by Charly Cox
But it had. And she didn’t know how to process her thoughts on it.
Especially since today was the day Timothy Evan Archer, aka Hunter Jenkins, aka Evan Bishop, was scheduled to appear before the judge for his bond hearing, and she had every intention of being there, despite protests from her family and her teammates. She tried to pretend it was like any other case of hers, but she knew it was far more than that.
‘Are we done yet?’ Holly’s voice beside her dragged Alyssa back to the here and now. Glancing over, she noticed most of her daughter’s hastily done French braid had come loose, and sweaty tendrils of hair framed her face, red with exertion. ‘Seriously. Wondering. Why. I. Wanted. To. Come. With. You,’ she panted. ‘Had I known you were planning a solid five-mile run, I might’ve reconsidered.’
But mother and daughter both knew that wasn’t true. Holly had offered to come along because she was worried about Alyssa, about what all this was doing to her emotionally.
Together, they rounded the corner onto their street and slowed their gait to a jog until they reached the sidewalk in front of the house. There they continued walking, both of them with hands on hips, sucking in huge gulps of air. And even though the morning had been on the cool side, they were both hot and sticky from their exercise.
On the front lawn, Alyssa bent over, stretching her legs and flattening her palms on the green grass. Beside her, Holly collapsed onto her stomach and sprawled out, and Alyssa decided it looked like an awfully good idea, so she let herself drop down next to her daughter, ignoring the dampness of the dew soaking into her already wet tank top. Holly groaned before flopping to her back.
‘Ay-yi-yi, I hurt all over,’ Alyssa panted. ‘I’m pretty sure even my eyeballs hate me right now.’
‘I’d laugh, but that would take up way too much oxygen that I need to breathe,’ Holly said, her chest rising and falling with each breath. ‘Oh, sweet, precious air, come into my lungs and fill me with your life-giving sustenance.’
Alyssa snorted out a chuckle, then grabbed her middle and groaned. ‘Stop. It hurts too much.’
She laid there with her daughter until she heard a tap on the window, and like two puppets on the same string, they twisted their necks toward the noise. Brock waved to them from inside the house, motioning for them to come in. When neither of them moved, he turned his palms up and shrugged, nonverbally asking what was going on.
‘You s’pose he really expects us to move?’ Holly asked.
‘I think he does,’ Alyssa said.
‘Think he’d be willing to wheelbarrow us in? And I’m only half joking, by the way.’
Alyssa pretended to consider her question. ‘Well, you are his favorite daughter, so maybe if you bat those ridiculously long lashes and those beautiful eyes at him…’
‘Maybe,’ Holly said, ‘but that still takes too much energy. But you put out for him, so…’
Alyssa choked and slapped her daughter weakly. ‘Holly Renee! Did you really just say that to me?’
Her daughter tapped her index finger to her forehead in a poor imitation of Winnie-the-Pooh and said, ‘Yes. Yes, I believe I did. Oh, look, Dad’s coming out. He thinks you’re beating me, and he’s racing to my rescue.’
A second later, Brock poked his head out the screen door and yelled, ‘You two going to lay there all day or what?’
‘Thinking about it, why?’ Alyssa asked. When he tapped his watch, she mumbled under her breath, ‘Ugh. Guilt trips; they work every time.’ To her husband, she said, ‘All right, give us another minute.’ And as soon as he went back in, she pushed herself to sitting, but when she reached back to help Holly up, her daughter’s face turned serious.
‘Mom, I didn’t just want to go with you this morning because I’m worried about you. I mean, we all are. I also wanted to let you know that Grandma and I talked a couple nights ago, and we decided it might be best to put off the Europe trip for now.’
The relief that flowed through Alyssa was swift and immediate, but she held her tongue and let Holly finish. Now sitting up, her daughter stared off, and Alyssa followed her daughter’s gaze to the Zeller house.
‘I just think I need to be with my family right now,’ she said. ‘And Grandma agrees. In fact, you’ll probably find this hard to believe, but she was actually the one who brought it up, asking how I’d feel going later, maybe even next summer or something.’
Holly was right – Alyssa was a bit shocked the idea had come from Mabel. Maybe she hadn’t given the other woman enough credit over the years.
What her daughter said next brought guilt crashing back down on her, though she managed to hide it. ‘I’m just afraid Isaac’s going to blame himself when we tell him,’ she admitted.
Alyssa reached out to squeeze her daughter’s arm. ‘You, my darling, are a wonderful sister, and a kind, caring daughter and granddaughter. Your brother is going to be okay because the rest of us are going to make sure of it. And while you can’t worry about how all of your decisions will affect him – or even the rest of us – I have to admit you’ve eased a lot of my worries by coming to this decision on your own – or at least without Dad and me asking it of you.’
‘Europe will always be there, so like I said, maybe next year.’ With a grunt and a moan, Holly pushed herself to her feet, and then reached down to help her mother. As soon as she was standing, Alyssa pulled her daughter in and held her tightly.
