Reed Teal put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her close. “You can’t do this, Spencer. It ain’t your call who she heals and who she don’t.”
Mr. Baker jumped in. “She healed that Mexican boy. Why isn’t my son good enough?”
Charlie took a step closer to the open door and narrowed his eyes. His voice was low and serious when he spoke. “Jim, you got no right to do this. She ain’t your daughter. She was given to this town, not just you.”
With the door open as it was, Jim was the only person between the small crowd on the porch and Louisa inside. He adjusted his feet so he could shut the door quickly if needed. “Folks, I’m going to ask you one more time, and then I’ll call the police. Please, go home.”
Charlie shook his head. “You can’t do this, Jim. You don’t have the authority. She belongs to this town.”
Reed’s face twisted into an angry scowl. “It ain’t right, Spencer. It ain’t right.”
Jim stepped back. “I’m going to close the door, and if you’re not off my property in ten minutes, I’m calling the police.” Then he pushed the door closed.
Outside he could hear Reed going on. “It ain’t right, Spencer. You can’t do this to us. We’ll be back. I ain’t lettin’ this go.”
Jim turned and leaned against the door. Only then did he notice two things. One, he was shaking and his heart was beating like a rabbit’s. And two, Louisa was on the sofa, nestled into Amy’s side, crying softly.
“Should I have called the police?” Amy said.
“No. I don’t think they meant any harm. They’re just frustrated, is all.”
Jim went to Louisa and knelt by the sofa. “Louisa, I’m sorry you had to be here for that.”
She sniffed. “They don’t understand, Mr. Jim.”
“Understand what?”
“It doesn’t come from me, and it’s not magic. They’re going to come back, and I won’t be able to help them.”
Amy rubbed Louisa’s arm, and Jim reached for her golden hair and stroked it. And for a long time before returning to bed they simply huddled together, wordlessly sharing grief and fear and comfort.
Chapter 42
ALICIA AWOKE EARLIER than usual, went for a jog, showered, and arrived at the Food Lion a full ten minutes before her shift started. Her dismissal of Derek yesterday had given her renewed energy, as if a backpack full of bricks had been removed from her shoulders. Her head seemed clear, her thoughts pure and positive. Her outlook on life had taken a 180-degree turn from where it was just a few days ago.
The only thing that still bothered her was the vision she’d had again. The shooter. Derek. She still had a gnawing in her gut that Derek was in trouble. But she’d tried to warn him, and he didn’t want to hear of it. So she tried to write the visions off as nothing more than her mind playing games with her, conjuring morbid thoughts to deal with some deep-seated guilt she felt about staying with Derek as long as she had. Or maybe a subconscious anger and resentment that she’d repressed for far too long were finally bubbling to the surface and manifesting itself in these visions of hers.
With ten minutes to pass before she needed to punch in and get to her register on the front line, Alicia headed for the break room to down a coffee. Rosie Jonquin was there, as well as Mary Beth Anderson, both seated at the small dinette table.
Rosie nodded at Alicia. “Well, look at you—” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “—strolling in ten minutes early. I ain’t never seen this before. You’re usually bustin’ your tail to get to the front before Eysler can pounce on you.”
Rosie was a middle-aged woman, a perfect pear shape, who kept her thick brown locks rolled tight beneath a hair net. She worked in the bakery and often boasted that she ate more than she sold.
“I got up early this morning,” Alicia said. “Even went for a run.”
“Whoa, now ain’t that a start to the day. You must be mighty proud of yourself.” Rosie winked at Mary Beth, an elderly woman with a lisp whose sole responsibility was to keep the doughnuts rotated and box up the day-olds for the discount rack. “You lookin’ to impress someone?”
“Nope. Just felt like running.”
“Since when does anyone just feel like runnin’?”
“My son runs,” Mary Beth said, nodding. “Every day. Miles he runs. Did I ever tell you—”
“About the time he did that Iron Man thingy in Hawaii? Yeah, about forty times.”
