“Robert!”
He raised his arm, deflecting the blow aimed at his head. “Stop it, Mother.”
She came at him, screaming and clawing. “You’re like your father, always listening to lies.”
He jerked the bat from her hands and tossed it across the room. In seconds, he had her in a bear hug. “Calm down, Mother.”
She fought him for less than a minute then relaxed against him. “Dinner is getting cold.”
He let her go, took her arm, and led her to the kitchen. “Why don’t you sit down, Mother. I’ll get your plate.”
She smiled at him. “You’re such a good son.”
He took deep breaths, filled her plate, and set it in front of her. Memory was a wonderful thing but also a terrible torture. As soon as the agent had given their names, he’d remembered. It wasn’t a dream. It was never a dream.
He smiled at Mother, picked up a steak knife, and hid it behind him. “I’ve decided to let the doctor and her granddaughter live.”
Her eyes widened. “But you can’t, darling. People will know. They’ll call us freaks. Tell awful lies about us. Like that man on TV. It’s all lies, sweetheart.”
“I’ve made up my mind, Mother.”
Anger flashed in her eyes before she lowered her lashes and bowed her head. “All right, Robert.”
Don’t hurt her, Mother. Please, don’t hurt her.
It’s all right, Robert. She isn’t Roberta anymore. You’ll forget her soon enough.
Mother was watching him closely. “You haven’t been taking your medicine, have you?”
“No, Mother. I haven’t taken it in days.”
She pushed the plate away. “You’ll get the headaches. I’ll go get your medicine.”
“Sit down, Mother.”
She sat, tears welling up in her eyes. “I did it for you.”
He held out his arm, and she rushed into his embrace. “I did it all for you, Robert. Our lives would have been miserable. They would have called us freaks. She was a freak.”
He held her for a moment and placed her head on his shoulder, as he’d done so many times over the years. “It’s going to be okay, Mother.” She snuggled closer, and he patted her back with his right hand as his left shoved the knife deep into her chest. She cried out as he twisted it, her legs weakening. He held her tighter. “Shh…it’s all right, Mother. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Grandma, are we gonna die?”
Mary Coomer felt the tears behind her lashes as she held her granddaughter’s hand. She didn’t believe in lying to children. If they were lied to, eventually they would lie in return. “I don’t know, Anna Claire. Honey, I just don’t know.”
“What do they want?”
“He asked about Loki. I don’t know what they want.”
A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Yes.”
Robert opened the door, and Anna Claire gasped. Mary squeezed her hand and shot her a warning glance.
“Do you have a shovel?”
Mary nodded, staring into the black eyes that gave no indication he was covered in blood or upset about it. “In the woodshed out back.”
“Would you mind getting it for me, please?”
Mary patted her granddaughter’s hand. “I’ll be back soon.”
She stood quietly as he closed and locked the bedroom door, her eyes averted from the dark bloodstains covering the front of his shirt and pants.
“After you.”
Mary walked quickly toward the back of the house, stopping only momentarily before stepping over the body of Harriett Tatum splayed out on the kitchen floor. “There’s a flashlight on top of the refrigerator. We may need it.”
Robert handed her the flashlight, and she opened the back door.
“The ground’s frozen. It’s going to take a long time to dig a hole big enough to…” Her voice tapered off, and she fumbled with the latch on the shed, flipped on the flashlight, and opened the door. She located the shovel and handed it to him. “Might be better to put her in the freezer until you can find a spot.”
“Have you got a freezer?”
Mary nodded. “It’s in the garage. Take me a few minutes to clean it out.”
Robert tapped the shovel against the frozen ground a couple of times then handed it to her. “Let’s go clean out the freezer.”
It took them less than half an hour to empty the freezer. “That’s the last of it,” Mary said. “You want me to help you put her in?”
“No, I can do it. Go back to your granddaughter.”
Mary shuddered as the bedroom door closed behind her and the lock clicked. She was positive Anna Claire’s leg was broken, and there was no way she could carry her out of here, even if she could find a way to escape.
“Grandma?”
She climbed on the bed, pulled her granddaughter into her arms, and rocked her back and forth. “It’s time to pray, Anna Claire. Pray like we’ve never prayed before, baby.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Loki bit back the scream on the tip of her tongue, shot up in bed, and hugged her knees. Cold. It’s so damn cold. Her teeth chattered as she rested her head against her knees for a second, waiting for the trembling to stop. There had been more to the vision than the cold—a sharp pain in her chest, a warm feeling of blood coursing down her midriff, and then clawing at a surface that was hard and slick. Loki shivered, tossed off the covers, then dressed quickly in the dark. She wouldn’t sleep again, and she needed something hot to drink.
She tiptoed through the house to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Moonlight filtered through the kitchen window, and the wind picked up, causing the trees to cast eerie shadows on the wall that danced and shifted around her. He’s killed again. She rubbed her arms, crossed them over her chest, and placed her trembling hands under her armpits.
“Cold?” Jake walked up beside her and turned on the coffeemaker.
“I…h-h-hope…I…d-d-didn’t…wake you,” Loki stuttered as her teeth continued to chatter.
