Marly let out a shaky laugh to relieve the tension. Now she really was letting her imagination run wild. Next thing she knew, she would be doing something totally against her will because the killer had taken control of her mind—
Another noise froze her in her tracks. This time Marly recognized it instantly. It was the sound of her own voice. She had started to sing, softly, mindlessly, a tune that had tormented her sleep for years.
Gloomy Sunday…Gloomy Sunday…Gloomy Sunday…
Chapter Six
The rain came down in a steady drizzle the next day as Deacon drove over to Sam Jessop’s house to see the garage apartment he’d heard Nona Ferris mention. He’d called first thing that morning to set up an appointment, and Sam had agreed to meet him there after school.
Deacon’s first impression on meeting the man face to face was that he didn’t look anything like his sister. But as Sam led the way up the outside stairs to the apartment, Deacon caught flashes of Marly in his profile, in the stubborn set of his jaw and chin.
He wondered briefly what she would say when she found out he intended to rent her brother’s apartment or how she would react if she knew he considered Sam Jessop a viable suspect even though Camille had yet to turn up anything incriminating on either Sam or Navarro. Or even Fort Stanton, for that matter.
But Deacon had learned a long time ago to listen to his gut. His instincts had told him that Marly was the one who could help him find the killer, and they were telling him now that Sam Jessop was a man with a secret.
Sam turned at the top of the stairs, his gaze dark and wary. “The place is pretty small. Hope you’re not claustrophobic.”
The place was tiny, in fact, but Deacon liked what he saw. Oak floors, beamed ceilings, and tall windows that would let in plenty of light if the rain ever let up.
The furnishings, however, left a lot to be desired. The maroon sofa was in good condition, but the style was from a different era, as were the other odds and ends of furniture and knickknacks.
“What do you think?”
Deacon walked into the apartment and glanced around. “Not bad. It may be just what I’m looking for. Assuming, of course, the rent is reasonable.” Not that it really mattered. Deacon wasn’t overly concerned about the money. He was more interested in being able to keep tabs on Sam Jessop’s comings and goings.
Sam named a figure, and Deacon nodded without a quibble.
“So how long did you say you’re in town for?” The question was casually asked, but Deacon sensed there was more than curiosity behind it.
“I didn’t say. My plans are up in the air at the moment.”
Sam nodded, but he didn’t look particularly satisfied by the answer. “How did you happen to hear about the apartment anyway?”
“Someone in town mentioned that you had a place for rent.” Deacon shrugged. “I was in the market so I decided to come by and have a look.”
“Even though you don’t know how long you’ll be staying in town? A little unusual to rent an apartment under those circumstances, isn’t it?”
“I won’t skip town in the middle of the night, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Deacon assured him. “In fact, I’ll pay you three months rent plus the security deposit up-front.”
Sam lifted a brow. “Just like that? You don’t want to see the other rooms?”
“No need to. I like what I’ve seen so far. Besides, I don’t want someone coming along and renting it out from under me.”
Sam gave a wry chuckle. “You obviously haven’t been in town long. We don’t exactly have a booming real estate market here.”
“Do we have a deal then?”
“We have a deal.” Sam offered his hand, and the two men shook. “When do you want to move in?”
“The sooner the better,” Deacon said. “Tonight if possible.”
Sam looked surprised. “That soon? I’ve done some painting and cleaning in here, but the place could still use a good airing.” He ran his hand over the top of a table, as if inspecting the surface for dust.
Deacon watched his future landlord move about the apartment. Even if Nona Ferris hadn’t mentioned that Sam Jessop had been in the service, Deacon would have known by the way the man carried himself, by the way he walked, even in the way he spoke. Deacon suspected Sam had spent several years in the military, and the discipline, as well as his experiences, was now deeply ingrained in his psyche.
Sam glanced up. “Do you have family in the area, Mr. Cage?”
“Deacon. And no. I don’t have anyone in town. Actually, I came here to look up an old acquaintance, and I liked what I saw so I decided to stay awhile.”
“Kind of an odd place to settle down for a man without connections,” Sam observed. “There’s not a lot to do around here.”
“Luckily I don’t require much in the way of entertainment.”
Sam started to say something else, but his cell phone rang, and with a murmured apology, he extracted the unit from his pocket and walked over to the window, keeping his voice low so that Deacon couldn’t overhear the brief conversation. When he turned back around, he was frowning. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to go.” He strode to the door. “You can stay as long as you want, just lock up when you leave. Oh.” He tossed Deacon a key. “You’ll need this to get back in.”
“What about the money?”
“Bring it over to the house when you come back. And if you need help moving in your stuff, just let me know.”
“Thanks, I will.”
A second later, he heard Sam’s footsteps clatter down the outside stairway.
Deacon walked over to the window and pulled back the shade. He watched as Sam hurried through the drizzle to the safety of the covered patio attached to the main house. But instead of going inside, he paused to glance up at the garage apartment.
Deacon stepped back from the window, but he could still see Sam on the patio below him. There was an odd expression on the man’s face, one Deacon didn’t know how to interpret. But it set off warning bells inside him just the same.
