.

Are you sure?
she asked herself.

Just because she didn’t know of any instances where Griff had resorted to blackmail and intimidation, it didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of both. She had worked with him long enough to know he possessed some hidden depths, and she suspected something unspeakably horrific had happened to him during those ten mysterious missing years of his life, from age twenty-two to thirty-two. Something that had irrevocably changed him. Strengthened him. Hardened him.

Judd couldn’t say that he and Paul Dryer had bonded, but he understood what the guy was going through, and for the first time in a long time, he actually felt someone else’s pain. Dryer was still in that mind-fogged denial stage, where you were numb most of the time and still found it impossible to believe the woman you loved was dead. Dryer was in pain now, but it was nothing compared to the agony he’d feel in a few weeks. Judd had never actually spoken to a victim’s husband or boyfriend until now. After sitting in on this interview, he had an idea of what it was like for the police officers and FBI agents who had worked the various cases, what it was like for Griff and Lindsay, for anyone who had to see firsthand the devastation murder created in the lives of those left behind.

He knew what it felt like on the other side, from the victim’s husband’s point of view. But now he had an inkling of the toll it probably took on the people trying to solve the crimes.

Judd followed as Lindsay walked Dryer to the door of the motel suite. With tears glazing his eyes, the guy looked right at Lindsay.

“I hope y’all find him,” Dryer said. “When you do …”

Damn it man, don’t cry
, Judd thought.

Lindsay grasped Dryer’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you for talking to us.”

He nodded. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“You’ve done all you can do,” she told him.

Dryer turned to Judd and held out his hand. Judd hesitated, then shook the guy’s hand.

“Tell me it gets easier,” Dryer said. “Tell me that somewhere down the line the pain will go away.”

How the hell was he supposed to answer that? Was he supposed to be honest and tell this man that the pain would never go away?

Or was that actually the truth? He was no longer certain of anything.

When Judd didn’t reply, Lindsay said, “You’ll find a way to deal with what happened. It’ll take time, and you’ll never forget Sonya, but …”

“If you focus on the rage and hate, it will destroy you,” Judd said. “She wouldn’t want that for you, would she?”

Where the hell had that bit of wisdom come from? From
the depths of your twisted soul
, Judd told himself.

Dryer swallowed hard and clenched his teeth in an effort not to cry. With his face contorted in a agonized frown, he nodded, then hurried out the door and down the hall.

Lindsay didn’t respond as Judd had thought she would. She didn’t say, “Jenny wouldn’t want that for you either, would she?” Instead she said, “Since we skipped breakfast, I’m heading out for an early lunch before I have Devin drive me over to Sonya’s neighborhood. You can go with me or—”

“Lunch sounds good.”

“Okay.” She grabbed her shoulder bag off the bed.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go with you this afternoon.”

“Sure, it’s fine with me, but more than likely it won’t amount to anything.” Lindsay headed for the door. “But there’s always a chance that some stay-at-home busybody might have seen something.”

“Lindsay?”

“Huh?”

“About what I told Dryer …”

With her hand on the door handle, she paused and glanced back at him. “You gave him some good advice.” She opened the door, entered the corridor, and hurried away.

Was that all she intended to say? No lecture? No sermon?

Judd caught up with her when she was halfway to the lobby. “Wait up, will you?” When she slowed her pace, he added in a light tone, “You sure are in a hurry to eat.”

She didn’t respond, but waited until he was at her side, then immediately rushed through the lobby and outside to the waiting limo. Devin Chamness smiled and said good morning, then closed the limousine door after both Judd and Lindsay had slipped inside.

Judd waited for her to speak, waited for her to give him one of her famous lectures on straightening up and flying right. For nearly four years, she had been preaching the same sermon, doing her best to convert him to her way of thinking. Life is for the living. Her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. But after spending six months apart from Lindsay, he had come to realize just how much he had missed her. Missed her caring about him, worrying about him. Hell, he’d even missed her get-on-with-your-life speeches.

“About last night …” Judd said.

She kept her gaze focused straight ahead, apparently determined not to make eye contact. “You had a nightmare. I startled you. You thought I was Jenny. Beginning and end of story.”

She entwined her fingers together and placed her hands in her lap. Judd inspected her from head to toe, all the while wondering what she was really thinking.

“I knew who you were when I kissed you,” he told her.

She snapped her head around and glared at him, her gaze questioning him, silently accusing him of lying.

“The nightmare I had was about Jenny,” he admitted. “But it was about you, too. It was like most nightmares, all mixed up and screwy. It didn’t really make any sense.”

“Let’s just forget it, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Fine with me.”

I hurt you again, didn’t I? And this time, I didn’t mean to.

I’m sorry. Honest to God, I’m sorry
.

