The cop grunted as he shook hands. “You’re deep in the midst of things now, Nick. Makes sense, though, that he’d want to go after you. You’re a roadblock between him and Callie. The idiot we arrested back in New York hollered day and night that he wasn’t a murderer. That he didn’t have anything to do with the other dead girls that resembled Callie.” He glanced around. “Let’s continue this conversation inside.”
They went up the porch steps, Eric and Gretchen in front of them. He spotted Miz C the minute they entered the foyer. Both and he and Callie went to her.
“I’m so sorry,” Callie apologized over and over. “I would never have come here if I would have dreamed this wasn’t over.”
Callandra’s stubborn chin went up a notch. “And I would thrash you soundly if you hadn’t come home. You’re where you are loved, my dear. Even Dorothy Gale knew there’s no place like home.”
The old woman pointed a finger at him. “And you need to watch yourself, too, young man. You and Callie must follow whatever instructions Detective Waggoner gives you until this madman is in custody. I wouldn’t want anything to interfere with . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked mortified.
He grinned. “You haven’t let any cats from their bags, Miz C. Callie knows I’m nuts about her. We’re engaged. We’ve even talked about where we’ll live. But we haven’t done any negotiating on how many babies. Satisfied?”
Callandra beamed at them. “Immensely.” Her eyes sparkled as she took in her niece. “Despite Nick’s occasional bursts of sarcasm, he is quite a fine man.” She took Callie’s hands in hers. “And when this situation is over, I know you two will be so happy together.”
“I don’t mean to intrude, ma’am,” Waggoner said, “but Sheriff La Rue and I need to speak to these two in private.”
“Of course, Detective. Take as much time as you need. We must catch this lunatic. But when you’re done, we would be honored to have you stay to supper.”
“That would be nice. Thank you.” Waggoner looked to Eric. “Where would you like to do this?”
Eric indicated the parlor. The four of them adjourned there. Eric shut the doors behind them. Nick led Callie to a large, brocaded sofa and sat beside her.
Waggoner took a seat in the oyster-colored wing chair opposite them. “Tell me everything. From the minute you found the first note last night till you found the second one today. Don’t leave any detail out.”
Callie began the story, and Nick interjected his take on things every now and then. Waggoner scrawled a few notes as they spoke, but mostly he listened. When they finished, he placed his note pad on the coffee table.
“May I see the note from today?”
Nick fished the envelope from his pocket. “I figured there wouldn’t be prints on it.”
“True, but you never know. Sometimes they get sloppy when they get bold.” He removed a plastic bag from his pocket, as well as a glove. He slipped on the glove before taking the note and reading it several times. Eric stood over his shoulder, reading the text, too. Finally, Waggoner put the envelope and letter into the evidence bag and handed it to Eric, who stepped from the room.
“I won’t give you the soft sell, Nick. In plain English, this monster has a fixation on Callie. Quite frankly, the longer we’ve had Simon Bills in custody, the more I’ve doubted his link to the serial murders of young blonds.”
Waggoner turned to Callie. “I’ve had no solid proof to tie him to a single girl. Just my gut feeling. Everything that we thought was evidence in the murders proved to be nothing more than news clippings of Lipstick Larry’s exploits. You and I know that Bills is the guy who attacked you. You ID’d him. We found the knife with your blood on it in his medicine cabinet. The whole shrine he’d set up in your honor in his apartment. The log where he kept a record of your movements and all the times he followed you. We can get an easy conviction on his stalking and attack on you. That’s why I pushed for that case to be brought to trial first, so we could get one lunatic off the streets while we bought time for the murder investigation.”
The detective stood and began pacing the room. “But the guy’s not that smart. Our serial killer had to be smooth enough to get these girls to come with him willingly, to wherever he plays his private games with them. And he’s left virtually no evidence. That takes a clever man. Simon Bills doesn’t fit the killer’s pattern or IQ. He confronted you on a public street. He was hostile, not self-contained. You were even able to manipulate him for a while. I doubt you could’ve done that with our real perp.
“And Bills panicked. He got messy with you. The murderer is a calm, rational guy. He takes his time. He leaves no trace.” He frowned. “I think he’s the one behind these two notes. He’s followed you home and wants to play the game out to its finish.”
Nick put a protective arm around Callie. He sensed the shivers that ran through her body.
“So how do we catch him?” he asked.
Waggoner came and sat back down. “Obviously, he’s in the area. A stranger will stand out among locals in a town this size. I know Aurora is bigger than you remembered it, Callie, with a lot of tourists coming through. But he’s got to be staying somewhere nearby. And someone’s got to remember him. The Aurora PD has begun canvassing the area already.”
The cop blew out a long breath. “In the meantime, you both get round-the-clock protection. Eric has brought in the FBI. They’ll create a profile. We’ll tap the phones. And we wait.
“But . . . that could take a long time,” Callie pointed out. “I don’t know how long I can live like a bird in a gilded cage.”
Waggoner gave her a hard look. “It’s either that or let him succeed, Callie.”
