A Carol for Kent

by Hallee Bridgeman

  A CAROL FOR KENT TITLE PAGE

  Part 3 of the Song of Suspense series

  a Novel by

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  Published by

  Olivia Kimbrell Press™

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  A Carol for Kent, a novel, part 3 of the Song of Suspense series

  First edition. Copyright © 2014 by Hallee Bridgeman. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording – without express written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or broadcasted critical articles and reviews. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places, locales or to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY: Olivia Kimbrell Press™*, P.O. Box 4393, Winchester, KY 40392-4393

  The Olivia Kimbrell Press™ colophon and open book logo are trademarks of Olivia Kimbrell Press™.

  *Olivia Kimbrell Press™ is a publisher offering true to life, meaningful fiction from a Christian worldview intended to uplift the heart and engage the mind.

  Some scripture quotations courtesy of the King James Version of the Holy Bible.

  Some scripture quotations courtesy of the New King James Version of the Holy Bible, Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas-Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Excerpted lyrics from "It Is Well with My Soul" by hymnist Horatio G. Spafford with music composed by Philip P. Bliss composed 1873 from the public domain.

  Original Cover Art and Graphics by Romance Cover Creations (www.romance-covers.com)

  Library Cataloging Data

  Bridgeman, Hallee (Hallee A. Bridgeman) 1972-

  A Carol for Kent; Part 3 of the Song of Suspense / Hallee Bridgeman

  300 p. 23cm x 15cm (9in x 6 in.)

  Summary: A ruthless serial killer seeks to end a love song eight years in the making.

  ISBN: 978-1939603272 (trade perfect) ISBN: 978-1939603265 (ebook)

  1. Christian fiction 2. man-woman relationships 3. suspenseful romance 4. romantic thriller 5. serial killer 6. family relationships

  PS3558.B7534 C537 2014

  [Fic.] 813.6 (DDC 23)

  DEDICATION

  THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED TO …

  Carol and Rob.

  When I was writing An Aria for Nick, I needed a “best friend”. As I searched my mind for “best friend for high school Aria”, I immediately came up with Carol -- one of my best friends from my high school years and someone whom I continue to adore and admire today.

  And in the mind of high school friends, when naming my serial killer I couldn’t help but choose “Rob,” named after my other best friend -- the first friend I made after a military relocation to Ft. Benning, Georgia, when I was 15.

  This book is dedicated to you, Carol Smith and Rob Tesdahl. Thank you for the two-and-a-half decades of friendship. Here’s to many more…

  CHAPTER 1

  Personal journal entry.

  April 16

  He won’t leave me alone about her. She consumes his every waking thought, he says. It’s been years since I last gave in to his demands, but he scares me, now. If I gave in and just let him do whatever he wanted he would go on a killing spree and burn the world down. I have to appease him.

  The day to day contact drains me. He saps my energy and threatens and cajoles and promises and won’t just SHUT UP! I’ve lost the strength to fight.

  We got in so much trouble last time. I don’t want to move again. Maybe if I give in just once, maybe I can make him pretend to be normal, again. Throw him a bone so he’ll just let me have some peace. I just want peace.

  DARLA Cody shifted aside to keep the big guy in the smelly flannel shirt from bumping into her arm and spilling the drinks she carried. He drunkenly shouted an apology in her direction as she shifted through the crowd.

  As she approached the table in the corner, she grinned at her friends. Melissa, Rachel, and Saundra took up three of the four chairs, and Melissa had her foot on the seat of the fourth. As crowded as this place was, Darla was surprised no one had tried to wrestle away the chair from her by now. Maybe someone had?

  “What a madhouse,” she exclaimed over the percussive music.

  “I’m sure not everyone here are CPA’s like us, but it’s nice to be in this kind of celebratory atmosphere in the wake of the most recent tax season,” Saundra declared.

  Darla snorted. “You couldn’t possibly be a bigger nerd, could you?”

  They laughed, because blonde and beautiful Saundra’s exterior revealed nothing of the computer-like brain in her stunning head.

  “What did I say?” Saundra asked.

  As her friends laughed, Darla rolled her head on her shoulders. She felt drained, on the edge of complete exhaustion. She’d thought this night out would be just the ticket after 15-hour days over the last three months, but what she really wanted was a hot bath and maybe a good book. Unfortunately, she couldn’t abandon her friends ten minutes after getting here, so she’d give it another hour, tops, then make a graceful exit.

  “Ooh, hot guy at your six o’clock,” Melissa said, gesturing with her head.

  Trying her best to be casual, Darla turned and looked, immediately spotting the man in the shirt and tie. He had dark hair, a goatee, and black framed glasses. He was looking right at her.

  As soon as their eyes met, he looked away, as if scanning the crowd. But it didn’t take long for him to look back at her again.

  “He looks like a younger and better shaved Trent Scott,” Rachel said. Trent Scott was the latest Hollywood heartthrob, thin and lean with a slender, wiry build and hollow cheeks that framed deep blue soulful eyes. In addition to securing a role opposite Julianne McNeill in the latest blockbuster, he had just been nominated as People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.

