“Hmm …”
After closing her door, he rounded the hood and got in on the driver’s side. As he started the engine, he caught a glimpse of Bernie in his peripheral vision. She sat there beside him, belted in, her back ramrod straight and her gaze fixed straight ahead, as if she saw something interesting on the other side of the windshield.
“Is your sister involved with anybody?” Jim asked.
Bernie didn’t respond immediately. Why was she giving her answer so much thought? Why not a simple yes or no response? Finally, after taking a deep breath, she told him, “Robyn’s not dating one person in particular.”
“Hmm …”
“I don’t think she’s ready for anything serious, but she can’t convince our mother. Weren’t you aware that there were two single men, other than you, at dinner today? Mama would like to fix me up with Raymond, and she had high hopes of putting Robyn with the new preacher, but it seems my little sister is more interested in you.” Bernie snapped her head around and looked right at Jim. “And apparently the interest is mutual.”
“Then you wouldn’t have a problem with my asking your sister out?”
“No, why should I?”
“Conflict of interest. My being your chief deputy and her being your sister.”
“Captain Norton, you are free to date anyone you choose and that includes my sister.”
Richie Lowery was short and stocky with curly brown hair. His voice was slightly high pitched, and at the moment the guy was more than a little agitated. He clenched and un-clenched his hands as he stared at the sketches laid out on the table in front of him and a fine sheen of perspiration moistened his upper lip. Of course, it was July in Alabama and everyone sweated in this oppressive heat.
“You think I drew these?” He chuckled nervously. “I can’t draw a damn stick figure. Ask anybody who knows me. I don’t have a bit of artistic talent.”
“If that’s the case, then why did Stephanie Preston think you sent them to her?” Jim posed the question from where he stood on the other side of the table. Charlie Patterson sat at the end of the table and Bernie stood in the corner, observing.
“How should I know? Besides, you just got her husband’s word for it that Stephie thought I was the one sending her all that stuff.”
“Are you saying you think Kyle Preston is lying?” Jim asked.
“Hey, I don’t know. All I know is that I didn’t draw them damn lewd pictures or take snapshots of Stephie or send her notes and little presents.” Richie faced Jim boldly. “I haven’t been pining away for her or nothing like that. I’ve got a girlfriend. She lives in South Pittsburgh. That’s where I was yesterday and last night. If you don’t believe me, you can ask her.”
“If that’s the case, then why didn’t your parents or any of your buddies know where you were?” Charlie asked.
Richie focused on the ABI agent. “Look, my folks wouldn’t approve of my girlfriend. She’s … well … she’s not white, and my old man would beat the shit out of me if he knew I was dating a black girl.”
Jim cleared his throat. “Where were you the night Stephanie was kidnapped? And where were you the day she was killed?”
“When was she kidnapped exactly?”
Jim told him the dates.
“I was at work the night she was kidnapped. Swear to God. I work swing shift at the poultry plant and I was on evening shift then. I didn’t get off until midnight. And that’s a good thirty-five-minute drive from the college.”
“What about the day she was murdered?” Charlie asked.
“Same thing. I was at work. Day shift. You can check with my boss and with the people I work with. They can vouch for me. I was at work. Honest to God.”
Bernie noticed Jim and Charlie exchange knowing looks and realized they were agreeing on something—probably the fact that it didn’t appear that Richie Lowery was their killer.
“Mr. Lowery, we appreciate your coming in to answer our questions,” Jim said. “We’ll check out your alibis and if we find you’ve been straight with us, then that’s that. But if you’ve lied to us—”
“I haven’t lied. Everything I’ve told you is the gospel truth.”
Jim nodded.
“Can I go now?” Richie asked, almost pleadingly.
“Yeah, you can go,” Jim told him. Richie scooted back his chair. “But first, I’ve got one more question: Do you know of anybody who might have had a reason to harm Stephanie? Somebody with a grudge against her or her husband or her father?”
Richie thought for several minutes, then said, “Nah, nothing like that, but … what about guys who were interested in her? You know, guys she fooled around with.”
“Was there someone else?” Jim asked.
“Yeah, there was this one guy who kind of had a thing for her and when we broke up, I think she might have seen him a couple of times before she hooked up with Kyle.”
“This guy got a name?”
“Yeah, yeah. Kelley. Brandon Kelley. He’s a professor or something over at the junior college where she took night classes.”
“Thanks, Mr. Lowery.”
“Can I go now?”
“Yes, you can go.”
As soon as Richie closed the door behind himself, Charlie stood and stretched. “Think he’s telling us the truth?”
“Yeah, I think he is,” Jim replied.
“I know Dr. Brandon Kelley,” Bernie said. “He’s got quite a reputation with the ladies. Word is that he’s dated more than one of his students.”
“Interesting.”
“You know what’s even more interesting? Brandon Kelley is the art director at Adams County Junior College.” She glanced at the charcoal and ink sketches lying on the table. “The man’s an artist and from what I hear, a damn good one.”