“Well, did I tell you how hot it was? That it—”
“Could melt the soles right off a pair of sneakers? Goin’ on thirty times.”
Alicia smiled and got a Styrofoam cup from the cupboard.
“You be careful runnin’ out there,” Rosie said. “You hear about the murders been happenin’?”
“It’s awful,” Mary Beth said.
Alicia turned and leaned against the counter, crossed her arms. “I am. I take my cell phone.”
Mary Beth leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers. “So far they’ve taken place at night. And to men.”
“But you never know when one of these wackos will change his MO,” Rosie said, shaking a spoon at her coworker. “You keep a close eye out when you run, girl.”
“Thanks for the concern, Rosie,” Alicia said, “but I think I’ll be fine as long as I run in town.”
“Hey,” Rosie said, “you hear what happened at the Spencer place last night?”
Alicia was used to Rosie’s gossip. She was the type of woman who knew everything about everyone in Virginia Mills. There was no telling how she found out most of what she knew, but she liked to talk, and when she got a hold of a juicy morsel, it wouldn’t be long before half the town knew. And they’d tell the other half.
“Nope.”
“You know they’re keepin’ that girl, right? The one from old Jake Tucker’s fire.”
“Yes. Louisa.” Alicia dumped sugar in her coffee and stirred it with a plastic spoon.
Rosie widened her eyes and dipped the corners of her mouth. “Oh, look at you, first-name basis with the girl and everything.”
Mary Beth laughed and leaned in. “Well, what happened, Rosie? What happened?”
Rosie’s eyes twinkled. “Well, I heard old Charlie Bucher and his wife went there with the Bakers, you know, the ones with the son who’s, watcha call it, mentally dismembered? And the Teals. Do you know Reed and Jessi?”
Alicia shook her head, and Mary Beth said, “No, but go on any-ways.”
“Well, Jessi has this disease, can’t think of what it’s called now, but it ain’t gonna get no better, and they went there for that girl to heal them, like she done that little girl and the Mexican boy.”
“And what happened?” Mary Beth’s eyes were as wide as quarters. “Did she do it?”
Rosie sat back in her chair. “No, she did not. What I heard is that Jim Spencer wouldn’t let her. Told ’em all to get off his property or he was callin’ the cops.”
Mary Beth gasped dramatically. “He had no right, no right at all. Why shouldn’t they get a healing too?” She rubbed her right shoulder. “And here I was hoping she’d take this rotary cup away from me.”
“Fat chance of that happenin’ now,” Rosie said. She rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell ya both what, though. Reed Teal ain’t happy, not at all. He did not appreciate bein’ driven away and threatened like that, not with his Jessi how she is. He’s not goin’ to take this sittin’ down.”
Alicia sipped her coffee. “Maybe Jim just doesn’t want the girl used as some circus side show. Maybe she was uncomfortable with it. You don’t know how it really happened.”
“Let me tell you something, little miss,” Rosie shook her finger at Alicia, “and I’ll tell anyone this. That girl’s got a gift, somethin’ special, and she should be sharin’ it with the world. She could take a whole lot of hurtin’ from people. Ain’t right to keep her hid away in the Spencers’ house. It just ain’t right. And word is gettin’ ’round town about it too.”
After
drinking the rest of her coffee, Alicia looked at her watch. It was time to go. “Well, I agree, she is special, but I think people should just leave her alone. She’s lost without her family. Poor kid. Think about it.”
“What if she ain’t got no family?” Rosie stood and tossed her soda can in the trash. “What if she’s an angel sent from God to cure the world’s hurts?”
Mary Beth stood as well. “You think she might be?”
“No tellin’,” Rosie said. She lowered her voice. “But I hear there’s a lot of murmuring ’round town about the whole thing. That Jim Spencer better be careful.”
