Authors: Kylie Brant
Waking Evil 02 (49 page)
“Yessiree. Yer bad. Bad men get dead.”
He looked again, more carefully. Was that an elbow showing around that pine’s trunk? He moved to take cover himself.
“You’ll hafta go to the bad place. You made her dead. Dead is dead.”
He let out a breath. It was that freak Ezra T. He peered around the tree. Yeah, he was hiding around that pine all right. Skinny as a rail, he was almost undetectable behind it. “I’m not sure what you mean, Ezra T. Why don’t you come out here and we’ll talk ’bout it?”
There was a long silence. Then, “You got gum?”
What an idiot. Why was he allowed to run around loose? “Yeah, I got gum. Juicy Fruit. You like Juicy Fruit?”
“Dubble Bubble. I like me some Dubble Bubble.”
“Well, let’s see.” He pretended to check his pockets while he kept an eye on the pine. Ezra T. shifted, showing the edge of his shoulder. Not enough for a shot. “Well, lookee here, I do have some Dubble Bubble. Why don’t you come on over and you can have it.”
The loon actually moved closer. Quicker, though, than he expected, and heading for another tree. But it was enough time to bring the shotgun up to fire.
An ear-splitting screech told him he’d hit the freak straight on, too. Stepping away from the tree, he scanned the terrain to see where he’d fallen.
His goggles hazed. He rubbed them with one gloved hand, but when his vision didn’t improve, he pulled them off to check them.
And found himself surrounded by fog. It seeped up from the ground in a cloud of red vapor, thick and deep and suffocating.
Shock morphed to panic. He tried to wave it away. Took a few steps, attempting to find his way out of it. But it enveloped him. Blinded him to everything in his path. And with every passing second, it grew denser. The color of blood.
The red mist. His bowels turned to ice. He clawed at it when it seemed to wrap around his throat. Cut off his breath. His lungs strangled and his hands went up to claw ineffectually at his throat.
Almighty God, save your servant!
He forgot about Ezra T. Forgot about disposing of Kathleen Seburn’s belongings. All he could think about was escape. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. The blood was pounding in his ears. There was a fist in his chest squeezing the oxygen from his lungs.
Turning, he stumbled through low-hanging branches and trees. The fog seemed to wind around his feet, nearly causing him to fall to the ground. Dear God, it was up his nose, in his throat, seeming to expand so he couldn’t haul in air.
Carefulness forgotten, he ran, clumsy and blind, from the woods, his hands futilely trying to loosen the grip the red mist seemed to have on his throat.
“Where you off to this afternoon, Dev?”
Clem Leesom had ambled out of the Gas ’n’ Go to run a damp squeegee over Dev’s windshield in a desultory fashion. His place didn’t run to full service, but he provided it just the same if he was in the mood for a gossip, which he often was.
Dev regarded him out of the open driver’s window. “Just up to Knoxville for a few hours to see my mama.”
“Pretty day for a drive. You gonna spend the night?”
“Naw.” He was getting a later start today than he’d planned, but there was no way he’d consider more than a few hours in Celia Ann’s company. No way she’d welcome more.
“Ain’t been up to Knoxville in a coon’s age.” Finished with the windshield, Clem rounded the vehicle to draw closer to the window. “By the time you get up there and back, won’t leave much time for visitin’.”
“It’ll be time enough.” When the digits on the pump finally halted, Dev reached into his wallet and pulled out three twenties. “Damned oil companies. Robbin’ us all blind.”
“And squeezin’ folks like me right along with ya. I’ll go get your change.”
While Clem ambled into the shop, Dev shoved aside impatience. It wasn’t like he was anxious for the upcoming scene with his mama. She hadn’t been exactly open to the idea of him stopping in for a bit today, but he was unwilling to have this conversation over the phone.
When he’d gotten up to return the records to Leanne, Ramsey had insisted on rising, too, and gathering up her laundry before heading back to the motel. While he would have preferred to return home and slip back into bed with her, he knew he should be thankful she’d spent the night. At least the few hours that had constituted night. She wasn’t a woman it paid to push, and she’d been through a wringer with that phone call from her brother.
His chest went tight. He had as much empathy as the next person, but he didn’t ever recall this overwhelming surge of rage that squeezed his heart in a vise when he thought about someone hurting her. She’d been let down by the very people in her life who should have protected her. It was no wonder she’d built defenses. After what she’d been through, most people would have constructed a damn fortress.
Clem strolled back at a pace only a notch above snail-like. Ponderously, he counted back Dev’s change. “There you go. You have yerself a nice day.”
He peeled off a five and handed it to the man. “Thanks, Clem. You do the same.”
A genuine smile settled on the man’s seamed face. “That’s right mannerly of you, Dev. I ’preciate it. You tell your granddaddy hey for me, will ya?”