Chapter 8
The bottles of pink nail polish and tubes of matching lipstick peeked at him through the sheer plastic gift bag he’d bought at Wal-Mart. He’d placed the bag on the desk, directly in front of his sketch pad. His first gift to a new lover was always the pearls, perhaps because that was the one item above all others that he associated with—
His hand holding the ink pen quivered ever so slightly.
Cursing himself for allowing her memory to still have such a hold on him, he laid down the pen and grabbed his hand to steady it. She was the past. She was insignificant. Unimportant. She could never hurt him again. Never laugh at him. Never ridicule him in front of her friends.
Unwanted memories flooded his mind. He pressed his fingers against either side of his head, at the temples, and closed his eyes. Don’t remember that afternoon. Don’t think about it. Don’t, damn you, don’t.
Vivid images of her appeared inside his head. Her long dark hair. Her big, expressive brown eyes. Her beautiful face. And her incredible body. He had dreamed of her, worshipped her from afar, wanted her as he had never wanted anything before or since.
He beat the sides and top of his head with his open palms. “Get out of my head, damn you, you vicious little bitch!”
Darkness appeared behind his closed eyelids, then swirls of deep red and flashes of white.
There, that’s better. She’s gone now. You don’t have to think about her. Concentrate on your new love. Think about Thomasina. Move forward with your courtship. You have to finish the drawing so you can put it in the bag with the lipstick and nail polish for her next gift.
Before picking up his pen, he looked at the unfinished sketch and smiled. He hadn’t had the privilege of seeing Thomasina naked. Not yet. But he knew her body, every lush curve. Her slender neck; her long, shapely legs; her full, high breasts.
His semierect penis twitched with anticipation.
He wished they were already lovers, wished she was lying beneath him, telling him she loved him, begging him to make love to her.
Soon, my beautiful Thomasina. Soon.
He lifted the pen and added the subtle nuances to the drawing that brought it to life. Just the right shading to m
ake the nipples appear puckered. And then he moved on, completing the fingers on her right hand that demurely tried to cover her pubic hair.
Brandon Kelley lived outside Adams Landing, in a rock and cedar house built on the banks of the Tennessee River sometime back in the fifties. Brandon had paid five hundred thousand for the place, a fact Bernie knew because her sister, Robyn, had dated the man and he’d bragged to her about how much the house had cost, as well as what his antique Aston Martin was worth. Actually, Bernie knew more about the man and his house than she’d ever wanted to know because her sister was the type who did kiss and tell. Robyn had a penchant for regaling Bernie with stories about her exciting love life. She knew Brandon Kelley liked to give and receive oral sex, that he was a talker during the act and that Robyn, who’d bedded more than her fair share of men, had been impressed with the size of his cock.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Jim said as he drove along the bumpy dirt road leading to Brandon’s house.
“Just thinking.”
“About the case? About whether or not Kelley might be our man?”
“Mmm …”
“What are your gut instincts telling you?”
“Nothing really,” she replied. “I’d never consider Brandon as a suspect if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s a talented artist, which our guy apparently is.”
“You referred to him by his given name. How well do you know him?”
“Not well. Robyn’s the one who knows him.”
“Oh.” Jim tightened his hands on the steering wheel, a fact that Bernie noted and took as a sign of aggravation.
“They dated for a while. Nothing serious.”
“Who broke things off: him or her?”
“What difference does it make? It has no bearing on our case.” Bernie mentally counted to ten, then said, “Unless you’re asking for personal reasons, because you want to make sure she’s not carrying a torch for another guy before you ask her out.”
“Forget I asked.”
“Take the turnoff up there on the left. You can see a glimpse of Brandon’s house from here.”
Jim nodded, took her directions and within a couple minutes pulled his old Chevy truck to a halt in the driveway beside the house.
“Robyn broke things off,” Bernie said. “My sister’s never been dumped in her entire life.”
Jim grunted.
“Well, let’s get this over with.” Bernie opened her door and got out, not waiting for Jim to assist her. He could save his gentlemanly manners for her sister. All she wanted from him was his respect.
Yeah, sure, that’s all you want. You can lie to the whole freaking world, Bernadette Granger, but you shouldn’t lie to yourself.
Jim got in step with her quickly as they approached the wide, sprawling porch that circled three fourths of the house and faced the river. Before they reached the front door, the porch lights came on and the door opened to reveal Brandon standing there waiting for them. Bernie had telephoned half an hour ago and explained that they had a few questions for him about his relationship with Stephanie Preston, and he’d invited them to come to his house this evening. He’d acted charming and cooperative, as if he had nothing to hide.
Maybe he didn’t. She’d know after they talked to him. She’d always had a sixth sense about these things, had always been good at figuring out when somebody was lying to her. That sixth sense had been what alerted her to the fact that her husband had been cheating on her. The only problem was she had chosen to ignore that inner voice for years. And dear God, how she had lived to regret not listening. She had never made that mistake again.
“Come on in,” Brandon said. “Or would y’all prefer to sit out here on the porch? It’s turning out to be a fairly pleasant night, but I’m afraid we’ll get rain before morning.”
“Out here will be fine,” Bernie said.
“Would y’all care for something to drink? I just made a pitcher of iced tea.”
“No, thanks,” Jim said.
“Nothing for me either,” Bernie added.