Chapter 43
DOUG MILLER’S HEAD throbbed from the same headache he’d had since yesterday morning. He leaned over his desk, over the open mug of steaming coffee, and rubbed his temples. There’d been three more murders last night, this time at the Harman estate. More victims, more letters carved into flesh. P-E-C. The bodies had been laid out in the foyer, side by side, so when the housecleaner arrived for her morning duties, she’d be the first to find them. It was obvious now what the killer was spelling: respect. It didn’t take a professional profiler to see what he was after, what he lacked in life and craved more than anything.
And still there were no leads, no solid ones anyway. The CSU was coming up with nothing at every scene. No fingerprints, no hairs, no skin under the nails of the victims. A couple partial boot prints and tire tracks and grainy, black-and-white security footage from the Harman residence was all they’d been given so far. The footage showed a man, medium build, dressed in dark clothes, approaching the house. His face was obscured. He walked with an odd hitching gait, like he was walking on a bed of hot coals. The stride was obviously faked, which meant the killer knew he was being videoed and also knew there was a good chance he’d be recognized by his gait. Was it a local then? That would sure fit with what his gut was telling him.
The only person of any interest thus far was Jude Fabry. He was at the bar the night Billy Cousins died, at the diner when Clint Efforts was killed, he’d bought a weed whacker off Buck Petrosky just three days before murder number three, and he did some deck repair work on the side for the Harmans. Fabry was the only common thread. And he was local.
And then there were the reporters. Apparently word of the murders had gotten around and piqued the interest of the larger media. At the Harmans, Jackie had been accompanied by at least five other reporters and a television crew. Doug hadn’t taken the time to count as he drove past them on his way off the property. His headache had been so intense he didn’t want to talk to anyone. Then, just a few minutes ago, he’d foolishly agreed to do a press conference. He’d hold them off until tomorrow, Saturday, and hope his head would settle down by then.
Doug took a sip of his coffee and rubbed his temples again. If the killer was spelling respect, there would be one more victim. Would it happen tonight? And would the killer then stop? And then what? Just fade off into history as the Virginia Mills Murderer? Doug doubted it. Crazies like this were never satisfied; one lust led to another, and their hunger was never quenched. It only grew and grew and became bolder, more demanding, until eventually they made a mistake and got caught. But how many more lives would it take for this lunatic to get caught?
In the middle of another sip of coffee, Cindy Cummins, the officer on clerk duty, knocked on the door to Doug’s office, opened it, and stuck her head in. “Chief, Jim Spencer is here to see you.”
Spencer. Yes, the whole ordeal with the girl and her lost parents. Doug’s headache only worsened. He closed his eyes and stroked his mustache. “Send him in.”
She started to shut the door.
“Wait. Cindy?”
“Yes, Chief?”
“Get Officer Peevey in here.”
“He’s off his shift, sir.”
“I don’t care if he’s out to breakfast with the queen of England. I need him here.”
“Yes, sir.”
She shut the door.
Doug was going to have Peevey bring Fabry in for questioning. Hopefully they could hold him at least overnight. If there was no murder tonight, it would only strengthen their case against him, and if the questioning went his way, they might have enough probable evidence to place an arrest.
Another knock sounded on the door. It opened and Jim Spencer entered.
He nodded but looked uneasy, nervous about something. “Chief, how are you?”
“I’ve been better, Spencer. Have a seat.”
Spencer sat and crossed his legs. “Chief, we had an incident at our house last night. Nothing too serious, but I want you to know about it in case it turns into something serious.”
“Go on.”
“Some folks—locals—showed up on my porch around midnight demanding Louisa come out and heal them.”
“How many?”
“Seven in all.”
Doug cocked his head and tented his hands. He had a feeling it was going to come to this. “And did she?”
“No. I think the whole thing made her uneasy. It was all I could do to get them to leave. If they come back—”
“You’ll call us. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Of course not.”
Doug picked up a pen. “Who were they?”
Jim smiled sheepishly. “Well, I’d rather not say, Chief. They all left eventually, and I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. If they come back tonight, I’ll be sure to call you. I just wanted you to know what was going on. Any headway on finding Louisa’s parents?”
Doug spun the pen between his fingers. “Nothing yet. We’ve been kind of busy around here.”
