Jodie's Little Secrets

by Joanna Wayne

  “It was nothing, Butch, really. I mean he took no for an answer without getting upset. I think he’s just lonely. At first I was a little suspicious, but he seems so…so normal.”

  “Depends on how normal you think voyeurism is. Grady tells me he sees him in his window all the time watching you when you’re in the yard or on the porch with the boys.”

  All of a sudden the air felt heavy and humid, a suffocating blanket that choked her breath away.

  “Stay away from him, Jodie.”

  “Believe me, I will. Unless the stalker calls—” She broke off in midsentence. Grady was still in the yard but he watched her like a fox eyeing a chicken nest. One mistake and he’d pick it up, know something was up, figure out that she and Butch were laying a trap. And the more people who knew, the more chance the all-knowing stalker would find out as well.

  Everybody’s a suspect. The words settled in her stomach like bitter broth.

  Butch climbed the steps and sauntered over to the rocker, his voice low, meant only for her ears. “I’ll be running errands this afternoon, but I’ll have my beeper on every minute.” His eyes and voice issued a warning. “Call me, at once, if anything changes.”

  “I will.”

  Butch lingered another second, and she sensed his own nerves were as rattled as hers. One more person she was pulling into danger. She attempted a smile. He tipped his hat and shuffled back down the steps and over to the gate where Grady waited, a foot propped on the wooden post.

  They talked a few minutes more, about fishing, the upcoming festival and the problems it created for the local police. Finally Butch glanced her way, tipped his cap again and swung open the gate.

  A yellow jacket flew from the creaking wood and into his face. He slapped wildly, flinging his arms, hitting himself on the tip of his crooked nose, backing up so fast he all but fell on his behind.

  Grady roared in laughter. “You’re not afraid of a little old bee, are you, Officer Deaton?”

  Butch shut him up with a look. But Grady was still grinning when Butch marched through the gate. He walked to the edge of the porch.

  “I’ve been meaning to thank you for the job,” Grady said, resting his elbows on the planks that extended past the porch railing.

  “No need to. The coat of paint on the boathouse spruced it up nicely. You’ve earned your pay, such as it is. I’m sure you could earn more in town with all the preparations for next weekend.”

  “The big weekend. Thousands of tourists in town. Not a good time to be checking for strangers, is it?”

  “I wouldn’t know. That’s not my job.”

  “No, I guess not. You’ve got bumbling Officer Deaton for that. And, my dad, of course. He pictures himself some big hero, stepping in and catching the crackpot who’s been bothering you.”

  “Just what do you know about my crackpot?”

  “Just what my dad volunteered when I came to work here. Some nut’s following you around, sending you flowers and stuff. I’d hate to be the man if my dad does catch him. He’ll leave here in little pieces.”

  “Gentle Ben. He doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.”

  “Not unless you rile him.”

  The conversation rolled like thunder in Jodie’s head, striking holes in her solution. Grady knew too much about her and the stalker situation. Perhaps the whole town did. Which gave the stalker the advantage and significantly reduced the odds that the trap would work.

  Mumbling an excuse, she left Grady standing and went back inside, creeping into the room where Ray was working. Tucking her feet under her, she curled up in an upholstered reading chair to watch him. As always, his presence eased her fear and doubts and strengthened her resolve.

  This time when her eyes closed, they stayed that way until the boys woke up from their naps, demanding her attention.

  THE UNBEARABLE TENSION that had hovered over the weekend still pounded in Kostner’s head on Monday morning as he drove to the office. Five more calls came in on the second phone line. One had been Butch. The others had been strangers whose conversations had convinced Jodie they were not the man of her nightmares, though judging from her reactions, some certainly had the potential for being dangerous in their own rights. Her ad had played into their hands nicely, providing a phone number for immediate gratification.

  Ray massaged his right temple, wishing he’d started the day with a couple of painkillers. Now he’d have to wait until he got to the office and hit the supply in his desk drawer. Only it wasn’t his desk drawer today. He’d be moving to the smaller office. Parker was returning to take over his throne.

