Pieces of January

by Ronald Paxton

  Olivia shut her eyes and wailed into the microphone. She could barely hear her own voice over the noise. The song ended, and the keyboard player immediately launched the intro to Free Bird. Every lighter in the coliseum was out now.

  She tried to get on top of the noise. By the second verse, the sound had become a howling din. It was like trying to sing on a jet airport runway.

  Olivia held the final note until Johnny stepped away from the microphone and let the rest of the band finish the extended instrumental portion of the song. He motioned for Olivia to join him at the back of the stage.

  “Man, that was fun! I can’t wait to work with you again!”

  “Wow, that was so amazing! I don’t know what to say. Thank you!”

  The Skynyrd singer smiled. “You’re going places.”

  Olivia watched as he returned to the front. One of the roadies appeared and helped her off the stage.

  The band was gone. Olivia looked around in confusion.

  “Ms. Ward?”

  Olivia spun around and found a smiling, middle-aged man looking at her. He was holding out a business card. Olivia accepted the card and studied it. “Is this a joke?”

  The man shook his head. “May I have ten minutes of your time?”

  Olivia hesitated. It was pie in the sky, had to be, but it didn’t hurt to listen. Twenty minutes later, she walked out to the lobby on a pair of wobbly legs. Tommy was sitting with Callie and Erin at the merchandise table.

  “Thirty T-shirts and fifty CDs,” the drummer crowed. “That’ll put some money in our pockets.”

  Olivia managed a weak smile. “Where are the others?”

  “I told them to take off,” Tommy said. “They’ve gotta work tomorrow. I said I would load the equipment and get it all set up at the Channel Marker in the morning. I’m too pumped up to sleep anyway.”

  She handed him the record producer’s card without a word.

  “Are you kidding me, Olivia? This is the big time. He wants to sign the band?”

  Olivia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Tommy. They just want me.”

  Sale stared at her. “What do you mean?” Sale demanded. “What did this guy say about the band, or did you even ask?”

  “Of course, I asked. He said Mama’s Biscuits are a nice group, but every band he has under contract is just as good or better.”

  * * * *

  Tommy nodded and looked away. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to strangle the dyke bitch who was in the process of ruining his life. Mama’s Biscuits would never find another singer like Olivia. They would lose the gig at the Channel Marker, and the band would cease to exist.

  It’s over. I’m not good enough to tour with a major group or play recording sessions. Miss Olivia will probably be playing stadiums and arenas while I spend the next forty years of my life unloading trucks or greeting visitors at Walmart.

  Olivia turned to Callie, who was staring at the table. “I appreciate you and Erin working the merchandise table. I’ll see you back at the condo.”

  Callie nodded but remained silent.

  “I don’t know what else to say, Callie. I guess we need to talk.”

  Chapter 17

  Melissa groaned and rolled over onto her back. She felt like a used punching bag. Hal had stayed until two o’clock in the morning. Melissa had been too deep into the cocaine to remind him that he needed to be out of her room before the guard came on duty at midnight. Morris had looked through the peephole before leaving and then stuck his head out the door. There was no guard. Jack Fowler had lied to her.

  She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Ten o’clock in the morning—too late for breakfast and too early for lunch.

  Screw this place and screw Bo Carson and his shitty idea to change my life. I didn’t come here to die or spend the rest of the month hiding in this room.

  Melissa headed for the bathroom and a hot shower. She closed her eyes and let the water stream over her body. Hal had been all over her last night. It was probably a good time to leave. Passages was a strange place, more like a spa or a five-star hotel than a drug rehab center. Hal Morris was a one-man concierge service, providing an endless supply of cocaine and intense sex.

  She stepped out of the shower and toweled off. The hot water had helped, but she still felt groggy and out of sorts. It was hard to think.

  The half-full bag of white powder beckoned to her. Melissa treated her nose to a late breakfast and felt her head clear. Fifteen minutes later, she was dressed and packed.

  Melissa sat on the edge of the bed and considered her options. She didn’t want to call Bo to pick her up. This was his fault in the first place. Maybe it was time to move on from that relationship. He was a sweet man, but she couldn’t honestly say she had missed him during her time here.

  She thought about calling Bruce. He would be glad to pick her up and start collecting rent from her again.

  No, I already owe him a favor for holding my room at no charge. If I ask him to pick me up, he’s going to want a free session. I don’t have time for that.

  It was quarter to eleven. She needed to get out before the morning therapy sessions ended and lunch began.

  I’ll call Missy. She won’t mind picking me up if she doesn’t have a client.

  Melissa sighed as she dialed the number and heard the call go to voicemail. She hung up and then stared at her bag. It wasn’t that heavy, and the motel was only a short ways up the road. She could walk that far. Maybe she would try Missy again before she had to walk all the way. There was no other choice. She was still buying her drugs from Finn Watson, but had no intention of getting any further involved with the dock manager. Finn would expect something for his time and trouble.

