“The first child victim and then the reporter Kim Barbour didn’t have all that much in common.”
“You have a point there.” Betty Jean disappeared into her bedroom. “I know I’ll forget something.”
She kept talking, but Michael couldn’t tell what she was saying over water running. He got up, folded the chair again, and put it back with the others. Then he carried the garbage bag she’d left in the middle of the living room floor out to the kitchen.
“Oh, thanks.” Betty Jean dropped her suitcase in the living room and came into the kitchen to grab a box of cereal out of the cabinet. “Mom will make me eat eggs and bacon if I don’t take this, and there would go my diet for the rest of the week. Tonight was bad enough. Those lemon squares are rich. Still a couple of pieces over there on the cabinet if you want them.”
Michael held his hand palm out in refusal. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“Okay, that’ll make Dad happy. I’ll take them to him. He doesn’t worry about his waistline.” Betty Jean wrapped up the leftover cake and stuffed it, along with the cereal, into a grocery bag. “That’s everything but Sandy.”
“Where is the furry terror?”
“The utility room. Some of the girls threaten not to come to my house if I don’t put him up. I don’t know what they think he’s going to do to them.”
“Shred their stockings maybe.” Michael looked around to see if he needed to take evasive action. Sandy was not a friendly cat.
“Nobody wears stockings in this weather. Besides, he’s not that bad.” Betty Jean dipped some cat food out of a sack in the cabinet and filled the dishes by the refrigerator before she cracked the door to the utility room. A fluffy black-and-white cat stalked out into the kitchen, twitching his tail back and forth. He gave Michael a haughty glance but totally ignored Betty Jean.
“Come on, Sandy sweetie. I gave you extra food.” Betty Jean leaned down to stroke the cat, but he dodged her touch. “Just my luck to get a cat with an attitude.”
“Don’t give me that. You love it. You probably spike his fur for him.”
“Only when I’m having company.” Betty Jean straightened up. “You spending the night at Aunt Lindy’s or on Karen’s couch?”
“Aunt Lindy’s. Karen decided to pack up and drive to her sister’s house.”
“Now?” Betty Jean glanced at the clock again.
“Said she liked driving at night. Guess she decided that would be better than me insisting she come camp out at Aunt Lindy’s house.”
“Probably afraid Miss Keane would slip poison in her morning coffee.”
Michael scowled at Betty Jean. “Aunt Lindy likes Karen.”
“I’m sure she does, but you know your aunt is in the Alex camp.”
“I’ve told you a dozen times Karen and I are friends. That’s all and there is no Alex camp.” Michael kept the scowl on his face even though he liked the idea of an Alex camp.
“But Miss Keane wants there to be.” Betty Jean flicked on the light over the sink and turned off the ceiling light. She gave him a curious look. “Did you ask Alex to marry you last night? That was only last night you drove halfway across the country to see her, wasn’t it? It’s beginning to seem like days ago.”
“Tell me about it.” Michael was bone-tired. He should have asked Betty Jean to make him some coffee, but no time for that now. “And what I did or didn’t ask Alex is none of your business. But she was supposed to call today and leave me a message. Did she?”
“You mean like yes or no?” Betty Jean gave him a sideways glance.
“No, Betty Jean. Like a name of an expert on how psychotic killers think.”
“Now that would be a creepy job.” Betty Jean shivered. “But no. No messages from Alex. Just that Dr. Colson.”
“He didn’t call again after I talked to him today, did he?”
“I don’t know. There were so many calls, I lost track of who called when.” She unplugged the laptop on the counter and stuck it into a padded bag.
“Whitt says the doctor is probably writing a book, so if he calls again, be careful what you tell him. You might see your name in print.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m not telling him anything.” Betty Jean looked around. “Okay. I’m ready. Be a gentleman and carry my suitcase out while I lock up.”
Mike picked up the suitcase. “Do you always lock your doors?”