  Ray pulled the car to a stop in front of his dad’s house. No need to get out. Parker was at the door, hat on his head, briefcase in one hand, his cane in the other. Punctuality was important. One of his top five sermons.

  Ray was always late. This morning was no exception.

  “You said you’d be here ten minutes ago,” his dad said, scrunching into the front seat, tapping the globe of his watch before buckling in.

  “Good morning, Dad,” Ray offered. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

  “Well, of course, son. It would have been nicer ten minutes ago. I’m probably sweating in this dadburned overcoat your mother insisted I wear. She thinks I’m going to freeze in forty degree weather.”

  No use to point out to him that he could have put the coat on after he arrived to pick him up. They both grew silent, and Ray turned on the radio to ease the tension. Parker beat an impatient rhythm with his cane, tapping it against the floorboard.

  Ray slowed automatically. Old habits of rebellion died hard. But this time he refused to slide back into the games he’d always played. The accelerator responded instantly to the pressure of his foot, returning the car to its previous speed as his mind went back to Jodie.

  If she called, he’d be out of the office like Superman to the rescue. She was not keeping a date with a madman without him, not even if every policeman in the parish were there to watch over her. He had pressured until she promised she would not leave the house without alerting him.

  “What do you think about Carl Baker?” Parker asked, bringing up the case Ray had been summoned from New Orleans to handle.

  “I think he’s innocent. Don’t you?”

  “That’s why I took the case. Do you think we can convince a jury of that?”

  “Unless the prosecutor digs up a witness that proves we’re wrong. Shreveport murders are a little out of your ballpark, aren’t they?”

  “A little. Carl’s dad’s a friend of mine. Besides, it’s only an hour’s drive to Shreveport, less now that I-49 is finished. The world is shrinking. There’s plenty of work in this area for a good defense attorney.”

  “Too much for you right now, according to your doctors.”

  “If I listened to them, I’d be an invalid.”

  “A six-week rehabilitation period after a bypass is not considered excessive for a man your age.”

  “See, you’ve been listening to your mother. Age doesn’t mean a thing. I’ve been doing my job in this town ever since I passed the bar exam.”

  Ray didn’t respond. He didn’t want to spend the morning arguing, and his father had a way of construing all of his comments as negative. Slowing, he pulled over to the curb and stopped in front of the law office. “Why don’t you get out here and open up? I’ll park the car in the back.”

  Parker did, opening the door and getting to his feet a lot more slowly than he had before the surgery. Every movement he made these days was slower than usual. And no matter the friction that met every contact between them, it hurt Ray to see his father weak and struggling.

  Ray parked the car and took the back steps to the second-floor office. He usually ran them, hungry for the exercise he missed. In New Orleans, he started each day with an hour workout at the gym, ending with a stint in the steam room and a hot shower.

  Today he walked, using the time to work out how he was going to tell his father that Carl Baker had
asked him to take over as lead attorney. The case was challenging, but the last thing Ray wanted to do was throw another curve at a man who liked his pitches straight and down the middle. And in his control.

  Ray pushed through the door and into the outer office. The room smelled of disinfectant and lemons, the handiwork of the cleaning crew. When Barbara showed up at nine, it would also smell of strong coffee.

  A tormented groan rumbled from his dad’s office. Ray felt the air sucked out of him. In three steps he was across the room, busting through the door.

  His dad lay on the floor, his eyes rolled back in his head, a straight-backed chair laying across him. Blood dripped from his head and pooled on the carpet.

  “A man…in the dark…waiting.” Parker closed his eyes and fell silent.

  Adrenaline shot through Ray, refueling a body that shock had temporarily drained and rendered useless. He lunged for the phone with one hand and his dad’s wrist with the other, checking the pulse as he punched in 911.

