by T. L. Haddix
“I do, and I appreciate your honesty. There was a reason I had Zora contact you, Beth, and your loyalty to your sources was primary.” A group of joggers came by, and he fell silent until they had passed. “Do you have a theory about what’s going on?”
Beth shrugged and studied him. “I have some tentacles of ideas, but not the body yet. What about you?”
He sat forward and leaned his arms on his knees, hands loosely clasped between his legs. Watching the river, he shook his head. “I don’t like it. This has an angry feel about it, and it’s more than a little insidious. Whoever is doing this - they’re serious. Not about Satan, maybe, but about whatever it is they’re doing, and using these tactics to cover it up.” He fell silent, and they both watched a large barge train move upriver.
“I get the same feeling. I just can’t prove anything yet. So what is it that you need from me?” she asked.
“I need to know if you’re planning on writing about this any more than what you already have, and I want to ask you to try and turn attention away from us if you do write about it.” When he saw the incredulous look on her face, he held up a hand and continued. “I don’t expect you to compromise your journalistic integrity. That’s not what I’m asking. I’d just like to plead for a fair shake.”
After a minute, she conceded his point. “Do you mind if I quote you?”
“As long as you keep me anonymous, I don’t care what you use.” He checked his watch and stood. “Why don’t we head back to the parking lot and you can ask me whatever else it is you need to know?”
They started slowly up the path, and she asked him more detailed questions about his group and their practices. By the time they reached her SUV, their discussion had moved from an interview to more of an intellectual debate.
“What would you classify yourself as?” she asked, curious about his beliefs. “And is Gordon your last name or first?”
His grin showed the whiteness of his teeth against his tanned face. “Let’s just leave it at Gordon for now. I’d be considered agnostic. I’m not a Satanist, not a pagan, not an atheist. There are, however, members of most all those beliefs in my group.”
“So, agnostic. Meaning you neither deny nor accept the existence of God, basically? As opposed to an atheist who denies God exists?”
“Pretty much,” he confirmed, sobering. “I was raised in a household where religion was an all-consuming power, and its tenets were used as weapons more than once. As an adult, I rebelled against that blind obedience, and then after a couple of painful losses, I just walked away from the concept of God.” He crossed his arms as he spoke, the movement telling her how uncomfortable he was with the topic.
“That’s very sad to me. I’m not a regular churchgoer, but I do believe in God. Whether he’s a figment of my imagination or real, I find comfort in the thought of his presence.”
“I almost envy that faith.” His eyes moved to something over Beth’s shoulder, and his expression became guarded. “Looks like we have company.”
She was unable to hold back a frustrated growl when she saw Chad Ormsby walking across the parking lot toward them. He had called her several times since the reception, but she was dodging him, deleting his messages in the hopes that he would get the idea without her having to spell it out for him. Apparently, he was either too dense or too arrogant to take the strong hint. She turned back to Gordon, who was frowning at her expression.
“Want me to stick around?” he asked.
Disgusted by her cowardliness, she nodded and moved to stand beside him, her back to the vehicle. As strong as she was, there was something about Ormsby that set off a warning bell deep inside her, and she didn’t particularly want to be alone with him. “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it.”
Ormsby glanced at Gordon with disapproval as he reached them, then focused his attention on Beth, reaching a hand out toward her. His smile faded a bit as she crossed her arms and drew back from his touch.
“I was driving by and saw you. I thought I’d stop and make sure everything is okay. You haven’t returned my calls.” His tone was accusing.
Gordon interrupted, clearing his throat. “I’m going to make a call. Just whistle if you need me.” He deliberately moved between them as he walked toward the sidewalk, forcing Ormsby to take a couple of steps back.
Beth waited until Gordon had reached the sidewalk before she spoke to the doctor. “No, I haven’t returned your calls. I thought you understood from before that I’m not interested in dating you.” She kept her tone polite, but firm.
