Someone was in the house.
Horrified, Shelby dropped her Bible and spun around.
The heavy thud of her heart stopped her breath. Fear gagged her, draining the strength from her limbs.
Her gaze flew around the room, seeking the intruder.
Where was he? In the closet? In the bathroom? Upstairs? Behind her?
She whirled around, checking the long drapes at the window for the telltale bulge of someone hiding there.
They blew inward and flipped slightly in a gentle breeze. Shelby knew she hadn’t opened the window.
Get out! Get out of here!
Her mind screamed the words, but she didn’t make a sound. Couldn’t move. The distant ringing of her cell phone made her head snap around. She barely heard it over the pounding of her pulse in her ears.
The phone was in her purse—out in the entryway on her grandmother’s cherry sideboard.
Was it a trick to get her to rush out there? Uncertainty and terror kept her rooted to the spot. Then the ringing stopped.
Please, Lord—please Lord—give me strength. Help me think.
She needed a weapon. From the coffee table, she snatched up the cut glass candy dish Wendy had given her for Christmas. It wasn’t much, but it helped to have something in her hands.
It took Herculean strength to move toward the kitchen. Her house phone hung on the wall just inside the doorway. If she could reach it, she could call 9-1-1.
Her gaze darted around the living room, checking every corner.
Where was he? What did he want?
A board creaked near the top of the stairs. The old house always creaked, but was that a footstep?
She managed a second step. A third agonizing movement brought her into contact with the wall. She pressed her back to it and relished the small sense of comfort. She worked her way to the kitchen door.
Taking her eyes off the living room to reach for the phone took more willpower than she knew she possessed.
Quickly, she grabbed the hard plastic receiver, punched in 9-1-1 with trembling fingers and held the phone to her ear.
Her eyes returned to scanning the room and the stairwell that led up to her bedroom. It took several seconds for Shelby to realize the phone in her hand was dead.
No dial tone. No police. No help.
“Why are you doing this?” She tried to shout the words, but they barely made it out of her dry mouth.
She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. “This is a bad dream.”
Only it wasn’t. She was so scared. Her ragged breathing changed to broken sobs. “Please, God, make this not be happening.”
Forcing herself to leave the relative safety of the wall, she flung herself across the kitchen. At the far counter, she dropped the candy dish to the floor and pulled a butcher knife from the rack. Whirling around, she held the knife in front of her with both hands.
The solid feel of the wooden handle gave her some much-needed strength. She checked the basement door to her left. The sliding bolt was still latched. No one had opened it.
She could get outside by going through the cellar, but there was no way she was going down those stairs.
Instead, she made her way back into the living room, keeping the wall at her back. Slide one step. Skirt the sofa. Get back to the wall.
Again, she heard creaking. Was it her rocker?
Shelby glanced from the stairs to the archway leading to her entryway. She could dart to the front door before anyone could get down the stairs.
If he was up there. If he was alone. If someone wasn’t waiting for her around the corner in the entry or in the coat closet beside the front door.
The sound of an engine outside made her think of Patrick. Would she ever see him again?
If she died tonight, he’d never know how much she cared.
Don’t think like that.
She’d reached the opening to the entryway. It was now or never.
Spinning around, she faced the open archway with her knife held out ready to stab anything that moved. Could she?
Oh, yes!
Slipping into the foyer, she quickly turned left, then right, checking the room. It was bare. She whirled around to check behind her. The living room remained empty.
The doorbell shattered the silence. She spun to face the front door. Was someone toying with her? Did she dare open it?
“Who’s there?” The words came out a harsh whisper. She swallowed hard.
Try again.
Loud pounding made her jump.
“Who’s there?” Her voice squeaked, but it was audible.
“Shelby, it’s Patrick.”
Safety. The air whooshed out of her lungs. She rushed to the door and yanked it open.
FOURTEEN
Patrick staggered back a step as Shelby launched herself into his arms.
“Thank God you’re here.” She clung to his neck. Sobs racked her body.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” He stoked her hair, trying to calm her.
Something clattered at his feet. Looking down, he saw she’d dropped a knife. A big knife.
Pushing free of his embrace, she frantically tugged on his hand. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”
He followed her relentless pull out to the street. “Shelby, what’s going on?”
“There’s someone—in my house. I was so scared.”
Fury roared through him. Whoever was doing this wouldn’t get away this time. “Stay here.”
She latched on to his arm with both hands. “No! Don’t leave me.”
Drawing her back into his embrace, he held her close. Torn between rushing off and consoling her, he chose the latter. “Okay, okay, you’re safe with me now. Did you call the police?”
“I tried—the phone’s dead.”
He extracted his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and dialed 9-1-1 with one hand.
An operator came on the line immediately. “What is your emergency?”
“I want to report a break-in at 921 Merchant Street.”
“Is the perpetrator still on the premises?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell them to hurry,” Shelby whispered against his chest.
