He let his voice trail off. “Until one night on our bus, I was reading a devotional that someone had sent me and went to my knees before God. I was different after that, and from then on, the places my music took me became my mission field.”
Douglas smiled. “That’s a good story. You should share it one morning for the congregation.”
“That’s just what you call the beginning.” He cleared his throat. “So, I started sending as much money back home as I could spare. The family farm was saved. I was there this past week and it’s a beautiful place. My father truly brought it back.”
“You did.”
He nodded. “Right. I brought it back, financially. But my father put in the physical improvements.”
The older man waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not going to split hairs with you. Go on.”
“Well, it seems that night with Carol…” Again, he let his voice trail off, then took a big, unsteady breath. “That night with Carol was her beginning as well. Basically, we, ah, have a daughter. An eight-year-old.”
He waited. Again, no shock came from his church leader. Just encouragement. “Go on.”
“She went to my parents, pregnant, alone, asking for a contact number for me. They lied to her, pastor. They told her I wasn’t interested in anything to do with her or my little girl. All the while they were giving Carol a few dollars here and there and keeping what I sent them.” He felt his jaw clench, felt anger fuse his cheeks with heat. And, finally, he saw shock on his pastor’s face. “For eight years, they’ve lied to her, to me, and to my little girl, Lisa, while they pocketed the majority of the money I sent home.”
The pastor’s eyes widened. “What?”
“They knew I’d leave Nashville and come home, and they’d lose that paycheck. So, they’ve hid her, convinced family members that I didn’t want…” His breath hitched and he bowed his head, praying for strength. Douglas leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I am so angry,” he whispered harshly.
They were silent for several long moments before Douglas spoke. “Your anger is understandable. But, there is soon going to come a time when you have to forgive, and you have to let it go.”
“I really don’t want to.” He realized he’d fisted his hands. He intentionally relaxed them and flexed his fingers.
The pastor nodded and folded his hands. “Not wanting to is going to eat at you, and open you up to all sorts of bad and worse. The truth is you don’t have to accept them. You don’t have to pretend they were right, and you don’t have to condone their sin. But you have to forgive, and you have to honor. The price for their sin should not be your soul.”
Bobby snatched his hat off his knee and surged to his feet. “How can I? What they took from me…”
“Can never be replaced. You can’t go back, Bobby. You can only go forward. Our Lord Himself said, ‘But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you.’”
“You’re asking the impossible.”
“No, son. I’m not the one asking.” Douglas stood and approached him. “Their sin in lying to you, in deceiving you, and selfishly taking your money – their sin is no worse than your sin of drunkenness and fornication. But you have a daughter, now. You have a little girl because God makes beautiful things out of even the most sinful things we do. The Lord has forgiven you for your sin, and more, without a fight or any hard feelings. What do you think He’s about to do with your parents? What part must you play in His plan? Let me pray about it with you.”
Bobby looked at his watch. “Can’t. Have to go.” He put his hat on his head, desperate to remove himself from this feeling of conviction. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
Before he put his hand on the doorknob, Douglas spoke again. “I love you, Bobby, and so does your heavenly Father. If you need me, call me. And if you need Him, you know how to find Him.”
Bobby cleared his throat. “Thank you, Pastor.” He pulled open the door and walked out without a backward glance.
“RHONDA, I can’t believe you lost your temper like that,” Carol admitted, taking a bite of her sandwich, her teeth audibly crunching through the grilled pumpernickel bread as the flavor of corned beef and sauerkraut filled her mouth. She didn’t know how Rhonda had managed to convince one of the file clerks to have the deli lunch waiting for them when they got in from court, but she was so thankful for whatever powers of persuasion she used.
“I can’t believe it took me two hours to do it,” Rhonda offered. “I’m just lucky Judge Williams was as fed up as I was or else I could be in serious trouble.”
“I know. He must have hit your last nerve. I’ve never seen you even impatient in traffic.” Carol declared.
Rhonda smiled a small smile. “He let me ramble a bit. He should have stopped me before I even got going.”
Carol’s phone vibrated with an incoming text message. “Jury’s back in,” she confirmed, taking one last bite of her sandwich before she stood. “They were out all of about, what, fifteen minutes?”
“Surprised?” Rhonda asked almost rhetorically.
“Not really,” Carol answered, picking up her briefcase. “No one in their right minds would let him go since the entire crime was committed on camera. I think the judge should have the state sue him for legal fees, honestly.”
They exited the office and entered the lobby of the building. As they waited for the elevator, she heard her name. “Ms. Mabry!”
Carol turned. She didn’t recognize the woman wearing a bronze colored pantsuit and shockingly high heels awkwardly rushing toward them. She hesitated, because she knew, somehow instinctively, that this woman was a reporter.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
The woman stopped and pushed her silvery blonde curls behind her shoulder. “I thought we could talk about your new next door neighbor.”
With an inward sigh, Carol pointedly looked at her watch. “I have nothing to say and I have a jury coming back in on a felony trial. Have a nice day.”