  Working on automatic, he gave the information to the operator and turned his attention to his father. The bleeding was from a flesh wound, a gash across the top of his eye where the chair had apparently made contact. A knot as big as a baseball had popped up on his forehead, just under the cut. The pulse was weak, the breathing an unsteady rasp that rumbled from his chest.

  The next five minutes passed in a murky blur of empty reassurances that didn’t lighten when the ambulance arrived and the paramedics lifted Parker onto the stretcher.

  “Hold on, Mr. Kostner. We’ve got you now. We’re starting the oxygen and heading out of here.”

  His dad’s hand fell from the stretcher and Ray grabbed it, holding on to it. Every fiber of his body twisted in silent rage as the truth slammed into his brain. Jodie’s stalker had struck again.

  The attack had been meant for him.

  He stooped over to pick up his dad’s cane. It was then he noticed the fish fillet knife just under the corner of his desk and bloody footsteps leading to the door of the adjoining office, the one he had taken over.

  “Do YOU THINK this bird is big enough?” Selda asked, stuffing the turkey with corn bread dressing.

  “Unless we’re feeding the whole block,” Jodie said reassuringly, balancing Blake on one hip so that he could see the Thanksgiving action.

  Blair was under the table, looking for the plastic stacking donut that had rolled from his grasp. Already, he hated to be held, wriggling back to freedom as soon as she picked him up.

  “It’s just us,” Selda said, “and Greg’s joining us, too. Working in a strange town is no way to spend the holidays.”

  “What about Ben?” Jodie asked.

  “He said he wasn’t comfortable at a fancy family dinner, not that this is. But I’m packing a plate for him and one for his son.”

  “And Eloise Grimes,” Grams added, from the far corner of the counter where she was peeling and cubing sweet potatoes. “Her son and his family run off to Lafayette for the holidays every year and just forget she’s around. I’m picking her up from the nursing home and bringing her here.”

  As always, Selda and Grams shared their Thanksgiving bounty with as many as they could and loved every minute of it. Jodie decided her sons could learn a lot from these two selfless women.

  “What about the Kostner boy?” Grams asked as if it were an afterthought. “Is he going to come sniffing around when the work’s all done?”

  Selda called her bluff. “If he didn’t, you’d be the disappointed one.”

  “Ba ga ma um.” Blake gave his answer.

  “Which means Ray will be here any minute,” Jodie translated. “He’s at the hospital in Shreveport this morning, visiting with his dad.”

  “How’s Parker doing?” Selda asked.

  “Improving steadily. His heart withstood the blood loss without any apparent harm. He still has a bump and nasty bruise on his head, though.”

  “Do they have any idea who attacked him?” Selda looked up from her turkey to watch Jodie’s face as she answered.

  “No. Just a robbery attempt,” she answered, following police orders to keep suspicions under wraps. “Apparently, Parker surprised him, and the thief reacted violently.”

  “I hope they get him. This has always been such a peaceful town. It breaks my heart to see things like this happen.”

  The telephone in Jodie’s apron pocket jangled. For a second, she almost picked it up and answered, but the chill of reality twisted inside her, stopping her.

  “It’s my business line, I need to take this call where it’s quiet,” she whispered, trying and failing to keep her voice calm. “Watch Blair for me.” She didn’t wait for a reply. As soon as she’d stepped into the hall, she punched the button and put the receiver to her ear.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Jodie.”

  Her heart slammed’ against the wall of her chest

  “Who is this?”

  “A friend.”

  Her heart was racing now, her nerves on edge, her will battling the paralyzing effect of suffocating fear. “Are you the friend who sends me flowers and gifts?”

  “I’m the friend who watches over you.” The voice was muffled, disguised in some way, impossible to identify even if she’d heard it before.

  “I tried to keep you a good girl. But you didn’t want to be good, did you?”

  She could hear his breathing, heavy with the evil inside him. She hugged Blake so tightly he squealed in protest. Dropping to the couch, she let him wriggle from her lap to the floor.