“I wasn’t asleep.”
Jake placed an arm around her and held her against his chest. “Jesus, Loki, you’re like a block of ice. Vision?”
She nodded. “Someone died, and wherever they are, it’s cold there.”
“Maybe we got lucky and it’s our guy.”
The teakettle whistled, and Loki broke free of his embrace to take it off the burner. She dropped a tea bag into the cup and filled it with water. “I’m afraid we weren’t lucky.”
“Mind if I join the party?” Wilkes flipped on the kitchen light. “I thought I was the only one having trouble sleeping tonight. I was afraid I was going to wake everyone else up.”
Loki poured honey in her tea and sipped it. The warmth spread down her throat into her stomach and slowly flowed outward. “I thought with all the bourbon you and Teresa consumed, you’d sleep until late tomorrow morning.” She glanced at the kitchen clock. It was three a.m. “Make that late this morning.”
“What I wonder,” Wilkes said, “is why the three of us are up?”
A scream came from inside the house, and Loki dropped her cup and ran to the hallway. “I think it’s Grace.”
Jake ran after her with Wilkes close on his heels. “Loki, wait!”
She skidded to a stop outside the bedroom door, which was standing open. Jules was sitting on the bed, a sobbing Grace in his arms. “I heard her scream.”
Loki ran a hand through her hair. “Jake, why don’t you and Wilkes wait in the kitchen? I’ll find out what happened.”
She waited until the two of them had left before approaching the bed. The baby started to cry. “Jules, why don’t you take Hope into the kitchen and warm a bottle for her? She’s probably hungry.”
He rose, picked up the baby, and bounced her until she stopped crying. “She’s scared.”
“Jules, please?” Loki sent him a pleading look, which was answered by his eyes hardening, but he left the room. She approached th
e bed where Grace was still trembling and touched her arm. She’s almost as cold as I was. She snuggled the blankets around her. “What happened?”
“It was Mother. She was here,” Grace whispered.
“Maybe it was a bad dream, honey.”
Grace shook her head. “No, she was here. She floated like Isabella does sometimes. I saw her.”
A shiver traveled down Loki’s spine, and she realized how cold the room was. As cold as the place in my vision. “Let’s go into the kitchen, and I’ll fix you some tea.”
Grace slid to the edge of the bed. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
The shadows in the room seemed darker than Loki remembered them. She placed her arm around Grace. “Yes, Grace, I do. Tomorrow I’ll show you how to cleanse and smudge so she never comes back again. Now let’s go have a cup of tea. You can sleep in my room when we’re done.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Robert stared at the clock. He’d fought sleep most of the night, afraid of what the darkness would bring. Mother’s there waiting for me, just like Roberta.
The doctor had said she knew his mother. He wondered how much she knew. She seems like a nice person, but can I trust her to tell me the truth? There was only one way to find out. He rose, went to the door and unlocked it, then knocked. “Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“Could we talk?” Robert asked. He heard the hurried whispers between them before she came to the door. He waved her to the couch. “Would you like some coffee or maybe a cup of tea?”
“That would be nice. Would you mind if I fixed my granddaughter a sandwich? We haven’t eaten since early yesterday morning.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t we fix a decent breakfast and we can all eat?” He smiled at her and took her arm. “What’s your name?”
“Dr. Mary Ann Coomer.”
“And your granddaughter is Anna Claire, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m Robert Tatum, Mary. I’m afraid I’m not a good cook, but I’ll help you in any way I can.”
He led her to the kitchen, avoiding the bloodstains on the linoleum, and opened the refrigerator. “What would you like?”
Mary stepped around him and pulled out the eggs and sliced ham. “We could do omelets, or sausage and eggs.”
He rummaged around and found a can of biscuits. “Can you make gravy?”
“Of course I can.”
He grinned at her. “Mary, I would love you forever if you’d make a big pan of biscuits and sausage gravy.”
Mary turned on the oven. “I’ll need some milk.”
Robert set the milk on the counter. “What else can I do?” He turned to stare at the bloodstained floor. “I must have spilled something earlier. Where’s your mop?”
“There’s a mop and bucket on the back porch.”
Robert opened the door and retrieved the mop and bucket. “Looks like a pretty nasty stain. Do you have any bleach?”
“Under the sink.”
He poured the bleach into the bucket, then filled it with hot water and added dish soap. “Do you sing, Mary?” Robert dipped the mop in the bucket and sloshed it on the floor.
“Only in church.”
“Would you sing me something while we work?”
Mary turned the sausage, placed the biscuits in the oven, and began to sing. Rock of ages cleft for me; Let me hide myself in thee.
~ ~ ~
“If his mother is dead, does that mean everything’s changed?” Teresa asked.
“Not necessarily. Things have changed, but it’s not over,” Wilkes said. “We don’t have any idea how she died and how her death is affecting him.”
Teresa gripped her head in her hands and moaned. “Remind me never to drink with you again. At least now I can stop checking to make sure you’re wearing your damn vest when we go out, although I think you should still wear it, anyway.”
Wilkes shrugged. “If it’s my time, he’ll simply shoot me in the head.”