Ormsby froze as she spoke, and for an instant she saw something flash in his eyes that frightened her. “I see.” He glanced at Gordon. “You do like those dark, ethnic types, don’t you? I won’t hold it against you. If you decide you want something a little more… let’s say, highbrow? You know where to find me.” With a smirk that infuriated Beth, he turned and walked back to his car, leaving her standing there with her mouth open, temper building. Just as she pushed off from the Beast to go after the pompous jackass and let him have a piece of her mind, Gordon returned, and the doctor drove away. She tried to calm herself, but didn’t have a lot of success.
“What’d he say?”
“Nothing worth repeating,” she ground out, fuming. “I’m sorry, Gordon. Where were we?”
“Actually, I believe we were pretty much finished. I’d better get out of here and let you get to your early appointment.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, then handed her a business card. Reading it, she laughed and shook her head.
“Why am I not surprised?” The only information on the card was the name “G. D. Gordon” and a phone number, notably with a 502 area code. That told her that his phone, at least, was registered in Kentucky. “What do the initials stand for?”
“Call me sometime and I might tell you,” he said, his voice quiet. “I mean it. Call me anytime. It doesn’t have to be about this whole devil worshipping mess. I’ve enjoyed talking with you, and I wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again in a more social setting.” His gaze was intent on her face, and she felt herself blush. Silently cursing her fair skin, she held out her hand, and they shook again. His grasp lingered just a little longer on hers than necessary. “One more thing – do you have a brother named Chase?”
Beth narrowed her eyes at him. “I do. Why?”
He grinned. “Just tell him Gordon says ‘hey.’”
Before she could question him any further, he gave her a quick salute, and headed across the street to a low-slung black sports car.
“Of course it would be black.” She gave a rueful laugh as she got into the Beast. Waiting while he backed out and drove down the street, she wanted to see if she could catch his license plate number. She was not as surprised as she should have been to see that the plate was covered in mud. She grabbed her phone and called Chase.
“Hey, sis. What’s up?”
“Do you know a guy named Gordon? Tall, with black hair, flair for the dramatic?”
“You mean Galen Gordon?”
“I don’t know his first name. It could be, though – his initials are G. D.”
Chase laughed. “Yeah, that’s him. I don’t know about the flair for the dramatic, though. Why? Where’d you come across Gordon? I’ve not heard from him in years.”
“Well, he kind of came across me. It doesn’t matter. What can you tell me about him?”
“He’s – hang on a second.” He put her on hold, then came back on the line. “I have to go. Gordon’s a good guy. We went to school together. I’ll have to tell you the rest later, though. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Sure. See ya later.”
Slipping the phone back into her bag, she put the Beast in reverse, and headed back to her apartment. It had been a surprising morning. Gordon - and Chase, for that matter - had given her a lot of food for thought, and she wanted to take a few minutes to record her impressions before getting cleaned up for her next appointment.
&n
bsp; Chapter Thirteen
Wednesday was shaping up to be a crazy day, to say the least. There was a strong wind blowing, a “hell wind” as Beth’s grandmother would have called it. Another front was moving through with the weather forecast calling for turbulent storms that afternoon. Beth struggled to open the door of the newspaper, her arms full. Finally getting the door open, she was pushed through by another gust of wind and stumbled up to the reception desk. Vanessa stood up and came to help her, smiling at the surprised look on Beth’s face.
“A little squirrely out there this morning?” she teased.
Beth shuddered. “You could say that. The wind is something else. For a minute there I felt like one of those TV news anchors that gets blown sideways during a hurricane.” She straightened her hair, which had been blown loose from its twist, and smoothed it back into place. “How are things this morning, Van?”
“Okay. Calm, so far. You did have a package delivered, though. It came just a few minutes ago.” She pointed at the small, thin shipping box on the counter. It was roughly the size of a shirt box and wrapped in plain brown paper.