As she and Rhonda stepped into the elevator, Rhonda looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “What was that all about?”
“Just gossip.” She tugged on her suit jacket and brushed at the sides of her hair, making sure all strands still stayed tucked inside the stylish bun on the back of her head. “I hate gossip.” Unfortunately, she knew that was just the beginning of what would most certainly be a storm.
“THANK you for taking the time to meet with me today.” Richmond’s Commonwealth Attorney Maurice Davidson returned his telephone to the cradle and formally greeted Carol and Mitch. He sat behind his large desk in a leather chair, elbows on the arms of the chair, long fingers steepled. He wore his white hair closely cropped to his head. His light brown eyes stood out from skin the color of dark caramel. Despite the political savvy his job required, he rarely ever played politics on the job. Carol had nothing but respect for him and enjoyed working for him.
“What did you need specifically?” Carol asked, knowing Maurice rarely wasted time or words.
“The mayor called this afternoon. We’re desperately trying to put a lid on this, but it’s going to blow at any time. Do we have anything the press can use?” Maurice asked, slanting his eyes toward Mitch, who busied himself by checking the screen on his vibrating smart phone.
“I’m already fielding calls,” Carol said. “Young women being murdered in a ritualistic manner is going to attract attention. One of the crime scenes would have been enough to cause mass speculation. Three go beyond our ability to contain.”
“I agree. What do you have at this point?”
“We only have test results back from the first two victims. Both were drugged with the same cocktail. The DEA stepped up. They’re trying to identify the street source.”
Maurice nodded. “What else?”
“We believe the latest victim wasn’t the original target, and she was a blonde the last time her roommate saw her. We’re questionin
g drug stores, beauty supply, and grocery stores in the area to see if anyone bought it that night. We might get lucky and get a better image from security cameras or ATMs in the area,” Carol said.
Maurice sat forward a bit and placed his steepled fingers atop his desk. “Found any correlation between the victims besides their appearance?”
Mitch shrugged. “He’s clearly killing someone else; replaying something over and over. I have profiles being created. The clothing is always professional and so far hasn’t been owned by the victims, including the first one who was a professional herself. Dying the hair to closely match the first two victims… it’s clear he’s killing a tall, red haired, professional woman.”
Maurice pursed his lips. “Any cold cases fit that?”
“Not in Virginia in the last fifteen or so years, best we can tell,” Mitch said. “We’re branching out as far as we can, but prior to recent years, in many cases, those kind of things require a manual search. With our available resources, it’s too daunting of a task to pursue beyond what we’ve done.”
“Understood.” Maurice glanced at his watch. “Thanks, Detective. I appreciate your time.”
Mitch nodded and stood. He reached over and shook the older man’s hand. “I’ll let you know if anything breaks.”
With half a smile, Maurice resteepled his fingers. “My ear’s to the ground with this one. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” As Carol started to stand, he met her eyes. “Give me just a second, Carol.”
When the door shut behind Mitch, he looked at her. “Got an interesting call today from a reporter out of Nashville asking all kinds of questions about your relationship with ‘country music superstar’ Bobby Kent.” Maurice actually made air quotes with his fingers when pronouncing Bobby’s title.
Carol licked her lips and tried not to jump to any kind of defensive posture. “I’m sure it won’t be the last call you get,” she said after clearing her throat.
“Doesn’t sound like it.” He paused, as if giving her time to elaborate, but she didn’t. “Care to explain?”
“Not particularly,” she said, shifting. “But I will confirm that Bobby Kent is Lisa’s father and ask that this remain between you and I. I know it will get out. He said it always does.”
“Consider it between us, then.” He sat up suddenly, his chair squeaking as he moved from a near reclining position. “Okay. I heard Rhonda lost her temper in court today.”
Carol smiled. “About a millisecond before Judge Williams blew up.”
Despite his nod, he said, “That would have been up to him. The judge isn’t my concern. My attorneys are my concern. What’s your opinion?”
“That I’m glad I wasn’t the one questioning the witness. The way we divvied up the duties in court today, it could have just as easily been me.”
“Okay,” he said, his tone sounding mollified. He opened a file on the center of his desk blotter. “Thanks, Carol. Have a good one.”
Clearly being dismissed, Carol stood. “You, too,” she said. On her way out of his office, she glanced at her watch and mentally calculated how much time she could spare before she had to pick up Lisa from dance practice.
CHAPTER 15
HIS eyes burned and his neck felt sore from driving for so long, but he was almost home. The drive from his house in Nashville all the way back to his home in Richmond took the better part of 10 hours and three interstate highways on a good day. He had been driving for at least eleven hours with only a ten minute stop to fill his fuel tank. He continued to hit knots of slow moving traffic that frustrated him tremendously.
Common sense told Bobby he should have stopped hours before and rested for at least a little while, maybe eaten a meal. Then, as he left Tennessee behind and crossed the North Carolina state line, he listened to a talk radio host taking calls about the serial killer they were calling Richmond Red who was slaying women in Virginia’s capital. He knew he needed to keep driving. Carol was going to need him, going to need an extra hand with Lisa due to the extra hours she would have to put in at work.