Less than five minutes later there were two squad cars on the scene, their light bars flashing red and blue, illuminating the neighboring houses. Many of Shelby’s neighbors came out to watch.
The deputies listened to Shelby’s halting explanation of what had happened and then began a quick check of the house and the surrounding grounds.
Patrick waited beside Shelby, keeping one arm around her. It took less than ten minutes for the police to complete their sweep of the area.
Deputy Olson conferred with his partner on the front steps then came toward them. He tipped his head to one side as he studied Patrick. “Seems like you’re always around when Miss Mason has a fright.”
“Seems like you’re never around when she does,” Patrick replied, not liking the man’s tone.
“Patrick, please.” Shelby stepped in front of him and addressed Deputy Olson. “Did you find anything?”
“No, ma’am.”
“We don’t find any sign of a break-in.” Deputy Bertrand added.
“He wrote in my Bible. He, or she, or they—used red hairs to mark the place. How is that not a sign of a break-in?”
The men exchanged pointed looks. “You say the perpetrator left red hairs in your Bible?” Olson’s eyes narrowed as he peered at Shelby.
Twisting her hands together nervously, she said, “Yes. He used the strands like a bookmark.”
“Where is this Bible?” Deputy Olson asked.
“On the floor by my recliner where I dropped it.”
Again the men exchanged looks. Bertrand nodded. “I’ll check it out. Miss Mason, y’all come with me to see if anything is missing.”
Shelby started forward, followed closely by Patrick.
Deputy Olson stopped Patrick by putting one hand on his chest. “I’m afraid you’re gonna
have to wait here. I’ll take your statement while Miss Mason has a look around.”
One of Shelby’s neighbors, a woman in her midsixties, came across the street holding her pink bathrobe closed with one hand. “Land sakes, child. What’s going on?”
Shelby managed a slight smile. “Someone broke in, Mrs. Kelly.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just frightened.”
Deputy Olson tipped his hat. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask y’all to step back until we’re finished processing the scene.”
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “My goodness gracious, this is just like an episode from that crime show on TV.”
As Mrs. Kelly retreated to share what she knew with other neighbors, Shelby wished it were a television show and not her life exposed for everyone to see. She’d be the topic of speculation in every hair salon and grocery store in Loomis before noon tomorrow.
Even with the officer at her side, Shelby had a hard time reentering her own house.
The entryway looked the same as always. The dark hardwood floor gleamed in the light from the wall sconce. The dried flower arrangement was reflected in the mirror over the antique sideboard. Her purse was still lying there. Nothing had changed.
She shivered. Only nothing was really the same.
Deputy Aaron Bertrand stood beside her coat closet holding a plastic bag that contained her butcher knife.
Clasping her arms across her middle, she decided she was definitely getting that can of mace Wendy had been harping about.
The deputy nodded at her. “Can y’all tell if anything is missing, Miss Mason?”
She checked the contents of her purse. “Everything seems to be here.”
“How about the rest of the house?”
“I really don’t have anything of value. Some family jewelry, but it’s not expensive. I don’t keep cash on hand.”
“Take a look around. If you find something is missing later, you can always file a report then. I know this is hard. There’s no one else in the house. I checked.” His tone brimmed with understanding.
She walked into the living room. The phone lay on the floor where she had dropped it just inside the kitchen. She could hear the faint sound of an automated voice saying, “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try again.”
Baffled, Shelby looked at the officer beside her. “The phone was dead when I tried to call 911.”
He picked it up. “It seems to be working now.”
“I’m telling you, it was dead.” She hadn’t imagined it.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Glancing around the room, Shelby couldn’t see anything out of place. The deputy walked ahead of her up the stairs. She hesitated at the first tread.
This is my home. I will not be afraid in my own home.
Only she was. Very afraid. Someone had come in, watched her, written their evil words in her family Bible. How could such a devious person live among them without being detected?
She had no answers. Only faith that goodness would triumph in the end.
Forcing herself forward, she climbed the steps.
In her bedroom everything seemed in place. She opened the wooden jewelry box on her dresser. Her small diamond earrings were still there, along with her mother’s antique pearl brooch. Nothing had been disturbed.
She should be grateful that she hadn’t been robbed, but she wasn’t. Robbery she could understand.
Time to die, Shelzie.
Who wanted her dead? Why? None of it made sense.
And that made it so much more frightening.
Shelby walked through all the rooms in the house looking for anything out of place, but found nothing unusual. When they reached the living room again, she turned to Deputy Bertrand. Nothing seems to be missing.”
“That’s a blessing, ma’am.”
It was. She could be missing—like Leah.
Had her friend known the same kind of mind-numbing terror as someone stalked her? Shelby prayed she hadn’t.
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’d like my Bible back as soon as you’re done with it.”
“We didn’t find a Bible, Miss Mason.”