“With the murders. I read about them in the paper. And the Harman murders were on the news this morning. People in town are talking; they’re scared. Tension is high, which I think is partly the cause of our visitors last night. Do you have any leads?”
Doug frowned by way of answer.
“Well, for what it’s worth, we’re doing fine with Louisa. Don’t worry about her a bit.”
“How’s Amy?”
“She’s really taken a liking to the girl.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Jim uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Chief, last night Louisa came into our bedroom; she had had a nightmare and it rattled her. She was in her house, and there was a fire.”
“Not uncommon for what she’s been through, with Tucker’s fire.”
“No, what’s remarkable is that she said she saw her mother in her dream. And she remembered what she looked like.”
Doug inched his chair closer to the desk and rested his elbows on the top. “Go on.”
“Well, the thing is, she swears the person she’s describing is her mother, said it was her mother in the dream, no doubt about it, but the person she described down to the eye color, hair color, build, height, everything . . . is Amy.”
Chapter 44
AFTER HIS VISIT with Doug Miller, Jim stopped at the Food Lion for a few necessities: milk, bread, iced tea, frozen waffles, and Neapolitan ice cream—the staples of a well-balanced diet. Business was slow for a Friday morning. As he gathered his items, he saw only three other shoppers in the whole store. They eyed him suspiciously, and two of them, an elderly couple, murmured back and forth as he passed and nodded a hello.
At the register there was no one in line. The clerk, a young woman, smiled at him politely and said good morning but did her job quickly and bagged his items. She tore the receipt from the register and hesitated.
“Mr. Spencer?”
Jim lifted one of the bags. “Yes?”
“Um, you don’t know me—”
“You’re the girl from the Red Wing. The one Louisa talked to.”
Her eyes flitted side to side as if she were scanning the area for prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. “I am.” She handed him the receipt. “I’m Alicia.”
“Hi, Alicia.”
She smiled but it was forced, to hide her apparent uneasiness. “Where is she?”
; “Louisa?”
“Yes.”
“She’s home with my wife.”
After glancing around the store again, Alicia leaned forward and almost touched Jim with her hand. “There’s talk around here, Mr. Spencer.”
“What kind of talk?”
Alicia lowered her voice even more. “When I saw Louisa in the diner, she touched me. Just placed her hand on my arm.” She rolled her eyes. “This sounds crazy, but there was something to that touch. It changed me somehow.”
Jim remained quiet and let her talk. What she’d experienced was what so many others now wanted.
Alicia looked around again and put her hands to her mouth, as if she were afraid some secret informant trained in the art of reading lips was hiding in the canned foods aisle, watching their conversation from a safe distance. “I heard what happened last night. At your house. I also heard people around here aren’t too happy about it. They’re planning to go back.”
“When?” Jim suspected they’d return sooner or later, but he hoped his hunch was wrong and that the people of Virginia Mills would have enough sense to let it go, to let a little girl be a child and either find her parents or get settled into her new home without a bunch of drama.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Now. Later. Tonight. Tomorrow night. It seems everyone is talking about it. They’re getting pretty stirred up too. These murders have everyone acting weird.”
“I know.”
“Be careful, please. Louisa, she’s a special girl.”
At once Jim’s skin began to tingle as if his nerves had been plucked like guitar strings. He lifted the other bags and nodded at Alicia. “Thanks for the warning. I better get going.”
A feeling of panic rose up suddenly, beat at the inside of his chest like a caged bird in hysterics. And suddenly a thought was there, a warning maybe, all neon lights and blinking in the dark. He needed to get home. Now. Amy and Louisa were in danger. He never should have left them alone, not after what happened last night. He’d put too much faith in the citizens of Virginia Mills, too much faith in mankind.
Reaching his car quickly, he threw the bags in the backseat, slid in behind the wheel, and cranked the engine to life. Not even bothering to look for oncoming traffic, Jim hit the gas and left the parking lot, the tires complaining with a high-pitched squeal.
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