Or did he need her?
His entire life had shifted underneath his feet in such a way that he was still reeling from the blow. He’d lost his parents. Deep inside his soul, he felt himself mourning that loss underneath the anger. And he’d gained a daughter.
A daughter.
How had she existed for over eight years and he’d not known about it? How could something so profound have been so obscured from him?
And Carol.
What did he mean, and Carol? Why did so many of his thoughts about Lisa end up about Carol? Why did his mind keep going there?
For the last week, he’d been replaying every interaction they had together before he left for Nashville. They’d both known that something would potentially bloom between them. Just as she’d known that what he had to do that moment was go chase his dream. Why had he never followed up with her? Why had he spent nearly nine years never even trying to track her down?
Now she found her way into so many of his waking thoughts. Why? Could they recapture what they shared nearly a decade ago? Dare they even try?
It ate at him, because he didn’t want to confuse his feelings for his daughter with any feelings for Carol, but as the days went on, he felt certain that there was no conflict there. Carol was a special person. He recognized it when he was in college, and he recognized it now.
A green highway sign informed him that Richmond lay just twenty miles ahead. He sat up straighter, feeling a sudden burst of energy. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning, and he wouldn’t see her until early evening, but he would be near. Then, in about fourteen hours, he would pick his daughter up from school and spend the afternoon with her.
CAROL leaned her head back and rested it on the wall behind her, listening to the night sounds all around her. The neighborhood had long since closed down for the night and the lights from the houses on the street had extinguished one by one.
She knew she should go inside and go to bed, too. She didn’t think she could sleep even if she tried, so she stayed where she was and tried to make the image of the burning candles leave her mind.
Her mother had called a few hours ago. The murders in Richmond had made the national news. The cable news networks had gotten wind of the candles. There were more red candles on the news stations right now than on any church altar on Christmas Eve. Carol spent nearly twenty minutes convincing her mother that she and Lisa were perfectly safe. Then she spent another twenty minutes convincing her mother that Lisa was perfectly safe learning to love Bobby Kent.
The glare of headlights crossed her face as they pulled into the driveway next door, and she opened her eyes to watch Bobby get out of what looked like a brand new full-sized pickup truck. She guessed he must have seen her sitting there because he didn’t head into his house. He crossed the lawn toward her instead.
“You’re up late,” he observed in a quiet voice, slowly sitting down in the chair next to hers and angling it so that he could prop his feet on the porch railing. His voice came out deep, so baritone it nearly sounded bass, and mellow. She could hear the fatigue in his speech. She wondered when the last time he had spoken to anyone that day was.
“I’m having a hard time winding down tonight,” she asserted. Carol knew she should offer him something to drink, but she really didn’t feel like getting up. “It’s been a busy day.”
“I imagine.”
He must have driven for at least twelve hours. “I didn’t know you were driving back. I figured you’d fly.”
Bobby shrugged. “I was sick of that rental car. I wanted my truck and some stuff from my house.” He rolled his head in a slow circle on his neck. She heard his neck bones pop like cracked knuckles. “You wouldn’t mind if I got some water, would you? I’m thirsty and still wired from the drive.”
Carol sat up. “Yeah. Sure,” she said, but Bobby put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“I can help myself, Carol. Stay put.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes again while he was gone, and a few moments later, jumped a little when she felt something cold being pressed into her hand. “I grabbed you one, too,” he said. He sat back down while she took a sip of her water and propped his feet back on the railing. “You want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Richmond Red.”
Carol shrugged. “What is there to say that I can even talk about?” She took another sip, feeling the cold liquid slide down her throat. “I just wish he’d make one mistake so I could actually do something,” she said. “All I do now is sit back and observe.”
She stood, nervous energy keeping her from being able to sit still. “The press started showing up today. By the time I left this afternoon, they were camped out on the outside steps. I’m probably lucky they haven’t decided to come here yet.”
She suddenly realized something, and turned to look at Bobby. “Some reporter wanted to talk about my new next door neighbor yesterday,” she asserted with her eyes narrowed.
Bobby held his hands up. “I can’t do anything about that, except keep it quiet as long as possible.”
She didn’t listen to him, her mind raced too fast for that. “Oh Lord above,” she said, running her hands through her hair, “how could I not have thought of that before? You’re like this big superstar. They’ll eventually track you down. Lisa probably told everyone she knows at school today, and the kids from her party already know you were there.”
The ice in Bobby’s glass rattled as he took a sip. “I think you’re concentrating on the wrong thing here, Darlin’. Lisa and I are a separate issue from the murders.”
“No, no. You’re wrong. It all has to do with the press hounding me. You’ll just be an added incentive.” She sat back down in a huff. “Why in the world, with all of the years behind us, did you pick now to come back, Bobby?”
A Carol for Kent Page 12