“Well, yeah. I’m a female. I live alone. Bumps in the night scare me.” She switched off the lamp, then switched it back on as if the dark might be scaring her now. She looked over at Michael and almost smiled as she picked up her keys. “Don’t look so disappointed, Michael. Bad things happen everywhere. After last year, you of all people should know that. You’re going to have to face facts. There are bad people in this world, even in little towns like Hidden Springs.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right, remember?” She did smile then as she led the way out the door. “You know, that doctor isn’t the only one to think about writing a book. I’ve thought about doing that myself. I could write about all the crazy things that go on at the sheriff’s office. It would probably end up a bestseller.”
“I hope you remember to change the names to protect the innocent.”
She laughed. “There are no innocents. Just people who haven’t gotten caught yet.”
“We can hope this guy is one we catch tomorrow.”
“I can agree with that.” She watched as he loaded her suitcase in her car. “You are going to follow me over to Mom and Dad’s, right?”
“I am.”
Her parents’ house was dark when she pulled up in front of it. Michael stopped behind her and got out to lift her suitcase out of the car.
She put her computer bag strap over her shoulder and reached for the handle of her suitcase. “It’s got wheels, so I’ll take it from here. Don’t want to scare my folks silly. Bad enough me showing up at the door this time of the night, but I’ll make up something. That my toilet’s backed up or the electricity went off. Just make sure you don’t drive off until you see me inside the door.”
“Got it.” He turned back to his cruiser.
“And Michael?” She waited for him to look back at her. Her eyes glittered in the dark. “Be careful.”
“You just worry about you. I’ll be fine.”
“Weren’t you the one who said nobody knew what this guy might do next?”
22
When Michael stopped the car in front of his log house, Jasper met him the same as he had the night before. And like the night before, Michael got what Whitt had called the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it was Betty Jean’s warning. Maybe it was a lack of sleep or those images of Hope and Kim Barbour burned into his mind. But the dark pushed in on him like a black trash bag blowing against his face. Over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears came the rustling of monster feet closing in on him.
With a hand on Jasper’s head, Michael breathed in and out slowly. Time to get control of himself. Jackson wouldn’t chance coming back out here again tonight. Of course, the man had no way of knowing Michael had found the earring. For all Jackson knew, Michael might leave his dirty clothes on the floor for days without washing them. If the man wanted to be sure Michael found the earring, he would have left it in plain sight on the table or maybe in an envelope with Michael’s name scrawled across the front.
Why had the man planted the thing in his house anyway? To show Michael he wasn’t safe in his own home? If that was his purpose, why hadn’t he written a warning on the bathroom mirror or ransacked the house? Why hide an earring in one of his pockets?
Michael pushed away the questions he had no way of answering and surveyed the yard between him and the house. He didn’t spot anything that might be reason for alarm. Jasper shoved his nose up against Michael’s hand and wagged his tail. Not one hair was raised on his haunches.
Karen had him pegged. He was spooked. Jumping at shadows. Even so, the thought of what
could be in those shadows made him pull his gun out of the holster. He felt a little foolish creeping up his own porch steps and sliding along the wall to peek around the side of the house, but better foolish than dead.
On the south side of the house, the lake glittered serenely in the soft light of the half moon. Nothing out of the ordinary except a nasty odor. Jasper must have found a dead fish. Funny that he couldn’t smell anything on Jasper. That was a good thing. Aunt Lindy wouldn’t be happy about a dog that smelled like rotten fish tied among her roses.
When he tried to turn the doorknob, he remembered the door was locked. He dug into his pocket for the key while watching for something to move in the darkness. But nothing was out there. At least nothing he could see.
Inside everything was the way he’d left it. The sink faucet wasn’t dripping. His clothes were wrinkling in the dryer. Remnants of cornflakes were crusted on the dish in the sink. All was still and peaceful. All except Michael.
