Waking Evil

by Brant, Kylie

  But the risk here wasn’t in the suggestion he made. She knew that even as she tried to reject it.

  The real danger lay in how powerfully tempted she was to forget a lifetime of defenses and do exactly what he asked.

  He stepped through the woods, his footing sure despite the almost absolute darkness. Kathleen Sebern’s personal belongings were shoved in the backpack he wore. It was time to get rid of them before someone found them. Leaving loose ends was just sloppy.

  The sound at his side had him bringing his rifle up in one smooth motion. “Who’s there?”

  Only the sounds of night creatures surrounded him. But he wasn’t fooled. With one hand, he reached up and fitted the night vision goggles over the eye slit in the face mask. The interior of the woods took on a ghostly green glow. He saw a coon do a fast waddle to a nearby bush, and he breathed a little easier. But still he stayed motionless for a few more minutes. Watching.

  He didn’t tolerate carelessness. Not from others. Not from himself.

  When he didn’t see anything suspicious, he continued walking again. Hadn’t gotten more than a couple steps before the words were hissed behind him.

  “Yer bad. You made her scream, and I’m gonna tell.”

  He whirled around, the gun raised again as he scanned the area. He saw no one. Just brush and trees and yellow eyes blinking at him. “Who’s out there?” Squinting at the trees above him, he wondered if someone was lodged in one nearby.

  “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 statio
n, 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?”

  “It’s a lot to take in,” she allowed. And wondered what he’d have to say if she repeated Dev’s speculation linking Ruth Ashton to the red mist. “Lots of loose threads and not enough tying them together.” She leaned forward in her chair, both hands clasped around her cup. “But you know as well as I do that things start coming together all at once. And I have a feeling that we’re getting close, Mark. We’re getting real close.”

  “I hope to God you’re right. We finally saw the last of the reporters a coupla days ago, and I’m hopin’ they’re gone for good. Folks have a right to feel peaceful in their homes. We need to bring this thing to an end, let people get back to their lives.”

  “Let’s hope it’s soon.”

  Mark took another sip from his coffee, his eyes sliding shut for a moment in appreciation. “Powell also said he was headin’ back here tomorrow. That you had a profile the two of you were goin’ over.”

  “I will have a profile.” With that reminder, she rose. “I’m not done with it yet, but when I am, you’ll get a copy.”

  He nodded. “And I ’preciate that, too.”

  She left his office, stopping only to exchange a few words with the taciturn Deputy Stratton. Then she headed for her car. She wanted to look over her work before showing it to Powell, and the mention of the man’s name had ignited a feeling of urgency.

  It occurred to her as she drove back to the motel that under ordinary circumstances she would have stayed up all night to get the details polished in the profile.

  But last night had been anything but ordinary circumstances. And she couldn’t find it in herself to regret that.

  Chapter 23

  Celia Ann Stryker hurried out of the house as Dev pulled up at the curb. Anyone else might think their mama was anxious to see them. But he knew better than to expect a warm welcome.

  He got out of the car and strolled up the pretty brick drive. His mama had done real well for herself. This new house she shared with his stepdaddy wasn’t in a gated community, but it was the next thing to it, with those stone pillars and somber dark metal signs at the entrance informing newcomers that they were entering Wedgewood Estates. He’d never been invited to this house before, although he thought his mama and stepdaddy had moved here nearly a year ago.

  And that, too, wasn’t unexpected.

  “Mama.” He bent to brush a kiss on the cool cheek she offered. “You’re lookin’ pretty as a picture, as always.”

  That much was true enough. She was trim and attractive, in a black and white sundress and heels. Her blond hair was carefully kept the same shade as his own. And if age had the indecency to show up in her face, she had whatever discreet procedure necessary to banish it.

  “Devlin.” Her smile was forced. “I expected you hours ago.”

  “Granddaddy had a spell. I had to meet him at the doctor’s.”

  Her eyes slid to the house. “That’s too bad. But the fact is, I set aside time this afternoon for a nice visit and now, well, now it’s later. Howard’s home. And, well, you know seein’ you always upsets him.”

  He felt something inside him go cold. “Granddaddy’s fine, mama. He’ll appreciate you askin’.”

  Her brown gaze returned to his with a start and she had the grace to flush. “Well, how you do go on, Devlin. As if I don’t care ’bout my own daddy’s health. I’ll call him before Howard and I go out tonight.”

  “I won’t keep you long.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and wondered why the hell it was so difficult to talk to his own mother. To feel anything at all for her, outside a dutiful sort of love that had nothing to do with earned devotion. “It’s ’bout that night. The night they arrested daddy.”

  Her face went as white as her dress. And her voice sounded a bit shrill. “Honestly, Devlin, we went over that once, just recently. I told you everythin’ I know, and I don’t ’preciate you dredgin’ it all up again!”

  He rocked back on his heels and
surveyed her. “Well, actually you didn’t. You refused to discuss it, remember?”

  Celia Ann had a convenient memory when it was called for. “I recall no such thing. We had a long discussion and . . .”

  “Ex-Chief of Police Kenner seems to think you can solve one mystery ’bout that night.” Manners had him taking her arm when she swayed, but she shook off his touch as if it burned. “Said he’d left somethin’ out of the police report to save embarrassin’ you. Somethin’ that has to do with why daddy was drinkin’ so much that night.”

  “I have no idea what he’s talkin’ ’bout.” The color had returned to her face now. Twin flags of red flushed her cheeks. “And I refuse to have this conversation with you.”