Beth picked it up, frowning as she read the return label. “It’s from the Harbison Law Office.” She flipped the package over and gently shook it. “Whatever it is, it’s lightweight.”
“Weren’t you expecting it?” Vanessa handed her a pair of scissors, and watched as Beth carefully slit one end of the wrapping on the box.
“No, I wasn’t.” She slid the box out of the paper and sat it down, then glanced up to meet Vanessa’s troubled gaze. “Is Marshall in this morning?”
“He is, and your grandfather is, as well. Want me to buzz him down here?”
Beth shook her head. “No, let me open it and see what it is, first. I’m probably just being paranoid.” Using the tips of the scissors, she eased the lid open on the box and pushed it back to expose the contents. As she folded the tissue paper back, she drew in a sharp breath.
“Okay, now that’s weird.” Vanessa looked inside the box, which contained a wispy, lace-trimmed slip with a folded piece of paper lying on top of it. “A negligee? You have some new beau you haven’t told me about?” The teasing humor left her voice as she saw Beth’s grim face.
Using the scissors again, Beth carefully unfolded the note. Her mouth tightened as she read. Vanessa reached for the note, but Beth stopped her, shaking her head.
“What does it say?”
“Call Marshall, Van. Please.” As Vanessa paged Marshall downstairs, Beth used her cell phone to call the sheriff’s department. “Neva, this is Beth Hudson. Is my brother or Ethan around?” She waited while Neva checked, and a moment later, Ethan came on the line.
“I hate to bother you, but I just received a package that you need to see. I’m at the paper.”
There was a pause. “Okay, I’ll be right over.”
Tucking her phone into her bag, she pulled out her digital camera. “Van, do you have tweezers over there anywhere?”
Vanessa rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a pair of eyebrow tweezers, which she handed to Beth. “Marshall’s on his way down. What’s wrong?”
Using the tweezers, Beth laid the note down on the counter. She held it open by placing a pencil at one end for weight, and proceeded to take several pictures of the box and its contents, including the note. “That’s my slip,” she said tersely. “Do you mind calling Harbison and finding out who sent this?”
“Not at all.” Vanessa moved to her desk to make the call as Marshall and Sampson came through from the newsroom. Finished with the pictures, Beth tucked her camera back into her bag. She didn’t want Ethan to see it and start griping when he arrived.
“What’s going on?” Marshall asked.
“I just received that.” Beth pointed to the box. “I’ve called Ethan, and he’s on his way.”
The men walked over to look at the package. When he read the note, Marshall whistled.
“How many men have you worn this for?” he read aloud. “You're nothing but a common whore. Only a whore would wear this trash. Are you a whore, Beth?”
“My God. Any idea where this came from?” Sampson asked.
“Yes. It’s mine. It’s part of the clothing that’s missing from my apartment.” They all turned as the door opened and Ethan came in. He pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them into his suit pocket, moving to the counter. “Is this it?”
“Yes.”
Marshall stood back so that Ethan could inspect the package. Setting the toolbox he carried on the counter, he looked over the contents. As he opened the evidence kit, Vanessa hung up the phone and caught Beth’s eye. She shook her head, and Beth knew that whatever she had found out wasn’t good news. She held up a finger and Vanessa nodded, keeping her silence.
“Anybody touch the contents?” Ethan asked tersely, meeting Beth’s gaze.
“None of us. I used scissors, that pencil, and a pair of tweezers.”
“Good.” They watched as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and carefully lifted the slip out of the box. Beth and Vanessa gasped as Ethan held it up, exposing the slashes and cuts in the material. With his jaw clenched, he carefully laid it back down in the box and read the note.
“Where was this?”
“It was folded on top,” Beth said as he placed the note back in the box and closed the lid. He pulled a large evidence bag out of his kit and placed the box inside, along with the packaging it had been wrapped in. Carefully sealing the bag, he noted the sender’s name and address.
“Have you called Harbison yet to find out who sent it?”