Stock-still in the middle of the house, he listened as though he might hear the echo of any intruders. A cricket chirped out on the porch. The clock on the kitchen wall made that peculiar battery-powered click that replaced the ticking of a spring-wound clock. Jasper’s tail swept back and forth against the floor where the dog sat and waited for his supper.
“You’re right, boy. Time for me to quit imagining monsters going bump in the night.” Michael filled Jasper’s dish with kibble. “Here you go, but you better not get sick on the way to Aunt Lindy’s.”
He left the dog crunching his food and checked out the bedrooms. Nothing disturbed there. Back in the front room the light flashed on his answering machine. He hit the button to listen to the new messages.
First, a kid named Shane asked if he and his buddies could go fishing off Michael’s dock on Friday. “I promise no booze and no girls. Just a few of us guys, okay? We might spend the night if we can find a couple of tents to borrow. You don’t have one, do you?”
They probably wanted him to supply the bait too. A smile tugged at Michael’s lips and for a moment this day seemed like any other ordinary day without worries. Then the next voice came on.
“Dr. Phillip Colson here, Deputy Keane. I wanted to thank you for talking with me earlier today. I’m wondering if you’ve heard anything more from our patient or perhaps I should say your suspect. At any rate, our Mr. Jackson. I did as you suggested, or should I say ordered, and attempted to contact Detective Whitt, but he was out of the office. In any case, I truly doubt my brief chat with that poor young reporter could be of any help to his investigation. Do call me if you think I can be of any additional help or if you yourself need someone to explore your feelings about all this. I’m sure you’ve been under a great deal of stress the last few days. If you’re concerned about my fee, I often pro-rate my charges based on an individual’s ability to pay.”
Michael’s smile vanished. The doctor was beginning to get on his nerves with his psychoanalyzing. Maybe Whitt was right and the man was planning to get rich off the story.
Finally, the next voice was Alex, obviously before his panic call a few hours ago. She sounded the same as always. “And you say I’m never home. I tried your cell, but as usual, you didn’t pick up. I’ve got two names for you.” Michael grabbed a pencil and jotted down the names and numbers. “I hope they can help. Try me later. I might be home around nine.”
Michael looked at the clock. Ten thirty. She was probably already out again, but she should have called him again after hearing his message. He pushed the message button again to hear the mechanical voice say no more messages.
He dialed her home phone number from memory. Her answering machine picked up on the second ring. He waited through her greeting and the beeps. “I’m serious about this, Alex. You don’t call me, I’m coming.”
He hung up and called her cell. It went straight to voice mail without ringing. He left the same message there.
Then he pulled Whitt’s card out of his pocket and dialed the number. After a couple of transfers, he got Chekowski. “Aaron’s gone for the day, and I was on my way out. But I can get in touch with him if I need to. Something else happen?”
“No murders, if that’s what you mean. But I may have a line on Jackson. A picture in an old high school annual. Could be him. Could not be. We’ll get the information to you first thing in the morning.”
“So you think he might have gone to school there. Family still in the area now?” Chekowski asked.
Michael could almost see her pulling out her notebook. “No, they were only here a few years while Jackson was in high school. Actually, Jackie Johnson is the name in the annual. We’ll try to get a line on the parents’ names and a current address.”
“You really think it might be the same guy?” Chekowski sounded doubtful. “What would that make him now? Forty something?”
“Right.”
“Probably a long shot, but we’ll check it out. We check everything out.” Chekowski sighed. “So far all we’ve found are dead ends. Everything still calm and serene in Solla Sollew?”
“Solla Sollew?”
“You know. Dr. Seuss. Solla Sollew—where they never have troubles or at least very few.” Chekowski laughed. “You must not have kids if you don’t know Dr. Seuss stories.”
“You have kids?”
“Not yet, but I intend to someday. Until that someday, I borrow my sister’s kids now and again to stay in practice on Dr. Seuss books. His stories take a nimble tongue.”