After a moment, Sam Jessop turned and disappeared inside the house.
MARLY HAD ONLY BEEN TO HER grandmother’s house a few times since Sam bought the place from their parents, but not because she didn’t like to spend time with her brother. The two of them had grown quite close since he’d left the service and moved back to Mission Creek.
But the house held too many bad memories. Gruesome memories. Memories that had caused Marly nightmares for years, although, truth be told, she’d never felt that much sorrow at her grandmother’s passing. Isabel Jessop had been an embittered old woman whose only pleasure in life had been derived by inflicting misery on others, especially Marly’s mother.
Isabel had been tyrannical, egotistical and, more often than not, downright cruel, but to Marly’s dismay and her mother’s credit, Andrea Jessop had never said a word against her mother-in-law. In fact, Andrea had been the only one to worry when the old lady hadn’t shown up for church on that fateful morning.
The rest of that day was burned into Marly’s memory. Even now she could still see her grandmother’s feet swinging in a stray breeze from somewhere inside the house. Marly could still picture the lilac dress, the missing shoe, and the glitter of those diamond earrings. And she could still hear that music.
Drawing a deep breath, Marly pressed her thumb to the doorbell. When the door finally opened, she was momentarily taken aback by the strange face she saw through the screen. Then she recognized him and blurted, “What are you doing here?”
Max Perry gave her a quizzical look. He was the guidance counselor at the local high school and had been working closely with the police department since the two students’ deaths. “Sam invited me to dinner. Will you be joining us?” he queried politely.
“Uh, no. I just came by to see him for a minute. Is he here?”
“He’s gone over to the garage apartment to make sure everything is in order for his new tenant.” Max motio
ned her inside. “Come on out to the kitchen. He should be back soon.”
As he led her down the narrow hallway, Marly couldn’t help noticing how perfectly at ease he seemed in her brother’s house. She, on the other hand, had to fight the urge to glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t leaving muddy footprints.
Out in the kitchen, Max walked over to one of the glass-fronted cupboards and took down two cups. “Coffee? I just made it.”
“No, thanks,” Marly murmured, struck again by how at home he seemed in her brother’s kitchen.
“Oh, that’s right.” He poured himself a cup. “Sam mentioned that you’re not a coffee drinker. You’re probably better off for it. I’m sure I drink too much of the stuff.”
“I didn’t realize you and my brother were such good friends,” Marly remarked curiously.
He shrugged. “Well, we work together, you know. And with all the turmoil at school lately, we’ve all more or less bonded.”
Carrying his cup over to the table, he motioned her to a chair across from him. “I heard about Ricky Morales. They said on the radio that the cause of death hasn’t yet been determined, but naturally there’s speculation that it’s another suicide.”
Marly watched him lift the cup to his lips. He had nice hands, she noticed. His nails were neatly clipped, filed, and buffed—in much better shape than hers. Self-consciously she folded her hands in her lap. “We’ll know more after we get the autopsy results.”
Max nodded. “If it does turn out to be suicide, then it’s more important than ever that we start a suicide hotline.”
Marly knew that Max had been discussing the feasibility of a hotline with Navarro. She thought it was a good idea. “I understand you’ve also been holding some after-school meetings where kids can come and talk about what happened. How do you think they’re handling the situation?”
Max ran a hand through his wavy hair. “It’s hard to tell at this point. These suicides are troubling for everyone. I’m thinking about opening up the meetings to the whole community. The students aren’t the only ones who need support at a time like this.”
Marly couldn’t have agreed more. “Have you ever seen anything like this, Max?”
He toyed with his coffee cup. “No, but I’ve read about it. Sociologists refer to it as cluster suicides.”
Marly paused. “Can I ask you something?”
He flashed her a charming smile, one that made him look ten years younger. “You can ask me anything.”
“Even if it sounds…totally off the wall?”
He grinned. “Now I’m intrigued.”
“Do you know anything about mind control?” she asked tentatively.
The question clearly startled him.
“I guess what I’m asking…” She paused and bit her bottom lip. “This may sound crazy, but I guess what I’m asking is if it’s possible for these suicides to be caused…by someone else.”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure I follow.”
She slid a hand through her damp hair. “Is it possible, in your opinion, for someone to manipulate another person’s thoughts to the extent that they can cause that person to do something he or she wouldn’t ordinarily do?”
Curiosity flickered in his eyes. “You mean like brainwashing?”
She nodded. “I guess. I know it happens in cults.”
He thought about it for a moment. “It’s true that charismatic cult leaders have been known to be extremely persuasive. Charles Manson was even able to induce his devotees to perpetrate heinous murders. And I suppose you could even argue that women who remain with abusive husbands are suffering from a form of mind control. So, yes, I guess it is possible, but I don’t think it very likely in this case. The victims don’t seem to be connected, and even in incidences of cluster suicides there’s usually a common thread. Age. Location. Or in the case of the Midwest farmers back in the 1980s, their occupation. We don’t have anything like that here, do we? Unless I’m missing something?”