Vanessa spoke. “I talked to Maisie, their office manager. She said that they have no idea who would have sent it, but it didn’t come from inside their office. That’s the courier service they use, but no one over there sent the package.”
Ethan nodded, not seeming surprised. “I presume that was yours?” he asked Beth, referring to the slip.
“It was. It was part of what was taken Saturday night. Have you gotten any leads on who might be responsible?”
He shook his head as he drew the gloves off, not directly answering her question, a fact that didn’t escape Beth’s notice. He pulled out his clipboard, retrieved a blank incident report from inside, and started to fill it out.
“Has anything else happened that was unusual the last few days or weeks?”
She rubbed her forehead with her hand. “No, I can’t think of anything. We’ve had a few complaints about one of the stories we ran, but I told you about that the other night.” She looked to Marshall, who agreed.
“There haven’t been any complaints other than the ones coming from the mayor’s office, Ethan. It’s been relatively quiet, what with people being on vacation and getting back to school.”
“So absolutely nothing unusual? Nothing that stood out as odd, even if it wasn’t necessarily menacing?”
Beth started to tell him “no,” but stopped. She frowned and answered slowly. “There was one thing. I got a bouquet of flowers, of red roses, a few days before the wedding. The card wasn’t signed, and Annie didn’t know where the order came from. It was an online thing, and the sender didn’t leave a message. I’d forgotten about it until now.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “How many roses are we talking?”
“It was a large arrangement, maybe two dozen? It cost whoever sent it a pretty penny.”
Sampson moved over and slid his arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently. “Are you getting so many bouquets these days that something like that doesn’t stand out?”
“It isn’t really all that uncommon, Poppy.” An embarrassed flush climbed into her cheeks. “There are quite a few readers out there who follow what I write, and I get gifts like bouquets, stuffed animals, that sort of thing, on a fairly regular basis. I have one lady who knits something for me for every season. The roses were unusual, but they didn’t really stand out.”
“You said they were red roses?” Ethan asked, scowling a little. When she nodded, he
eyed her with a frown. “You sure they weren’t from a boyfriend?”
She narrowed her eyes at his tone. “Well, let me get out my little black book, and I’ll start calling all of them, and we’ll see.”
“Now, children, calm down,” Marshall said. “That sort of sniping won’t get us anywhere.”
Beth had to force herself to not snap back. “I’m not seeing anyone right now. You know that. Not seriously enough to justify those flowers, anyhow.”
“What about Dr. Ormsby?” Vanessa asked. “He seemed pretty serious about courting you.”
“There is him.” She grimaced, hedging, then outlined the relationship for the others, including their exchange the day before.
“How did he take your rejection?” Ethan asked.
She shrugged. “Not well, really. He said some nasty things about my ‘type’ of man and let me know that he wouldn’t hold that against me, if I changed my mind about dating him.”
“You’ll interview him, right?” Marshall asked Ethan, who nodded and slipped the incident report into the clipboard’s storage compartment. He closed the evidence kit and picked up the package.
“I’ll take this back to the department and get the lab started on processing it,” he told them. His gaze rested on Beth. “Make sure you let either Jason or me know if anything else happens. Even if it seems insignificant, okay?”
Her voice was subdued when she answered. “I will. So have you turned up anything? Jason said you’d be looking at the registered sex offenders.”
“We’ve found nothing. We’ve talked to a few people, but everyone seems pretty clean, relatively speaking. We’ll let you know as soon as something turns up.”
Marshall nodded and clapped Ethan on the shoulder as he turned and headed back into the newsroom. “I’ve got to head back upstairs. Beth, come see me later, okay?” Sampson also excused himself after making the same request.
As the men went into the newsroom, Ethan looked at Beth. “Walk me out?” He held the door for her, gesturing toward his car, and they walked in that direction. She watched as he unlocked the unmarked car and sat the evidence kit and package inside. Closing the door, he leaned up against the car and studied her.