Ruddy enjoyed the lobster bisque almost as much as the delicious spice cake Cook had prepared for his lunch. One of the perks of being a multimillionaire was fine dining, even at home. He picked up the half-empty bottle of Stella Artois, a premium dry beer from Belgium that he especially liked, and carried it with him to his study. After closing and locking the door, he went straight to the bookshelves, removed one of the books, and pressed the button that opened the shelves to reveal his secret chamber. He flipped on a light switch that created instant illumination to this private “trophy room.”

But he wasn’t here to bask in past glories, to fantasize about all the kills he’d made. No, he was here to do some research, to seek and find the next pretty flower, ready to be plucked before she withered. If possible, he would prefer a blonde this time, but a brunette would do. After all, he had scored twenty points with Gale Ann Cain. She’d been his redhead for this year.

Only one redhead per year. That’s what he and Pudge had decided when they set the rules for their little game, almost five years ago. Redheads would be worth the most since they were rare. Blondes would be worth fifteen points and brunettes ten. With less than two months remaining until they tallied five years’ worth of scores, all he needed to win was twenty-five more points: One blonde and one brunette. It really didn’t matter in which order, did it? After all, even if Pudge found himself a redhead next time, he wouldn’t stay in the lead for long.

Ruddy picked up his laptop from the desk and carried it with him over to the comfy brown chenille armchair. He lifted up his feet, decked out in size ten Cole Haan shoes, on the matching chenille ottoman, and opened his computer. He loved modern conveniences, little things like wireless Internet.

As he played around with various sites, searching for just the right woman, Ruddy’s mind began to wander, back sixteen years ago. He had always hated family reunions, had thought them a useless plebeian pastime. But he’d been sixteen that year, still under his parents’ rule and had been given no choice but to attend the event. Every five years, the maternal side of his mother’s family met to celebrate their revered ancestors, those men and women who had first set foot in the New World in the late eighteenth century. One of his austere, four-times great-grandfathers had been a revolutionary war hero, a contemporary of Washington, Franklin, and Jefferson.

Absorbed in his memories of the past, his senses came into play. The sights, scents, and sounds of a weekend spent with relatives he barely knew and for the most part disliked. April in Louisiana was preferable to any of the summer months, but the moist heat of springtime had been unpleasant enough that year. Ruddy recalled his first glimpse of the antebellum mansion belonging to his mother’s third cousin. The structure hadn’t been all that impressive, just one more old house where distant relatives lived. His mother had an absolute passion for visiting aunts, uncles, and cousins, and she never missed a reunion. He had found the older generation little more than doddering fools; his parents’ age group social-climbing gossipmongers; and his own peers nothing but silly pea-brains.

All except Cousin Pudge, the owner of the old Louisiana mansion’s grandson. The fat, dark-eyed sixteen-year-old had appraised Ruddy as judgmentally as Ruddy had him. However, five minutes into their first conversation, they had known they would be friends for life.

Hmm…

Friends for life
.

How odd that they actually thought of each other that way, especially considering the terms of the deadly game they had been playing. Winner take all. Loser …

Ruddy preferred not to even consider the possibility of losing.

Losing was unthinkable.

If he lost …

But what if I win? Can I actually claim the ultimate
prize?

Perhaps a better question to ask himself was if he lost, would Pudge follow through and demand payment on their wager?

Tall, thin, with a birdlike appearance, silver-haired Janice Nix lived across the street from Sonya Todd. Out of half a dozen neighbors Lindsay had questioned, Janice was the first one to mention seeing a stranger jogging along Sunrise Avenue the day that Sonya was murdered.

“You’d never seen this man before?” Lindsay asked.

“No, I hadn’t seen him before and I haven’t seen him since. And I know everyone who lives in Pine Crest Estates.” Janice’s dark, beady eyes peered over the rims of her wire-frame glasses, her gaze riveted to Lindsay’s. “I’m the president of the Homeowners’ Association, so I keep close track of who moves in and who moves out.”

“Can you describe this man?” Lindsay held her breath. What if the man Janice had seen was the Beauty Queen Killer?

“Sure can.” Janice huffed. “He wasn’t much to look at. Not ugly, mind you, but very ordinary.”

When Judd asked, “How do you mean ordinary?” Lindsay glanced at him, silently cautioning him not to push this woman, not to frighten her the way he had Barbara Jean.

“You know, ordinary. Not short or tall. Not real fat or skinny. Maybe a little on the hefty side.” Janice looked from Judd to Lindsay, then back to Judd again. “It was hard to tell in those bulky sweats he wore. As for his age, I’d say late twenties, early thirties.”

“Can you describe him in more detail?”
Even if she can
give you a detailed description, that doesn’t mean he’s the
man who killed Sonya
, Lindsay reminded herself.