Before Marly could question him further, the back door opened, and she was almost relieved to have their conversation interrupted. She had a feeling she’d been on the verge of blurting out everything Deacon Cage had told her, and the last thing she wanted was to start rumors. The town was edgy enough.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” her brother said. He came over and gave her a quick hug. “You’re staying for dinner, I hope.”
“I was just about to try to persuade her.” Max got up to top off his cup. He didn’t come back to the table, Marly noticed, but stood leaning against the counter, one foot crossed over the other as he sipped his coffee.
Marly rose, too. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t stay. I just came by to see if I could look through some of Grandmother’s things.”
“Don’t tell me you want a keepsake,” Sam teased her. “Something to remember our loving grandmother by.”
Marly gave him a wry smile. “Look who’s talking. I’d say you have the ultimate keepsake. How you stand living here is beyond me.”
Sam shrugged. “I’ve always liked this place. It’s a great old house. Has good bones.” He glanced around with pride. “Besides, I’ll take great pleasure in exorcising Isabel’s ghost from each and every room.”
Marly suppressed a shudder. She didn’t think that would happen no matter how much he renovated and redecorated.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” Sam asked her.
“Her old 78s,” Marly said. “She had quite a collection the best I remember.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to look through all that stuff myself.” Sam opened a cupboard and took down a jar of spaghetti sauce. “All her records are still in her bedroom, I think. The old phonograph should be up there as well. You want me to come up and take a look with you?”
“No, thanks, I can manage.”
His gaze flickered, and Marly knew he was remembering, just as she was, the last time she’d been in their grandmother’s bedroom. “Sure you don’t need some help?”
“I’ll be fine. You two enjoy your dinner.”
Marly exited the kitchen, and was halfway up the stairs when she thought of something else she wanted to ask her brother. She backtracked down the hall to the kitchen, then paused in the doorway, her question frozen on her lips.
Sam had joined Max at the counter, and the two of them stood with their backs to Marly. They were staring out the window, speaking in low tones, and Max’s hand was on Sam’s sleeve.
The intimacy of the gesture sent a shock wave through Marly. Quietly she backed away from the door, then turned and hurried down the hallway toward the staircase.
Chapter Seven
Pausing at the top of the stairs, Marly switched on the hall light, then glanced around, trying to reorient herself to the second floor. Even as a child, she’d rarely been in this part of the house. The upstairs had been off limits. When the family had made their biweekly visits, Isabel had allowed Marly and Sam only into certain rooms. Most of the time they had been relegated to the front porch or the backyard where they could be seen and not heard.
But every once in a while, Marly and Sam would sneak away to explore. Sam loved the attic with all its hidden booty, but Marly had always been drawn to her grandmother’s bedroom. The beautiful hand-blown perfume bottles and pots of face cream she kept on her dressing table was an irresistible lure to an adolescent girl who wasn’t even allowed to wear clear fingernail polish.
Marly’s father had once caught her sampling her grandmother’s lipstick, and she could still remember the icy rage in his voice as he’d ordered her to scrub her face and then come downstairs to face the music. She’d descended slowly, in great dread, never so terrified of his temper.
Her grandmother had stood beside him at the bottom of the stairs, her aging face twisted in smug self-righteousness. “See there, Wesley,” she crowed in triumph. “I’ve told you over and over those kids are out of control. They’re nothing but ill-bred, disrespectful little heathens,
and you can thank your misguided wife for their abominable behavior. Perhaps if she would have spent a little more time with them instead of with that fancy shrink in San Antonio, the two of them might have learned some manners.”
“Don’t worry,” her father said coldly. “I’ll handle this.” He took Marly’s arm and hauled her across the foyer and out the front door to the porch.
He didn’t kneel so that he could talk to her face to face, but had remained towering over her, his face rigid with fury. “Your grandmother is right. You’re a disgrace, Marlene Louise, and it’s high time you were taught a lesson about respecting other people’s property.”
He’d never hit Marly before, but there was something in his eyes that day, something…out of control.
Sam must have sensed it, too, because he charged up the porch steps, his fists clenched, his eyes just as fiery as their father’s. “Leave her alone!”
Their father whirled in surprise, caught off guard by Sam’s outburst. And when he started toward him, Sam refused to back down. He stood his ground, even when their father grabbed him, dragged him into the yard, took off his belt, and laid into him. Marly stood crying on the front porch as she watched, but Sam didn’t shed a single tear. And when their father was finished, her brother straightened, looked him right in the eye, and saluted.
The gesture infuriated their father even more, but from that day forward, it seemed to Marly that he treated Sam with a bit more respect. And from that day forward, Sam had been Marly’s hero.
The memory faded, replaced by a more recent image—Max Perry’s hand upon her brother’s arm. Marly filed that memory away, too. She didn’t have time to think about it now, but later she would. Later she would take it out and analyze it, turn it this way and that and try to figure out what it might mean, but for now she needed to concentrate on the business at hand.
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