‘Also, since we’re riding the honesty train,’ Holly said, ‘I may as well confess that Dad and I are going to the courthouse with you today.’
Alyssa jerked back, ready to protest, but her daughter covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Nope. Don’t waste your breath arguing. We’ve already discussed it, and it’s going to happen. Isaac cried because he feels like he’s letting you down, but Dad made sure he understood that wasn’t true, that you’d probably feel better and worry less if he didn’t go.’
Alyssa nodded her head because Brock was right.
‘Anyway,’ Holly continued, ‘he’s just not… ready… yet, so Grandma’s going to pick him up, and they’ll spend the day together.’
Without any warning, tears suddenly burst from Alyssa’s eyes like a broken dam, and as she stepped back, she placed a palm against her daughter’s cheek. ‘I love my family, you know that?’
‘I do. And we love you, too, and that’s why we’re going,’ Holly said, linking their arms together as they walked into the house.
* * *
Three hours later, Evan Bishop was being escorted from the jailhouse van to the courthouse, shackled at the ankles and wrists.
Because news crews filled every available spot and some that weren’t, parking was at a premium, even for the authorities. It seemed like the entire city had shown up for this. Lights flashed as cameras went off. They were surrounded by questions being shouted from all sides.
Alyssa, Holly, and Brock, along with Cord, had already pushed their way through the throngs of people, Cord being none too gentle about shoving people who wound up in their path.
As they made their way to the top step, Alyssa pulled back, ignoring her husband’s hand on her waist as he tried to guide her forward. She was unable to stop herself from turning around to get a glimpse of Evan Bishop, still wondering if she could glean just a trace of the carefree little boy Timmy had once been. But even she didn’t know if it was to assuage her own guilt or because she wanted to keep that promise, that vow to protect, she’d made to her little brother forty years ago. And maybe it was a little of both, and that was okay, too.
And then suddenly he was there, ten feet from the stairs, two officers on either side of him as another used his long arms to push through the crowds, creating a pathway for their prisoner. Alyssa’s eyes locked with Evan Bishop’s as his gaze swept up, and she thought he froze for just a second, but she couldn’t be sure.
His gaze swept away from her for just a moment, and she knew he’d spotted Holly because he jerked a little and shook his head as if dislodging a memory.
When he turned her way once more, he held her stare, and she thought she saw a familiar spark. Was it regret or something else? When she saw his mouth move, she realized he was speaking to her, and her feet automatically moved forward.
It took her a second before she understood what he was saying. ‘I will come for you.’
Chills raced up and down her spine as her heart fell to her toes, and she knew she’d been kidding herself thinking she still had a chance of saving the little boy. The man in front of her was nothing more than a sadistic killer, and she had to accept that and somehow move on, even if it meant she could never forgive herself for the part she played in it.
Suddenly, there was a huge commotion as someone forced his way to the front. The man’s face was red, his eyes cold, his teeth bared. He shouted something that got lost in the wind, jabbing the air to accentuate every single word.
A sound halted time for a split second. Then panic and pandemonium erupted with people screaming, pushing, shoving, and trampling each other to find safety.
‘Shots fired at Civic Plaza. I repeat, shots fired.’
Alyssa whipped her head around, automatically reaching for the weapon she didn’t have. ‘Get her inside,’ she ordered Brock, gesturing to Holly as she moved swiftly down the stairs.
Someone shouted. ‘We need an ambulance! He’s been hit.’
Who? Who’d been hit? She looked around her wildly. Then she saw it; the orange jumpsuit, the handcuffed wrists and chained ankles lying entirely too still on the ground, blood flowing from his mouth, eyes now vacant.
She heard herself screaming as Cord pulled her away. Several officers surrounded a man, guns pointed. ‘Get down! Drop the weapon! Get down!’ they yelled.
Alyssa saw a weapon fall from the man’s hands as he sank to his knees, hands up in surrender. One of the officers moved and she got a close look at his face.
Rafe McCormick.
He’d fired the shot that killed Timmy for real this time, completely ripping away any last lingering hope she might’ve had of saving him.
A LETTER FROM CHARLY
Hello!
Thank you so much for choosing to read my debut novel, All His Pretty Girls. The road from initial thought to final product has been exhilarating, frightening, tear-inducing, and exciting, sometimes one at a time and sometimes all at once.
The topic of serial killers and what makes them that way has always fascinated me, so it was no surprise the idea for this story came to me a few years ago when I took my vehicle in for a tune up, and a man sat down next to me, and just like Mearl Leroy in this book, began talking to me about all kinds of random things. And while he was quite friendly, the writer in me couldn’t help but create a story from this situation, and I began to wonder: what would happen if this grandfatherly-type person was actually a serial killer? And from there, the story grew, and I couldn’t wait to get home to begin writing it down. Of course, my cast of characters grew, evolved, and steered me in several different directions, surprising even me a few times. Writing All His Pretty Girls taught me characters really do talk to me, and they won’t be quiet until I listen, even when I don’t want to. In fact, they can be quite insistent.
