Killer Heat

by Brenda Novak

  “I need to take care of some business.”

  She grabbed him by the arm. “What kind of business?”

  “Let me go.”

  “You’re not going to confront that Francesca woman…”

  “I have to. Don’t you understand? I need to get those panties back before she hands them off to someone else. It might be too late already.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home as soon as I can. If your parents ask, tell them Dean’s watching the yard. He should be able to handle it for a couple of hours.”

  “Butch?”

  He turned.

  “If only you’d quit like you promised.”

  He wished he had, wished he could. What compelled him to do what he did? He’d asked himself that since he was a boy, but he was just…different, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to make himself normal. “I’m sorry.”

  “Be careful,” she said. Then she closed her eyes and her lips moved in what looked like a silent prayer, but Butch knew prayers wouldn’t save them. He’d never been acquainted with any god, couldn’t believe one existed. Even if there was some deity that took a benevolent interest in humankind, he wouldn’t protect Butch’s family. Not with the life Butch had lived. Not with the things he’d done. Butch had to take care of his own.

  With a wave, he headed for the door.

  “When will we be able to put it all behind us?” she whispered from the entrance to the kitchen.

  He paused to look back at her, and gave her the same empty promise he’d given ever since she’d first caught him cheating. “Soon. Real soon.”

  “It won’t end, Butch. It’ll never end, will it.”

  “Sure it will.” Flinching at the tears in her eyes, evidence of pain he’d caused, he stepped out on the porch, where he stood gazing down at his son.

  “Look, Daddy!” A grin spread across Champ’s face as he held up his Corvette. “This car goes fast.”

  “That’s a cool car,” Butch agreed. He knew in that instant that he wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever he had to, but another voice interrupted him before he could leave the porch.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Butch jerked his head around to see Dean standing in the shade of the overhang near the empty dog run. “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be in the yard.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m keeping an eye on things.”

  “Not the things you’re supposed to.”

  His smile grew faintly mocking. “For now, I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  “Be careful with that,” Butch warned.

  Straightening his frail, slim body, Dean pulled a woman’s thong from behind his back and twirled it around his finger. “Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me.”

  Francesca watched Jonah from her driveway as he moved his luggage into his rental car. “I guess this is goodbye,” she said.

  Jonah wondered how quickly he could arrange a flight. If he didn’t do it fast, he might change his mind. “I guess so.”

  “I never dreamed I’d see you again. Let alone kiss you,” she added.

  “Yeah, well, that kiss could’ve turned into a lot more,” he teased. “My mistake.”

  “Actually, you did the right thing.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It taught me something about you.”

  “Like…”

  “You’re not all bad.”

  “Is that meant to be a compliment?” he said with a laugh.

  “Yes. I appreciate all you’ve done.” She held up her injured arm. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

  “You’re welcome.” He bent his head in farewell as he took his keys from his pocket, but she surprised him by closing the distance between them and putting her arms around him.

  “It was good to see you again,” she murmured.

  He wanted to apologize to her, to finally let her know how guilty he felt about what he’d done when they were together. She seemed more open now. He thought she might allow him that opportunity, might actually believe him this time. But a blue van pulled up at that moment, and Adriana got out.

  “Hi.” She fidgeted with her keys while glancing from Francesca to him. She looked a lot different than when he’d seen her before. With her hair curled and her makeup on, she’d obviously gone to some trouble to clean up. Jonah wished he didn’t get the impression she’d done it for him, but that old feeling came over him, the one he remembered from ten years ago, and it had the same suffocating effect.

  Francesca’s smile tightened as she released him and moved away. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “I just came by to make sure you two are okay. I’ve been so worried, what with the case you’re working on. That Dean guy really gave me a bad feeling.”

  “I’ve got to go.” Eager to extricate himself from the conversation, Jonah walked toward his car. “Nice seeing you both.”

  It appeared as if Francesca had more to add to their earlier exchange, but now that Adriana was here, he knew she wouldn’t say it. She nodded instead. “Thanks again.”

  “No problem.”

  He waved at Adriana, who smiled a little too broadly in return, and got in his car. That moment when Francesca had softened, when she’d looked up at him with a hint of the old trust, had rattled him—and given him hope. But he was foolish to reach for it. What they’d had was long gone. They’d be crazy to try and resurrect it.

  “Just get the hell out of here,” he told himself. “Do the safe thing for once in your life.”

  And he did. He almost couldn’t believe it, but less than an hour later, he was waiting to board a plane to L.A.

  Butch waited until Champ went inside, like he’d told him to do, before addressing Dean. “Where’d you get those?”

  Filled with the adrenaline of being more daring than he’d ever thought he could be, Dean considered the scrap of fabric he’d taken from the metal box buried beneath the train car. “Where you keep all the others,” he said. “I found your little stash. You recognize them, don’t you? Or have you collected so many you can’t tell them apart anymore?”