  “I do want to be good. I’m trying to save myself for you. But it’s hard when you never let me see you.”

  “Does the man who sleeps in your house sleep in your bed, Jodie?”

  “No. He has his own room.”

  “You’re lying to me. He’s been with you. Even in his law office, you let him make love to you. The smell of him is all over you. You are not a good girl, Jodie Gahagen.”

  Oh, God. This man was sicker than she thought. He had to be stopped now, before he killed again.

  “But I want to be good. You could help me. If I could see you, maybe then you could save me.”

  “Or maybe this is a trick.”

  “It’s not a trick. I just want to meet you, face-to-face. There’s a house on the outskirts of town. It’s deserted. No one will see us meet there.”

  “If the police follow you, I’ll know it. No matter how clever they are, they are not as clever as I am. You should know that by now.”

  “I do. I know that better than anyone.”

  “I won’t hurt you, Jodie, not if you’re by yourself. But if you lie to me, I can’t promise anything. I go crazy sometimes.”

  “Like when you killed Max Roling?”

  “Don’t make me do something like that again. Come alone, Jodie. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  She gave him the directions, slowly, her mind in such turmoil she could barely think, her voice so shaky, the words were a muttered garble.

  “When shall I meet you?” she asked.

  “Now.” The disconnecting click of the phone signaled he was through talking.

  She reached down and picked up Blake, hugging him close, kissing the top of his head. She’d do the same with Blair. Hold him close. Her sons would give her the courage to do what she had to do to stop a madman.

  She punched in Butch’s beeper number, putting in her number when the recorded voice gave the instructions. She would tell Butch, but not Ray. He was probably on his way home from Shreveport by now, but she didn’t want him to show up at the Coxlin place.

  She had to believe she would return safely. But this way, if something should happen to her, Blake and Blair wouldn’t be left alone. They would still have a father.

  And Ray would not be sucked into her chasm of madness and death.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jodie left Highway 119, pulling onto a gravel roadbed that wound through oaks, dogwood and pine on its journe
y to the old Coxlin place. She was not alone. Rabbits, squirrels, even a doe scurried out of her way, as if sensing she was bringing evil into their hideaway.

  The road ended at the house. She killed her engine, lowering the car window and listening. All was quiet, and there was not another car in sight. But Butch should be inside the house by now, hidden in the dark caverns of the attic, waiting for her and the stalker.

  Sliding from the car, she stepped off the road, onto what used to be a path to the house. Her feet sank into knee-high grass. Cautiously, she made her way to the old wooden steps leading to the half-rotted front porch.

  She slipped her hand to her neck, caressing the small locket Butch had provided, the one that held the tiny microphone that would record the stalker’s every word. Take his own testimony and use it to prove his guilt. That was part of the plan she and Butch had worked out down to the last precise detail.

  Ray had never approved of the plan. He had refused to listen to reason even though both she and Butch had insisted that an extra person made the setup all the more risky and far less likely to succeed.

  Today it would be her, Butch and a madman. Shaking, she gulped in a huge helping of air and took the first step. The rough wood groaned at her weight, and a shudder ran through her. Was Max’s killer waiting just inside the door watching her, hidden in dark shadows? The way he had done so many times before.

  There was only one way to find out. Nerves riding the edge of control, she crossed the wide porch and pushed through the heavy door before her resolve had time to weaken.

  A spiderweb tangled in her hair and eyes. She brushed it away. Silence met her ears. She waited for long seconds and then walked deeper into the interior of a house that had withstood tornadoes and floods only to see its past grandeur dissolve into rot.

  She’d been here only twice before. One Halloween on a dare when she was a freshman in high school. The second time had been with Butch Deaton a few days ago.

  Today it seemed far more ominous. Dark, crumbling walls, rusted chandeliers that hung at precarious angles, dank, musky odors that choked her breath away. A tomb would be more welcoming.