“Damn it, Wilkes, the knife went in your chest. Wear the freaking vest, will you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What knife?”
Teresa’s face blanched. “You said you knew. I asked if Karen had told you.”
“I knew about Loki, the girl, the baby, and Rosetta, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” He placed his hands on the table. “But I think one of you had better tell me right now.”
“I think we need another bottle of bourbon,” Karen whispered to Teresa before meeting Wilkes’s gaze across the table. “I drew something the day before this case came in. There was an old woman on top of you, and she stabbed you in the chest. You always told us telling people could be bad, so we didn’t tell you.” She averted her eyes. “We figured if we stayed close, we could protect you. Stop it from happening.”
“Does the director know about this?”
Teresa tutted. “Are you serious? Do you think we’d tell that duffer anything?”
Wilkes pushed back his chair. “We’ll finish this discussion when this case is over.”
“Well, at least tell me you’ll wear the bloody vest,” Teresa called after him. “I’m going to call Rosetta if you don’t.”
Karen laughed. “Would you call Rosetta?”
“No, the woman hates me,” Teresa said. “But you should.”
“Why would she hate you?”
“Because I’m his partner right now. The wives always hate the female partners. It’s custom.”
Karen shook her head and rose. “You’ve been watching too much American TV.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Robert finished drying the dishes and wiped down the countertop, thoughts fighting for control over the constant throbbing. He should ask Mary for something for a headache, but they weren’t there yet with trust. He could still see the fear in her eyes. He’d have to find a way to convince her he wasn’t going to harm her. Once he’d finished with the others, the three of them could go away somewhere. Start over and be a real family. Anna Claire could be his sister, and just as Mary was the mother of Jesus, Mary Coomer could be his mother. Robert Coomer. He liked the sound of it.
He whistled Rock of Ages, sliced the pie he’d found in the refrigerator, and carried two plates into the living room. He placed them on the coffee table and unlocked the bedroom door. “Mary, can we talk now?”
“I’ll be right out, Robert.”
~ ~ ~
“Don’t you cry, honey. I’ll be okay.”
“Is he crazy, Grandma? He acts crazy,” Anna Claire whispered.
“He’s nuttier than your grandma’s jam cake, Anna Claire. If we want to live, we’re gonna have to be real smart, and being smart means keeping him happy. You understand?”
Anna Claire nodded. “Be careful, Grandma.”
Mary took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door. She’d dealt with all types of old people with dementia but never anyone like Robert Tatum. She’d known the second she laid eyes on Harriett Tatum that the wheels might be spinning but the guinea pig had died a long time ago. Robert was different, though. She could see it in his eyes. Oh, the lights were on, and somebody was home, but she never knew who was going to answer the damn door. She’d read about split personalities, but Robert was taking that science to a whole new level.
“Please, have a seat.” He nodded at the plates. “I found a pie.”
Mary sat on the edge of the armchair and picked up the plate. “Why, thank you, Robert. That was nice of you.”
He leaned into the sofa, his body relaxing. “You told Mother you knew her. Tell me about her.”
Ah, crap, you’re treading on dangerous ground, Mary Coomer. “I used to be her doctor, a long time ago. Her and Joseph, your father.”
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, cradling his head between his hands. “Tell me about them.”
Mary felt her hands shake, and she toyed with the fork, moving the pie around on the plate. She’d never been a liar in her l
ife, and she wasn’t going to start now. “Your daddy was a good man. Worked that farm every day and even took a job in town when a crop would fail and the family needed money. Never missed church on Sunday no matter how tired he was. A good God-fearing man.”
“What about my mother? Tell me about her.”
“You won’t like what I’m gonna say.” Mary set the plate on the table. “But if you want to know, I’ll tell you.”
“Please, Mary, don’t be scared of me. I want us to be friends, and maybe, if we can, more than that. Tell me the truth about my mother.”
More than that? Mary swallowed hard. “Some said she was crazy, but I think she was evil.”
Robert nodded. “And what about my sister, Roberta?”
Mary closed her eyes for a moment, her hands trembling and a sharp pain starting just below her breastbone. “That poor child. Such a pretty little thing, and so sweet.” She looked at him. “You look like her, you know.”
He smiled sadly. “She was sick. What was wrong with her?”
“She was born with a genetic disease. In almost all respects she was a girl, but she had some male parts. When that happens, the doctors usually have to do surgery to fix the problem. Your mother insisted on her being a girl, but for her own safety, your father insisted she be a boy.”
His face darkened, and his lips compressed. “You said he was a good man. Why would a good man do that? Why hurt her?”
Mary shuddered at the murderous look in his eyes. “Your father had cancer, Robert. He was dying. He put it off as long as he could, but knowing his time was near, and then when the state said he needed to make a choice, he knew as soon as Roberta reached a certain age, your mother would hurt her. She had something hateful inside where little girls were concerned. He did what he did to try to protect her from your mother.”
His face relaxed, and he picked up his pie, forked up a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. “Thank you, Mary. Father was right. Mother killed her.”
“What? How? She was institutionalized when Roberta died.” Mary couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. Poor Joseph had gone to his grave believing Roberta had killed herself because of what he’d done.
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