“Well, then, come on over and sit down.” He indicated the rattan settee and chairs to his right. “I don’t know what I can tell you about Stephanie, poor little thing, but if there’s anything I can do to help y’all find the person who killed her, I’ll be more than happy to.”
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Bernie told him as she sat in one of the chairs, while Jim took the other.
Brandon sat on the settee, crossed his legs and leaned back, looking perfectly at ease as he glanced from Bernie to Jim.
“We were told that you and Stephanie were involved at one time,” Jim said. “Is that correct?”
Brandon smiled and Bernie thought how very attractive he was, very smooth and debonair, almost too sophisticated for a rural area like Adams County, Alabama.
“We had a brief—very brief—fling.” Brandon accentuated his speech with hand mannerisms. “She was a pretty little thing and deliciously eager. But I soon realized that she was taking things a little too seriously, so I ended our relationship quickly.”
“Do you make a habit of dating your students?” Jim narrowed his gaze, giving Brandon what Bernie thought of as “the evil eye.”
Brandon laughed. “I make a habit of dating beautiful young women. Some are students, a few are colleagues”—he looked pointedly at Bernie—“and some are gorgeous fitness instructors with fabulously toned bodies.”
The guy was a sleaze. He might be handsome, cultured, well educated and talented, but he was a sleaze nonetheless. If there was one thing Bernie hated, it was men who bragged about their conquests.
“Did you ever sketch Stephanie?” Bernie asked.
“What?”
“Did you ever—”
“No, I never sketched her. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Bernie told him. “You’re an artist. She was, as you say, a beautiful young woman. I just thought maybe you liked to sketch or paint your lovers.”
“Have you ever sketched or painted any of your lovers?” Jim asked.
“Yes,” Brandon replied. “But not Stephanie. As I told you, our relationship was short-lived.”
“Were you teaching a class the night Stephanie came up missing?” Jim studied Brandon. Bernie guessed that he, too, had a knack for sensing when someone was lying.
“I don’t teach night classes,” Brandon replied with an air of superiority.
“Then where were you the night Stephanie disappeared?” Jim asked.
“And where were you the day she was killed?” Bernie kept her gaze on Brandon’s face, searching for any sign that might tell her if he was lying.
“You can’t seriously believe that I had anything to do with Stephanie’s disappearance and murder, can you?” An outraged expression marred Brandon’s classically handsome features.
Bernie told him the dates and approximate times of the disappearance and the murder and watched him as he thought about the information. He didn’t appear to be the least bit nervous. Either he was completely innocent or he had simply perfected the art of being “cool.”
“I was here, at home, the night Stephanie disappeared.” He held up a restraining hand. “And before you ask—yes, I have someone who can corroborate that fact. Her name is Holly Burcham. Deputy Holly Burcham.”
Bernie clamped her teeth together tightly, then swallowed hard. Why was she not surprised to discover that one of her few female deputies was banging Brandon Kelley? Could it possibly be because ever since they were high school cheerleaders together, Holly had considered Robyn her rival. Whatever Robyn had, Holly wanted.
“What time did Holly arrive and what time did she leave?” Bernie glared at Brandon, doing her best to disguise the disgust she felt. And yes, the fact that his lack of morals reminded her of her ex did affect her opinion of the man.
“She got here around seven and stayed all night. We went to bed early, but didn’t go to sleep until around midnight.” Brandon clicked his tongue and winked
at Bernie.
Sleaze. Irritating, arrogant sleaze. Bernie groaned internally, longing to reach out and slap that silly, honey-I’m-so-good-in-bed smile off his face.
“What about the day Stephanie was killed?” Jim asked totally deadpan, without any expression whatsoever, not on his face or in his voice.
“I was at the college all day. My first class was at eight and my last one ended at five. And no, I did not leave the campus and there should be dozens of witnesses to that fact.” Brandon twined his fingers together and leisurely rested one elbow against the settee arm as he leaned his body comfortably in that direction.
“If everything you’ve told us checks out, you’re in the clear,” Jim said.
“Is that all?” Brandon asked.
Jim stood and looked down at Brandon. “Only one more question tonight: Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Stephanie? Anyone who held a grudge against her, her husband or her family?”
Brandon shrugged. “No, sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t know much about Stephanie’s personal life. We weren’t friends. We were simply lovers for a couple of weeks and my interest in her didn’t go beyond a mutual sexual attraction.”
Bernie rose to her feet, forced herself to shake hands with Brandon and said, “Thank you for your cooperation.”
He held her hand a moment too long and said, “Tell Robyn I said hello.”
Bernie plastered a weak half smile on her lips, then turned and headed off the porch, wanting to get away from this guy as quickly as possible before she acted in an unprofessional manner.
She made it back to the truck ahead of Jim, and by the time he opened the driver’s door, she was already inside the cab and had her seatbelt fastened. Jim got in, inserted the key in the ignition switch and started the engine; then he spread his arm out across the back of the seat, his big hand resting behind her head.
“Nice fellow,” Jim said.
“Isn’t he?” Bernie replied sarcastically.
“So, is he the type of guy your sister likes?”
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