She spun around to stare at her chair. “I dropped it right there. Maybe it fell under the chair.”
Shelby sank to her knees and checked under all the furniture. Sitting back on her heels, she looked at him. “It’s gone.”
“All this fella took was a Bible?”
“Yes.”
“Odd thing for a thief to take, isn’t it?” The suspicion in his tone shocked her.
“You don’t believe me?” She scrambled to her feet.
“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying it’s an odd thing for a thief to take. You say there were red hairs in the book.”
“Yes.”
“Could it have been your own hair?”
She considered the possibility. “No. It was darker and short—only a few inches long.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
Shelby sucked in a sharp breath. “Red hair was found at the murder scenes of both Earl and Dylan. Do you think their murderer was here?”
“I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, Miss Mason.” He closed his notebook. “We’re still waiting to hear if your lipstick was a match to that on the mirror.”
“I didn’t write that note.”
“But you can’t produce the note you say you found on your car or this Bible?”
“Are you suggesting I’m making this all up?”
“Stranger things have happened. We’ll have our patrol cars come by frequently tonight. You’ll be fine if you keep all your doors and windows locked.” He turned and walked out.
Alone, Shelby clasped her arms across her chest and fought back a shiver as she glanced around the room. Would her stalker be back?
A sound made her whirl to face the entryway. Patrick stood watching her, his eyes filled with concern. He crossed the room and took her hand. She gripped it tight.
He jerked his head toward the door. “Come on.”
She followed him until they reached the sidewalk, where his pace quickened. She hurried to keep up with him. She had to. He had a death grip on her hand.
Death grip. Poor choice of words.
“Patrick, where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe. You’re not staying here alone. I’d offer to stay here with you, but I’m sure you’d object to that.”
She looked back at her house. “At this point, not as loudly as you might think.”
When they reached his bike parked across the street, Shelby slipped on behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I thought your bike was broken.”
“It’s leaking a little oil, but it’ll run.” He patted her hands.
Shelby loosened her grip. “Too tight?”
“No, you can hold on tighter if you need to.”
She took him up on his offer. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere this nutcase won’t expect you to go.”
“L.A., Paris, Cincinnati?”
The roar of the engine drowned out his chuckle and soon they were cruising through the streets of town.
He made sharp turns and took occasional shortcuts through alleys. Shelby realized he was trying to make sure they weren’t being followed. She checked behind them frequently but never saw anyone.
When they reached the edge of town, he sped up and the night blew past as they flew down the highway. If only the rush of wind could blow her fear away as well.
Several miles from town, Patrick slowed and turned onto a rutted dirt track that led back into the bayou.
The rough road made slow going on the bike. Trees pressed in close. Spanish moss from the limbs overhead brushed against her in the darkness like ghostly fingers. The damp air held the smell of rotting vegetation underlying the pungent scent of the woods.
Once, something flapped past them. A heron, perhaps, disturbed by their passing. T
he bumpy road finally ended, and Shelby looked over Patrick’s shoulder to see a small cabin tucked back into the trees. Light poured out the windows, proving someone was home.
He killed the bike engine, and the chirpings, croaking sounds of the swamp took over the night.
Resting her cheek against Patrick’s back again, she didn’t get off, but stayed put with her arms around him.
He was so warm and strong.
He covered her hands with one of his own. They sat in the dark without speaking, without moving. Simply drawing strength from their contact.
The front porch light snapped on and a man’s voice called out, “Who’s there?”
FIFTEEN
Taking Shelby’s hand, Patrick led her up to the porch. The look of surprise on Wyatt’s face in the yellow light from a single bulb over the doorway would have been comical if things weren’t so serious.
“Wyatt, I need a favor.” Patrick drew Shelby in front of him and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Shelby needs someplace safe to stay tonight.”
Patrick heard Wyatt’s wife call out from inside the house. “Honey, who is it?”
A second later, she appeared at his elbow drying her hands on a white dish towel. Dressed in jeans and an oversized shirt that looked like it might belong to her husband, Barb’s cheerful round face registered curiosity, surprise and then recognition in quick succession. “Shelby Mason, what are y’all doing here?”
Shelby twisted her head to look up at him. “Patrick, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“What’s going on?” Wyatt demanded without moving out of the doorway.
Patrick met his gaze. “Shelby is in trouble. Someone has been making threats against her. They broke into her home tonight.”
“And you brought her here?” Wyatt’s brows snapped into a frown of displeasure.
“You poor thing.” Barb pulled her husband’s arm off the doorjamb and started to open the screen door. “Y’all come right in. How horrible. I don’t know what this town is coming to when a body isn’t safe in their own home.”
“Barb, this is none of our business,” Wyatt said as he gripped her shoulder.
Patrick sighed. “I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t know who we can trust.”
An odd expression flitted across Wyatt’s face. “Why trust me?”
A Cloud of Suspicion Page 13