  “You think any thin guy with dark hair looks like Trent Scott,” Melissa accused.

  Darla looked away. She wasn’t here to pick up some random guy, no matter how good looking. She took a sip of her Cosmopolitan, flinching a bit at the strong alcohol taste. “He’s shorter than me,” she said.

  “Most are, love,” Rachel said. She grinned at the guy, and Darla thought she’d groan out loud when her friend said, “Here he comes.”

  He came up to their table and put his hand on the back of Melissa’s chair. Darla wished she’d sat down when she’d had the chance, because now she stood next to him.

  “Evening, ladies,” he said, looking at each one of them. When he looked at her, she thought that she’d never seen eyes so shockingly blue before. “I’m Rob.”

  Melissa took it upon herself to introduce all of them. When she finished, he turned to Darla and held his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, looking into her eyes.

  “Likewise,” she said, rather breathlessly. She felt her heart flutter at his flirting.

  “I noticed you from over by the bar. Would you like to dance?”

  Feeling pulled into his eyes, she shook her head and said, “I –”

  “She’d love to,” Rachel said enthusiastically.

  “Darla is our dancing queen,” Saundra added.

  “Well –”

  Rob grinned and stepped backward, tugging on her hand. “Come on. Dance with me. I promise I won’t bite. What can it
hurt?”

  Helpless, Darla looked at her friends, then back to him. “Okay, one dance.” She took three long pulls of her drink and set the nearly empty glass on the table. Feeling the heat from the alcohol spread down her chest, she tossed a wave at her friends. “See ya!”

  CHAPTER 2

  Tuesday, April 17th

  CAROL Mabry stared down at the beautiful corpse carefully arranged on the floor of apartment 3A. The dead woman wore a gray silk pantsuit and pink silk blouse. Her hair was perfectly coifed into a French twist, and her makeup looked like it had been applied professionally. Pink beads adorned her neck, hanging loosely against her breasts. Clip-on pink ball earrings clung to each ear.

  She lay spread eagle on the ground, her eyes a blank stare in the direction of the ceiling. Her limbs had been arranged in near perfect symmetry as if she were caught in the very act of making a snow angel. Some sort of wire around her neck had cut into her skin, making it look like she had on a red necklace.

  At her head, at each of her hands, and at her feet, fat red candles burned, forming flickering lights at the points of the pentagram of her body. The crimson colored wax had run down the candles and pooled into the beige carpet.

  Horrible, Carol thought.

  She hated senseless death. After her years as an Assistant Commonwealth Attorney for Richmond, Virginia, she kept expecting to become immune to it, but so far, every time was just as horrible as the last.

  Pushing aside those personal thoughts, needing to run on logic and not emotion right now, Carol knelt near the head of the body and inspected the wire without touching it. She recognized the marked tip on one end.

  Detective Mitchell “Mitch” Carpenter knelt beside her and looked on, rubbing his chin with his large hand. His father had been American, but he’d inherited all of his features from his Italian mother. He was in his mid forties and about her height. His face showed the lines of strain that came from being a homicide detective in one of the largest cities in the state.

  He wore a cheap suit today and she could smell the lingering odor of cigarette smoke mixed in with the scent of Old Spice clinging to the polyester blend.

  “Darla Cody,” he said by way of introduction. “Twenty-five, CPA at the Grayson firm. Single, straight.”

  “Doesn’t look like she fought at all, does it?”

  “No. She looks almost relaxed.” He used the tip of his pen to touch the tip of the wire on her neck. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Violin string.” She gestured to the marker. “G.”

  “G?”

  “Yes. See?” She brought her finger closer. “I can guess at the brand, but that’s probably unimportant. This is definitely violin string.”

  “So our victim was strangled with a G-string? Is that supposed to be funny?” Even years of hardening his heart to the things he saw every day could not disguise all of the disgust in his voice.

  Carol raised her eyebrows. “Check her underwear?”

  Mitch shook his head. “Way, way outside of my lane. I’ll wait on the medical examiner for the lingerie report.”

  “Could have swapped for a trophy. Check her underwear drawer?”

  Mitch just shook his head. “Could just be nothing. Could just be a rather interesting choice of weapon.”

  “Indeed.” Carol stood and looked down at the body. “What’s with the candles?”

  “Cult?”

  “Perhaps.” She checked her watch. “Who found her?”

  Mitch gestured with his chin to the blonde woman standing next to two uniformed officers. “Friend from work. She said they were out last night, and that this one left with a guy named Rob. She didn’t show up for work, so at lunch, she came over here to make sure she was okay.”

  “Anything else on this Rob?”

  “Nada.” He stepped back as the crime scene unit arrived. “I’m canvassing now. We have people in this apartment and at the bar. We’ll pull security footage, too.”

  “I saw the cameras coming in here. Hopefully we have something.” She looked back down at the body. “Something’s not right here.”