“I’ll do that.” He paused to return the rest of the cash to his wallet, unsurprised that the news about Benjamin had already reached Clem. A scare with his granddaddy was actually the reason he was late today. The assisted living facility had called to inform him they were taking Benjamin in for heart pains.
Dev had been experiencing heart pains himself by the time he got to Doc Theisen’s clinic. They hadn’t eased until Doc had finally put the equipment aside and agreed with his granddaddy’s assessment that he’d just had a bad case of heartburn. Brought on, Benjamin had insisted darkly, more by the unexpected company of Bunny Franzen and her damn dog than the fresh peach cobbler she’d brought him.
He’d accompanied his granddaddy back to the Manor Apartments and seen him inside. Made him comfortable. Not for the world would he have admitted his part in Bunny’s visit.
With a wave to Clem, who was still watching from the window, he pulled away from the station and took the county road that would lead out of town. And tried to dissolve the ball of dread tightening in his gut.
It was a couple hours drive to Knoxville, least the way he drove. Somehow in that time he’d figure out exactly what he was going to say to his mama.
As Dev pulled away from his station, Clem picked up the phone and squinted at the number scribbled on the piece of paper. He really needed glasses. Hettie was always nagging on him about that. He just hated to admit that the woman was right.
The call rang twice before a man answered. “That you, Banty? This here is Clem at the Gas ’n’ Go. You said I was to call ya anytime I noted Devlin Stryker headin’ outta town. Well, he just left and said he’s goin’ on up to Knoxville today. Plannin’ on comin’ back tonight, too.”
“You sure ’bout that, Clem? That he’s comin’ back tonight?”
“Sure as sure. He said it hisself. Now that I called you, we’re square, hear? You said you’d wipe out that twenty dollars I owe you from pinochle.”
“We’re square, Clem. You done good.”
Clem hung up pleased with the way the day had turned out. He’d made himself an extra twenty-five dollars, more or less, and there weren’t many days a body could claim that.
Whistling, he went to get the hose to spray off the drive in front of the station. While he worked, he wondered what practical joke Banty was going to pull on Dev. That Banty Whipple was a caution.
Clem couldn’t wait to hear about the prank he came up with this time.
Mark read the copy of the latest e-mail from the DC detective that Ramsey handed him. “I’ll send my chief deputy up there to get the evidence from Hopwood. I think you met him before. Stratton? First desk outside my door?”
Ramsey nodded. He was the same deputy who’d come to fetch someone to the morgue when Jim Grayson had contacted Mark, certain he would be identifying his daughter’s body.
“I trust him the most.” The sheriff grimaced, cracked his knuckles. “Which means I can spare him the least. But I’ll gladly take on extra hours while he’s gone if it gets us a step closer to solvin’ this thing.”
“Let’s hope.” She sipped from her coffee. Having tasted the brew Letty made here, she’d picked up two coffees from The Henhouse on her way over.
“Sure ’preciate this.” Mark indicated his cup. “Letty’s brew is strong enough to separate paint. Even though drinkin’ that swill is probably what’s goin’ to have her out-livin’ both of us.”
“Did Powell call you?”
He gave a slow nod. “Sure did. Sounds like they’ve got Sanders dead to rights. But can’t say I’m any closer to findin’ a relation of his here in town. I’ve actually been usin’ Kendra May’s online genealogy programs to find a match. They’re slick as snot. But nothin’s turned up yet.”
He hadn’t yet broached the topic she most wanted to discuss. “Did Powell tell about the possible link to Ashton’s church? Sacrosanctity?”
Rollins nodded again. “He said you were lookin’ for proof that the plant in the stained glass window at United Methodist was this turmeric you were talkin’ ’bout.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Did you find it?”
“Well, the guy I met with this morning from County Extension couldn’t be sure, although it was one of the plants on the list of possibilities he gave me. But . . .” She caught herself just before telling him that she and Dev had looked at the records last night. “. . . I went through the Ashton record books from the museum, and there are enough references to it to make me pretty certain.”
He looked mildly interested. “I’m not sure I knew there were record books from Ashton’s time in the museum. Huh.” Mark contemplated his coffee a moment. “I’m not goin’ to lie, it’s tough to wrap my mind ’round it.” He held up his free hand to stem any protest she would have made. “Not takin’ anythin’ away from your work, mind you. But landsakes, Ramsey. It was hard ’nough considerin’ that we have a murderer in our midst. Then came the possibility that the perp might be an honest-to-God serial killer.”
“We’re a ways from establishing that.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Now you want me to consider that our town’s foundin’ father was some sort of whack job, killin’ folk in the name of Jesus, and someone with ties to the area has that same bent of mind?”
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