  She picked up her bag and walked down the hall and through the lobby without a second thought. Nobody said a word. Passages Addiction Center was a sham. Melissa pitied the patients who wanted or needed an effective treatment program. They were getting fleeced.

  Melissa stepped outside and felt the cold bite through her thin jacket. She didn’t own any winter clothes because she spent so little time outside. At least the sun was shining. Her body would warm up once she started moving.

  The long driveway leading out to the road had been cleared. Melissa hesitated and studied the woods to her left. She could cut off a lot of distance by taking a diagonal path out to the road. Her feet would get cold and wet, but it didn’t matter. As soon as she got back to the motel, Melissa planned to pay Bruce for the rest of the month, hit the snack machines, and then take a long, hot bath. After that, she would begin contacting her regulars to let them know she was back in business.

  She shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare as she approached the woods. Her sunglasses were back in her room at the motel.

  The snow was deeper than she expected. She stumbled and nearly fell. The woods stretched ahead for about another hundred yards. She could see the road in the distance through the trees.

  A sudden movement behind a large oak tree just ahead made her jump.

  It’s only a squirrel or some kind of bird.

  Melissa took a deep breath and tried not to think about what kind of squirrel or bird would be out here in the dead of winter instead of hibernating or enjoying some Florida sunshine.

  She forced herself to take a step forward. A noise made her stop. She stared at the oak tree. Were those footprints in the snow?

  Get out! Go back!

  Melissa’s foot caught on something as she turned away. She fell to one knee and staggered to her feet. The parking lot wasn’t far. She could make it.

  A glance over her shoulder froze her in place.

  “Hello, Melissa. Going somewhere?”

  The person standing less than ten feet away wore a ski mask and carried a hammer.

  “No,” she whispered. “Please, no.”

  Melissa tried to move, but her body refused to cooperate. The stranger was less than five feet away now. She closed her eyes a
nd offered a prayer to whatever lunatic deity was smiling down on the work of the deranged killer swinging the hammer toward her face.

  * * * *

  Roy Dodd parked his car in the lot and headed for the dock manager’s office. Finn Watson had agreed to speak with him about the death of Donna Tice. Watson was at his desk when the FBI agent arrived.

  “I don’t know how I can help you,” Watson said. “Donna was one of my girls until about six months ago. I cut her loose because I caught her working independent on the side. I don’t stand for that. I handle the calls, pay for the advertising, and protect my girls. If they try to go behind my back to make extra money, then we’re done.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  Finn shrugged. “She lives across the lake in a trailer park. No family, at least none that she ever mentioned. It’s too bad. Donna was one of my most popular girls, probably because she was a little older. People think guys only want little eighteen- or nineteen-year-old girls. Some do, but you’d be surprised how many prefer an older, experienced woman. Donna had a lot of regulars.”

  “Did she ever mention problems with any of her clients?”

  Watson shook her head. “Donna was a good-sized girl and knew how to handle herself. She was a full-service escort, but she didn’t offer anything weird or extreme. The clients knew that.”

  The FBI agent studied Watson. “You must have been mad when you discovered one of your girls was cheating you.”

  “You’re damn right I was mad,” Watson said. “Shit like this happens—it’s the nature of the business—but Donna made a lot of money for me. Girls like that are hard to replace.”

  Dodd glanced casually around the office. “This is a nice place, Mr. Watson. You’ve got a good job with a lot of responsibility. I can’t help wondering why you would put your career at risk by pimping out a string of girls and selling dope.”

  Watson looked startled.

  “That’s right, I know about the drugs. I don’t care about that or the girls other than how it relates to my case.”

  “Fair enough,” the dock manager said. “Let me tell you about this good job I have, Agent Dodd. My salary is forty thousand dollars a year. My only benefits are vacation and sick days. I have no retirement plan, and I pay for my own health insurance.”

  The dock manager paused and took a deep breath.

  “I’m divorced, Agent Dodd. My ex-wife took everything I had. Every nickel I make from my side businesses goes to pay for my daughter’s college education. Dana’s a freshman at Christopher Newport University in Newport News, so I’ve got at least three more years of this, maybe more if she goes to graduate school.”

  “She must be grateful,” Dodd said. “Most parents nowadays wouldn’t do that for their children.”

  “Dana doesn’t know. She thinks Helen, my ex-wife, is paying for it. Listen, Dodd, I was a lousy husband and father. I’m just trying to do the right thing here, but I don’t want Dana to think I’m trying to buy her forgiveness.”

  “So, I guess you’ll retire from the drug dealing and escort business when your daughter finishes school,” Dodd said.