  “You mean other than the strangled dead girl?”

  “Yeah,” she said absently, staring at the gray jacket and pink blouse. “Something.”

  “Carol, this girl could be your sister,” Mitch said in his careless and almost callous way.

  Carol tilted her head and looked at the girl again. They had the same shade of auburn hair, and both were tall and thin, but there weren’t too many other features they shared. Carol’s eyes were tawny colored, and this girl’s were green.

  Unfazed at Mitch’s manner, she shook her head. “Not if you took her out of her suit.” She pulled her vibrating phone out of her pocket. “There’s something here we’re supposed to see. I think the killer is telling us something. I just can’t get it right now.” She checked the incoming text and put her phone back into her pocket. “I have to run.”

  “I’ll send over witness interviews as soon as I have them.”

  “And the photos. I want to try to see what I’m not seeing right now.”

  “You got it.”

  BECAUSE she was already out and about, Carol stopped at her favorite coffee shop on her way back to her office. The drive-through line looked really long, so she parked in the tiny parking lot and dashed inside.

  She nearly groaned out loud when she saw Jack Gordon sitting in one of the leather chairs by the gas fireplace. The bell on the door had jingled when she entered and he glanced her way over the screen of his laptop. As soon as he recognized her, he set the machine aside and stood with a smile.

  Carol had met Jack here three weeks ago. He’d just relocated to the Richmond area from Alexandria. He looked incredibly fit at about 220 pounds of solid muscle. With his dark hair and blue eyes, he was both handsome and very charming. Carol agreed to meet him for lunch the next day. She thoroughly enjoyed herself right up to the moment she found out he was a detective about to start work in Richmond. Unfortunately, she had a personal rule about dating lawyers or law enforcement.

  She thought he’d understand, but he hadn’t taken it well. He’d crushed a cup of coffee in his hand, swearing out loud when the hot liquid burned him. His angry reaction put her off of him completely. The next time she’d seen him, he’d acted utterly charming and once more perfectly poised and polite. She couldn’t forget how quickly he’d gotten violently angry. Even if his looks and charm had tempted her to compromise on her personal rule, nothing would convince her to do so after that display.

  “Hello, Jack,” she greeted coolly.

  “Carol.” He approached, but didn’t hold his hand out or try to touch her. “I’ve missed seeing you here in the mornings.”

  “It’s been really busy at work. I’m lucky if I have time to hit the drive through.” She turned her attention to the barista behind the counter. “Café au lait, please. Whole milk.”

  When Jack spoke again, he was a little too close for her comfort level. “Look Carol. We got off on the wrong foot. You’re an Army brat. You know how it is when you move to a new town. I could really use a friend. I was hoping we could go out again,” he gently conveyed.

  Carol turned her head to look at him, but not her body. “I already told you, Jack. No lawyers. No cops. I’m afraid I really can’t make an exception. It interferes with my job.”

  “And what’s your job?”

  She smiled. “If our paths ever cross, then you’ll know.” The barista set her coffee in front of her and collected her cash. Carol tossed the change into the tip jar, picked up the cardboard cup, and turned to leave. “Hopefully, we won’t ever have to meet on the job. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  As she turned away, she saw two things. In her peripheral vision, she saw Jack Gordon’s entire body tense up and his jaw clench, and she knew in that moment that her instincts were spot on. Simultaneously, she saw her friend and fellow attorney, Rhonda Regalman, come in through the front door. Rhonda spotted Carol standing nex
t to Jack Gordon and momentarily looked surprised, nearly shocked to see her there. Then, in the blink of an eye, the shocked look vanished and she grinned a hello. “Hi, Carol! Do you want to have a cup of coffee with me?”

  Relieved to have a handy excuse to end the conversation, Carol waved a greeting to Rhonda and hastened over to where the other attorney stood. Still bristling over the confrontation with Jack, she gave Rhonda a curt shake of her head. “I can’t stay for coffee. Sorry. Gotta’ go. But thank you. I’ll see you later on.”

  Keeping her back toward Jack, she walked past Rhonda and out the door back to her car.

  YOU nearly missed her solo. It’s up next,” Harriet Kent whispered as Carol slid into the auditorium seat next to her.

  “I know. How’s she doing so far?” Carol whispered back.

  Harriet smiled at the stage. “She’s the best one up there.”

  They watched the stage full of seven and eight-year-olds do their best to follow the steps they’d been taught, while parents sat in the audience dreaming of prima ballerinas, occasionally wiping at tears of pride or joy. Carol laughed when she caught herself thinking the same thoughts and wiping the same tears, and she clapped just as enthusiastically as the rest of the parents and grandparents when it was over and the little bumblebees gave their bows.

  At the reception immediately following, she picked up her daughter, Lisa, and gave her a smacking kiss on little lips which proudly sported a red punch mustache. “You are getting better every time I see you,” she told her.

  “I missed a step toward the end,” Lisa said, sadness pushing through the pride.