So, I truly hope you enjoyed meeting Alyssa, her family, and her team as much as I enjoyed writing about them. If you did, I’d love to hear from you and would appreciate if you would take a few minutes to write a review and share your thoughts… and tell your friends and family, too. Readers like you help authors like me continue to create the stories that weave through our minds on a regular basis.
If you’d like to learn more about me or would like to contact me, you can find me at:
www.clcox-author.com
www.twitter.com/Charlylynncox
www.facebook.com/charlycoxauthor
[email protected]
[email protected]
Sincerely,
Charly
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book is a journey that takes an author on many ups, downs, and curves, and there are so many people that I want to thank. Without you, the path I took to this point may have been very different. I only wish I could name every single person ever who played some part in getting me here.
I’d first like to begin by thanking all those authors out there who gave me places to escape to in my mind and who first gave me a reason to love reading. You’ve taken me on more journeys to more places and introduced me to more people than I ever could’ve managed on my own.
Next, I’d like to thank my husband Kevin – my biggest cheerleader and the person who has to listen to me cry when I’m sure nothing sounds right, and I’m positive I’ve written nothing but drivel, and who never ever allowed me to give up, and who never failed to tell me he believed – and my son Timothee – who not only reads and pokes holes in my plots, but who’s willing to tell me about them, laugh at me when needed, encourages me every step of the way, and more importantly, who helps me untangle the knots, even if that means taking my calls when he’s with his friends. (One of these days, you’ll finish one of your own books and set the reading world on fire.) Without the two of you, my world would be a far lonelier place.
To Dad and Uncle Al – you were both taken far too soon, and I wish you could be here now to share in this moment.
To my friends (and fellow authors) Patrice Locke and Jennifer Bohnhoff for being the very first readers of the very first version of this story. If it hadn’t been for the two of you, I’m not sure I would’ve been brave enough to share my writing with anyone, much less the world. You showed me critique is nothing but encouragement to improve.
For Drew Dooley, dear friend and fellow writer, for so many things, but mostly for reminding me why the gremlins are there and for helping to pick me up during those times it got to be too much, for reminding me to step back and take a breath, for pushing me to always be my best, and for just being you. I can’t wait for the world to discover your writing – and not just because I want to go to Bora Bora. (And for her wife Deb who makes me homemade salsa straight from her garden. I’m convinced it helps my creative side. Hint hint.)
For my awesome friends and neighbors, Theresa and Kevin, for cheering and crying with me with every up and down, and not just in my writing travels, either.
For my sisters, Kim and Kerri, and my sisters and brothers-in-law – you make my heart smile.
For Dawn – thank you for letting me borrow Wyatt’s name and for answering some of my initial questions when I first began traveling this road toward this dream of mine. Also, thank you for reading one of the earliest versions of this story – and encouraging me to keep going.
For Aunt Lucy who has never once stopped believing in me or in any of my dreams.
For Bud and Ray Wolfenbarger for answering endless questions, texts, and phone calls regarding police and investigative procedures. Thank you for not disowning me and blocking my number. You are, by far, my favorite law enforcement guys in the entire world.
For my forever best friends who are the kind of people who drop anything (including birthday parties in their honor) to show their unending love and support: Tammie (bfflylas to the end) – there is not enough room to thank you for all the things I should. You’ve been with me through more ups and downs and helped me back up more times than I can count, and who has laughed and made lasting memories with me since we were teenagers. Who knew all those years ago, fate would land us in all the same classes, connecting us for life? Angie – if there’s a more fiercely loyal, honest, protective, and giving person out there – never mind, there’s not. You are the glue that holds us together. Tracy – who knew when we met in junior high that decades later, you’d be helping me nurse my husband back to health after his ‘seat belt broke,’ and then as if that wasn’t enough, answering all my strange medical questions and then making sure I got them right… without openly laughing; and finally to Ro and Annette – thank you for reminding me that you’re always there for me, even when I don’t know I need
it. I wish everyone could be as lucky to have a group like you. After this long, we’re kind of Gorilla-glued together now. And thank God for that. I never want to navigate this world without a single one of you.
For all those people out there in the large writing community who’ve become my friends along the way (Stephanie S., and Jodi L-S., to name just a couple). Thank you for reminding me my panicky moments are completely normal.
And I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank Hera Books, Lindsey Mooney, and especially Keshini Naidoo – editorial and literary genius extraordinaire – for seeing to the heart of this story and for being willing to help drag out of me the vision you saw. Your insight is awe-inspiring, so thank you for your unending support and encouragement and for answering my many millions of questions and emails (only slightly exaggerated) when I felt the task was impossible. I’m sending cyber hugs your way.
And finally, to all the readers out there. Without you, there would be no need for authors to share the stories that crawl through our minds itching to get out into the world.
First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Hera
Hera Books
28b Cricketfield Road
London, E5 8NS
United Kingdom
Copyright © Charly Cox, 2019
The moral right of Charly Cox to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.