“We could flush him out,” Nick suggested. “He wants me out of the way. You could use me to set a trap.”
“No!”
He recognized the panic in Callie’s voice and knew she was close to the breaking point. She gripped his hand tightly. “No way, Nick. I just found you and decided you’re worth keeping. I’m not going to lose you in some failed, heroic attempt to catch a killer. This isn’t one of your books.”
“But he does have a point,” interjected Waggoner. “We could get someone in with his general build and coloring. I’ll have to work on that with Eric and the FBI.” He nodded at Nick. “Callie’s right. No foolish attempts at bravery required. You got the girl, and she’s a real peach. Don’t blow it now. Let the pros do their job.”
He stood. “I’ve got a few things to check on. I’m sure you’d like a little time alone to unwind. I know this must’ve been a rough day.” Waggoner leaned over and kissed Callie’s cheek. “Good to see you again, kid. Sorry it’s under such rotten circumstances.” He shook hands with Nick and gave him a curt nod before leaving the parlor.
Nick didn’t care what the cop said. Callie might go stir crazy before this killer was caught. They needed time to explore their budding relationship and get on with their lives without this hanging over them.
Plotting was his forte. Given time, he knew he could come up with a way to catch the killer.
Chapter 25
He drove past Noble Oaks, taking care not to slow his car. He didn’t want to seem suspicious in the least. He threw a quick glance to his right and realized the drive was filled with vehicles. He smiled. As they say, the plot now thickened.
He’d been coming by to see if he could catch a glimpse of her. She walked a lot in the mornings. The property was large and totally unprotected. He could have taken her numerous times.
Instead, he spied the expensive convertible, top up today, speed past him. He’d made a U-turn and decided to follow them at a discreet distance. They’d gone into New Orleans, to a security company. It didn’t surprise him. She would be upset after finding his presents.
But it was what happened after that which really surprised him
. The little slut had been down here no more than a week, and she was all over the ball player. He had stars in his eyes, obviously fooled by what she really was. Still, it made for fun to follow them for a while. He’d gotten bored, though, and gone back to the car and left a note, knowing it would crank things up a notch.
He knew the police had contacted not only the morons at NYPD but also those at the FBI since the action had now crossed state lines. Wouldn’t it be delicious to read what their profilers said about him?
Of course, things would be more dangerous now. The chance of getting caught had multiplied. They were on their guard. Yet he wanted to toy with them a little longer. He needed the excitement that brought. And it would only complete his work to take them out together. Maybe in their little love nest in back of the main house.
But he needed to lull them into a false sense of security. Only then could the fun and games begin. He would kill Jessica first—slowly, with great skill, showing off the talents he had polished to perfection. He wanted her to suffer as his dear mama had. He would force Nick to watch.
And then he would kill him. Swiftly, with as much pain and force as he could muster. The man might’ve ruined his life, but he wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing that.
Oh, to think sweet freedom came at such a heavy price.
But what fun it would be to finally earn that freedom.
Chapter 26
“The wife and I have always thought about retiring to Florida, but if the food’s always this good and there’s no snow to speak of? I might need to change her mind.”
Those gathered around the table laughed at the detective’s comment.
“Callie was hell-bent on coming back here, Uncle Paul,” Gretchen said. “Now I understand why.” She smiled to herself, and Callie knew it wasn’t simply the appetizing food her nurse spoke of.
“Weren’t you supposed to make dessert tonight?” she asked.
Gretchen beamed. “I did. I only watched Essie making the beans and cornbread. I did help fry up the catfish, though.”
“What is it about this cornbread?” Waggoner asked. “It’s so rich. My wife would kill for a bite of this.”
“It’s the broccoli in it,” Essie announced as she swung through the door with a 9x13-glass Pyrex dish. “That and lots o’ butter.” She smiled at the detective. “You think fettuccini’s a heart attack on a plate? It ain’t got nothin’ on my cornbread.”
The cook set the dessert in front of Gretchen. “I’ll be back with bowls, honey, but I thought you might want to be the one to dish up your mud.” Essie sashayed back out the door, whistling all the way.
Callie noticed Eric sitting up straighter, leaning over to look at the dessert. He broke out in a huge grin.
“Gretchen, you made Mississippi Mud!” He reached a finger out to take a sample but quickly stopped and withdrew his hand, slightly reddening. Callie observed Aunt C frowning at him.
“We tried one batch, but it wasn’t up to Essie’s standards. The second try did the trick, though,” Gretchen said. Her eyes shot to Eric. “I have had a taste, and it is one luscious mess of goodness.”
Essie brought in deep ceramic bowls, and soon everyone had the chocolate dessert before them, Eric once again piling his with a mountain of Cool Whip on top. Callie had only picked at her dinner, despite the fact that Essie prepared some of her favorite things. The note on the car and Wolf being gone dampened not only her spirits but her appetite.
Still, Gretchen was watching her—and it was chocolate, a sacred food group. She spooned a bite into her mouth and sighed upon contact.