“I see, I think.”
“The perfect mindset for Dr. Seuss. But how about it? Things okay down there?”
“I guess you could say so. Things seem peaceful tonight.”
“I hope they stay that way for you and for us too. This perp is way too good at what he does and way too fast at picking out targets.” Every trace of laughter was gone from her voice now. “Watch your back, Deputy.”
That was all he had been doing, Michael thought as he hit the off button on the phone. He started to put the phone back on the base, but then stuck it in his belt instead. He didn’t want to miss Alex’s call while he looked for Jasper’s yard chain, which he seemed to remember leaving on the back deck a couple of weeks ago.
He didn’t chain the dog often. Nothing out there Jasper could hurt except an occasional unwary possum. He never roamed far from the house. He was always waiting in the yard when Michael got home. But who knew what the dog did during the day? Michael imagined him swimming in the lake, sleeping in the sun, chasing squirrels—then again, he might have a whole pack of coyote girlfriends.
Michael touched the dog’s head. “You better be careful. Those wild women can get you in trouble.”
Jasper wagged his tail as he padded out on the deck behind Michael. The bad odor was worse here. Maybe Jasper and his wild girlfriends had downed a deer and dragged it up in the yard. But then dead fish could stink up the place too.
He surveyed the yard, but the night was too dark to see if anything was out there. He’d have to make time during the day to check it out and get rid of whatever it was.
Michael ran his hand down Jasper’s back again, then sniffed his hand. Nothing but dog odor. Whatever it was, Jasper must be staying away from it. Not normal behavior for a country dog. Michael found the chain on the deck railing and retreated inside.
He had his duffel bag packed and ready to go out the door when the phone finally rang. He hit the answer button. “Hello.”
“All right, you’ve got my full attention. What’s going on?” Alex’s voice was brisk, all business.
“Is that the way you talk to clients?” Michael asked.
“Not at all. I’m much sweeter to them. As long as they pay their bills.”
“You’re all heart, Sheridan. How much is this call costing me?”
“We’ll work out something.” Her voice was softer with the hint of a smile. “Fact is, your message sounded like it was time to be serious. So out with it. The bad news first. Then the good.”
“
Nothing but bad news. Jackson killed the reporter who interviewed me after that stupid hero story came out in the Gazette.”
“You know Jackson killed her?” The lawyer voice again.
“I don’t know anything.” Michael rubbed his eyes. “But the killer—and who else but Jackson—brought pictures of her to Hidden Springs. The same poses as the first girl.”
“Wait a minute. Brought pictures? What do you mean brought pictures? They weren’t mailed like the others?”
He could practically hear her mind clicking. “Okay, where do you want me to start, Counselor?”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Why, Counselor, you sound like you care.”
“I got three hours’ sleep last night and may have lost a case in court this morning. All because an old friend yelled help.”
“Yeah, thanks, Alex.” It was time to cut the small talk and get straight to facts. “I am in trouble. This nut I pulled back from the edge is offing girls and sending me letters and pictures to let me know if it wasn’t for me they’d still be smiling and laughing.”
“All right. Let’s try to make some sense of all this.”
“Nothing makes sense.”
“Wait a second. Let me set my phone to record what we’re saying.”
Some beeps sounded in Michael’s ear. “Why?”
“Because you can miss some important things the first time you listen to somebody’s story.”
“Recorders make me nervous.”
“Then pretend you don’t know it’s on,” Alex said shortly. “Besides, you sound plenty nervous already, recorder or no recorder. So start over. Why are you in trouble?”
“I told you. This psycho is killing women and I can’t catch him and I don’t know who he might go after next.”
“You actually think he killed the reporter because she interviewed you?” Alex sounded a little incredulous.
“That’s what his letter said. Whitt, remember, I told you about him.”
“He’s the Eagleton detective who made you feel like small potatoes.”
Murder Comes by Mail Page 17