  Butch didn’t yell, didn’t holler at him to get the hell out of the way or to crawl back under whatever rock he’d crawled out from, like he normally did when they crossed paths. His brother-in-law approached this situation with some caution, maybe even a touch of respect. “How did you find my box?” he asked, dropping his voice so they couldn’t be heard inside the house. “I didn’t find it, exactly. It was more a matter of…stumbling across it,” he said, although he’d been searching for it or something like it ever since Butch and Paris had married. Even with his extensive knowledge of the yard—and the abundance of time he spent in it—it’d taken years to unearth Butch’s precious trophies. He could hardly believe he’d done it. “Imagine my shock when I opened it,” he went on. “There have to be…what? Fifty pairs of panties in there?” He whistled. “I’m impressed, Butch. How many women have you slept with?”

  “That’s none of your business.” His initial flash of surprise now over, Butch wasn’t messing around any longer. His hands curled into fists and the veins stood out in his neck. He wanted to kill Dean as brutally as he’d killed Julia. That wasn’t hard to tell.

  Fortunately, Butch wouldn’t go that far. He cared too much about Paris and Champ, was already close to losing them. And he had his home and job to consider; all of it came through Paris.

  “Paris might consider it her business,” he mused.

  Butch spat at the ground. “You think she doesn’t know?”

  “If she does, she has no clue about the magnitude. Or what you do to the women after you get their panties.”

  “Shut up!” His voice turned into more of a rasp as he struggled to control his temper. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Have you taken your meds today?”

  “Forget my meds.” Finally feeling safe enough to reveal the irritation and anger that welled up inside him so often, Dean g
rimaced. “My medication is my affair. And I’m tired of you and everyone else around here getting involved in it.”

  “You need those pills. You act crazy when you’re not on them. Because of that, I’m going to forget this little…incident.”

  Butch was discounting him again. Refusing to let that happen, Dean stepped forward. “Collecting proof of your conquests may not be crazy, but I’m pretty sure everyone would agree that murder is a serious problem.”

  After shooting a wary glance at the front door, Butch moved closer to him.

  Fear tempted Dean to back away. He’d witnessed how drastically his brother-in-law’s moods could shift. Today, he’d given Butch a reason to be upset. But he stood his ground. That stash of women’s underwear supplied him with leverage he’d never had before. That was why he’d wanted to find it so badly.

  “I haven’t murdered anyone, Dean.” Butch towered over him like a giant redwood. “Francesca Moretti is wrong. You’re wrong.”

  Pursing his lips, Dean studied his treasure as a way to avoid the malevolence in Butch’s eyes. “Good to hear. So…you can probably explain why Julia’s body is in the old freezer?” He finally looked up. “Had to get there somehow.”

  The dark stubble on Butch’s chin contrasted sharply with the sudden white of his face. Putting his brother-in-law in such a compromising position made Dean feel powerful. He was glad he’d found those panties. Butch would never dare mistreat him again.

  “Are these hers?” Dean asked. “Julia’s?” Bringing the panties to his nose, he sniffed. “Nope. Couldn’t be. They still have the distinctive scent of the wearer, which means they came into your possession too recently. Could it be that they’re April Bonner’s?”

  Butch’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re the one who put that other pair of panties in my jockey box.”

  Widening his eyes, Dean played dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The underwear your sister came across. That’s what you hoped would happen. Are you the one who called her, too? The hang-up she thought was Kelly?”

  “That must’ve been someone else,” he lied, but his chuckle gave him away, as he intended.

  “What did you hope to accomplish, Dean? Did you think she’d leave me? That it would get me out of your life once and for all?”

  Dean would’ve liked nothing more. He’d hated Butch since the day they’d met. Butch was every bully he’d ever known. But he had to be careful. At the moment, Butch was the only one capable of taking care of them all, and Dean would never do anything to harm his family, especially his mother.

  “You’re jumping to some terrible conclusions, Butch.”

  “Where are those panties? Did you pick them up after Paris dropped them? Are you hiding them somewhere, trying to scare me?”

  “No.” This time Dean wasn’t lying. He had no idea where those panties had gone; neither had he realized, until now, that they were missing.

  “Tell me the truth!” Butch lunged forward, and Dean screamed.

  “Mom! Help! He’s going to hit me!”

  Butch grabbed him as if he’d strike, but then the door opened and his mother came out.

  Dean wondered if Paris had summoned her. His sister would’ve been much more likely to hear his cries, and although Paris generally sided with Butch, she understood how easily her husband’s temper could upset the delicate equilibrium that kept them all sheltered, fed and safe.

  “What’s going on here? What’s the matter with you two?” Elaine asked.

  Butch let him go. “Your son hasn’t taken his medication today, that’s all. He’s coming up with all kinds of ridiculous accusations against me.”

  Elaine scratched under the wig she’d taken to wearing ever since her hair became thin enough to show her scalp. “Like what?”

  “He claims I murdered Julia and put her in a freezer.”

  Dean couldn’t believe Butch had just blurted it out. He’d thought he was the only one privy to that terrible secret. But his mother’s response surprised him even more. She grabbed his arm so fiercely it hurt, then jerked him toward her so she could put her mouth next to his ear. “What are you doing, Dean? Do you want to ruin the whole family?” Ruin the family? This had nothing to do with the family. Dean was trying to help them by curbing Butch’s power. “I can prove it,” he cried. “We—we thought she ran away, but she didn’t. I can show you where she is right now. She’s in back, in the freezer. I cut off the padlock, but I put on another one just like it, and I’ve got the key.”