“Oh, Gretch, you did it,” she told her friend. “And Pam will be so jealous. Her mud’s never turned out this well.”
“Maybe when this is all over, we can host our own barbecue, Callie. I’ve heard Nick’s quite the grill expert.”
“Speaking of being over, Gretchen,” Waggoner interrupted, looking over at Callandra. She figured she knew what was coming. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea, Mrs. Chennault, for you, Essie, and Gretchen to relocate into town for a while.”
Aunt C’s ramrod posture made her proud. Callandra glared down the table at the policeman, her chin tilted high. “I will not be run from my own home, sir, and I would certainly never abandon my niece. We have the new security system in place. And Nick is now sleeping in the main house. There are men on duty outside. I don’t see why I should leave the comfort of my own home.”
“If you insist. It was merely a suggestion.” The detective looked back at Gretchen. “You might need to give me seconds,” he added, passing his bowl over.
Callie sighed. “I think I’m going to call it a day,” she announced. “But don’t let me break up the dinner party.”
She stood. Immediately, Nick was on his feet, too.
“Goodnight everyone,” he said for both of them, taking her elbow and leading her from the room.
They walked up the stairs at a leisurely pace, Nick matching her slow tread.
“I think you need a long soak in a hot tub, ma’am.”
“Why, Mr. La Chappelle, I do believe you read my mind,” she told him in her best Scarlett O’Hara imitation.
He opened the door to her room. “Wait here.” He entered the room and checked it and the bathroom before he motioned her in.
“I’ve locked the other door leading from the bathroom to the adjoining bedroom. I’ll go start your water.”
He headed into the bathroom, and she heard the sound of running water begin. She slipped off her sandals and nudged them under the bed with her toes as she pulled the elastic coated rubber band from her ponytail.
She checked the mirror above the antique dresser and fluffed her hair. She removed the diamond studs she wore every day and slid her watch off her wrist.
“I’ll wait out here for you,” Nick said, watching her in the mirror.
She turned. “Really, I’ll—”
“I’ll be waiting. Gather up what you need.” He plopped down into the club chair by the bed and stretched his long legs out in front of him.
She decided arguing wouldn’t change anything, so she did as he said and went into the bathroom.
“Lock the door,” he hollered.
“Yes, sir,” she muttered under her breath, turning the lock into place.
The bathroom was steamy and smelled of honeysuckle. He must’ve seen her bath crystals and dumped a handful into the water. She stripped and wound her hair high up on her head and secured it with a few pins. She avoided looking into the mirror and climbed into the claw-foot tub. The temperature was absolutely perfect. She shut off the valves and sank down, grabbing her bath pillow to slip behind her neck.
A loud pounding on the door gave her a start. “What?” she yelled.
“How pruney do you need to be?”
She realized the water had cooled considerably. She must have fallen asleep.
“I’ll be out in a minute. Jeez, Louise.”
She quickly scrubbed and rinsed herself and released the stopper. Nick had thoughtfully placed a towel along the edge. She stood and wrapped it around her, gently patting along where her scars lay. Fortunately, the mirror was steamed up, preventing her from seeing them.
She rubbed moisturizer into her face and dusted her honeysuckle-scented powder on before she slipped into her lace thong and sleeveless nightgown. She’d always slept in old T-shirts before, usually men’s, but they weren’t long enough to cover her flaws. Gretchen found several silk gowns at Nordstrom’s that went just to her knee. They were comfortable and made her feel less self-conscious about her Frankenstein-looking patchwork of scars.
She grabbed her kimono from the hook on the door and slipped it on before emerging from the bathroom. Nick sat in the chair, the scrapbook from the nightstand across his lap, his bare feet
propped up on the bed. His chest was bare. He wore blue pajama pants the color of his eyes.
Callie walked into the room, her heart beating wildly. She tried to calm herself before she spoke. “Having fun?”
He closed the book and set it back on the table. “I didn’t know you edited your middle school newspaper.”
“That was in my ‘I want to be a journalist and light world on fire’ days.”
“And the plays. You had the lead in every production in high school from freshman year on.”
She shrugged. “I found my niche. Whatever role I wanted, I could slip it on. Like a second skin.”
He stood. “And you were homecoming queen. Quite a resume, Ms. Chennault.”
She laughed. “That last one was a fluke. The most popular girl in my class turned up with a nasty case of shingles the week before the homecoming game and dance. She always won everything. I think between that backlash of her grabbing every honor since grade school and her not going to be at the game to be crowned caused a voters’ revolt. I lucked out.”
“And you were Most Likely to Succeed?” He took a few steps toward her.
The quick quip died in her throat at the hungry look in his eyes. She took a step back.
“Nick, I can’t.” She defensively crossed her arms in front of her.
“I haven’t asked you to do anything, hon.”
Callie gave him a tremulous smile. “Your mouth might not be saying any words, but your eyes are speaking volumes. Like you’re the Big Bad Wolf, and I’m Little Red Riding Hood.”
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