  “Where?”

  “Here.” He retrieved it from his pocket.

  “Give it to me. And don’t ever open it again. Forget what you’ve seen,” Mother hissed.

  “But…I’m telling you.” He pointed at Butch. “He murdered Julia! He’s dangerous!”

  She shook her head. “Butch didn’t kill Julia.”

  Dean felt his mouth drop open. “Then…who did?”

  “As far as you’re concerned, no one.” She checked the key he’d given her, seemed satisfied with it. “Forget whatever you saw, like I said, and stay away from that freezer. Do you hear? Never breathe a word of this again!”

  Searching for some sense in what he heard, Dean sifted through his fractured thoughts. “You know what happened to her?”

  “Of course I know. I helped hide her body. You don’t want me to go to prison, do you?”

  “No! Of course not.” But how could she go along with this? She’d always liked Julia, tried to give her a chance in life….

  “Then we have to keep it in the family. If what happened to Julia gets out, we’ll all be in trouble.”

  He couldn’t imagine losing his mother to prison or anything else. She was the only person in the world who understood him, who truly loved him. Paris had always viewed him as a cross to bear, and his father tolerated him for his mother’s sake. “But…” Was it because he hadn’t taken his medication that this all seemed surreal? Butch appeared to be fine with it, almost…smug. “What about the panties? What about the women they belonged to?”

  “Forget them, too.” Snatching the underwear from his hands, she threw them at Butch. “Get rid of those once and for all.”

  24

  “This is Butch?”

  Francesca turned from hanging up the clothes she hadn’t worn, left from what Heather had packed in her overnight case, to find Adriana going through the file she’d created on Butch.

  “Yep, that’s him.”

  Adriana, who’d been lounging on the bed, sat up to examine the personal information he’d submitted to the dating service. “Is he really six foot six?”

  “And two hundred and fifty pounds.”

  “Wow.”

  “He works outside, and it shows. You definitely wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley.”

  Adriana continued to stare at his picture. “He looks like he’d be hell in a boxing ring, but he doesn’t look like a murderer.”

  Even though she’d already memorized every aspect of the photograph, including the laughter in Butch’s eyes, Francesca crossed the floor to get another glimpse of it. She’d never seen him that happy in real life. But their dealings hadn’t been positive. “They rarely look the part. Anyway, it’s not his physical strength that scares me.” She bit her lip, trying to identify what made her so uneasy about Butch—other than her suspicion of what he’d done. “He has no humanity.” Aside from lending Hunsacker the money he needed to save his house, anyway. But Francesca didn’t mention that incident to Adriana. She couldn’t reconcile such generosity with the man she believed Butch Vaughn to be, so she preferred to classify it as an anomaly. For all she knew, it was Paris who’d asked him to help the Hunsackers, and he’d acquiesced to keep peace in the family.

  “What’s his wife like?” Adriana asked.

  Francesca didn’t know nearly enough about Paris. Or anyone else close to Butch. But filling in the blanks was no longer her job. She had to leave it in the hands of the
task force the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office was in the process of creating. “Her name’s Paris.”

  “What does she look like?”

  Her overnight case empty, Francesca slid it under the bed. “She’s thin, almost bony, with long, stringy blond hair. Not outrageously attractive, but not bad, either.” Francesca shrugged. “She’s just a young mother living on a junkyard at the edge of Prescott.”

  “How’d she get involved with Butch?” Adriana asked.

  Francesca removed her earrings and dropped them in her jewelry box before climbing onto the bed. “No idea. But she married young, probably too young to know any better. She has a five-year-old child but she can’t be more than twenty-three or twenty-four.”

  Shoving a pillow behind her back, Adriana leaned against the headboard. “How old is Butch?”

  Francesca motioned toward the file. “Isn’t it in there?”

  “Let’s see…” She perused the document. “Thirty-one? That’s correct?”

  “That’s got to be about right. Except for the bogus name he used when he created ‘Harry Statham,’ it seems he was mostly honest about himself.”

  Adriana looked skeptical as she scanned his profile. “If you were a serial killer, wouldn’t you be more…clan-destine than to post a profile?”

  “It’s the appearance of innocence that makes it effective.”

  “So he’s trolling for women on the Internet.”

  “Right. He has to overcome the limitations of being married and living in a remote area, and a computer gives him far more possibilities than he’d have without it. Not only that, it enables him to remain anonymous.”

  “Wow, when you put it like that, dating sites are ideal. So, from his perspective, where’d he go wrong?”

  “He should’ve met April somewhere farther away, where he was less likely to be recognized. Instead, he had her come to a bar he frequents, and the bartender saw her getting into his truck. Otherwise, I never would’ve been able to trace Harry to Butch.”

  “Besides providing an abundant supply of women, these dating services allow for some serious foreplay,” Adriana mused.