  Watson gave him a hard look. “You’re not paying attention, Dodd. My salary is just enough to cover my health insurance, taxes, apartment rent, food, utilities, gas and insurance for my truck, clothes, and medical bills. I repeat, I have no retirement plan. I have no savings. I have no girlfriend because I can’t afford one. Right now, my only retirement plan is Social Security. That will pay me about twenty-five thousand dollars a year if it’s still around when I retire.”

  The agent remained silent.

  “I plan to run my side businesses for another ten years after Dana graduates. Every penny will go into a savings account. I make about thirty thousand a year from the girls and the dope, so I should have around three hundred thousand plus interest socked away after ten years.”

  “That’s quite a nest egg,” Dodd said.

  The dock manager sneered. “Don’t patronize me, Agent Dodd. If I withdraw ten thousand dollars a year, my nest egg should last me thirty years with enough left over to bury me. That means I’ll be living on thirty-five thousand a year after I retire and dining on beans and beer for the rest of my life. If, as you suggest, I retire from the drug and escort business, my only alternative is to either work here at the marina until the day I die or start collecting welfare and living in my truck.”

  “Have you heard of the Committee for Morality and Decency?” Dodd asked.

  Watson laughed. “No, I haven’t. Sounds like some crazy religious cult. Is there anything else? I’ve got work to do.”

  Dodd thanked the dock manager for his time and headed back to the parking lot. His gut told him Watson was telling the truth. The man had been open and direct, with an edge of hostility that was entirely appropriate given the questions he was asked. More importantly, Dodd had not seen an old typewriter or any other outdated office equipment in Watson’s shop.

  He glanced at his watch and decided to take an early lunch. It was cold, but the sun was shining. Dodd went into the marina store and ordered a hot dog basket. Bo Carson had told him it was the best food on the lake.

  The deck outside was empty, and Dodd sat down at a table overlooking the water. He bit into his first hot dog and savored the smoky taste of the meat mixed with mustard, onions, and slaw. Carson was right about the food.

  All right, Watson was probably a dead end, although he couldn’t absolutely be ruled out as Donna Tice’s killer. Anderson wanted him to take a run at Davis Lord. That felt like a long shot. Crazy evangelical preachers were a dime a dozen in this neck of the woods. They were mostly harmless except for the poisonous nonsense they spewed. On the other hand, he had no other leads at the moment. It was worth a try.

  Dodd started on his fries as he looked out over the water. Anderson had suggested the killer and this committee could be a copycat of the serial killer dubbed the Soul Man, who had terrorized the community some time back. The Soul Man was currently living on death row and working his way through the appeals process.

  The cases really weren’t that similar except for the Biblical connection. The committee was killing, or trying to kill, both men and women without regard to age. The murders had also taken place in both Virginia and North Carolina. The Soul Man had limited his activity to Shenandoah Mountain Lake, and his victims were all young or relatively young women.

  The agent finished his meal and deposited his trash in the garbage can. It was time to visit Pastor Lord. After that, he would check in with his team and compare notes.

  His phone rang as he was crossing the parking lot. Dodd took the call and listened to the agent on the other end of the line. He hung up a moment later and climbed into his car. Davis Lord could wait. Melissa Wright was dead.

  Chapter 18

  Anderson walked into the waiting room and sat down beside Krista.

  “What are you doing back here? You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m all right,” Anderson said. “I told Salem I’d bring you home when you’re ready. How’s he doing?”

  Krista shook her head. “I haven’t heard anything yet. They took him back to the operating room over an hour ago. This could take a while.”

  Anderson nodded. “Let’s get some fresh air. It’s nice outside.”

  Krista followed Anderson out to the parking lot. The air was cold, but the sun felt good. They walked along the sidewalk in silence.

  “You’ve got some bad news,” Krista finally said.

  “I’m afraid so,” Anderson said. “I got a call from Dodd. Melissa Wright is dead. Somebody at Passages found her body in a wooded area close to the building. She had a suitcase with her, so she had obviously decided to leave.”

  Krista closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What happened to her?”

  “Someone was waiting for her in the woods…someone with a club or bat or something similar. Dodd said it was ugly.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at An
derson. “I think this will kill him, Anderson. I really do.”

  Anderson shook his head. “Bo is one of the strongest men I know, Krista. He’ll get through this. It’ll just take some time.”

  Krista turned around and started back to the entrance. “I don’t think I can tell him.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll tell him. He might handle it better if it comes from me anyway since I’m not family.”

  “The hell you aren’t family,” Krista said.

  “I know,” Anderson said, “But I’m not Bo’s child. I think it will be a little easier if he’s not looking at you when he gets the news. He’s going to want to be alone after I tell him.”

  Krista looked at him. “I would think he would want his family around him for support.”

  “No,” Anderson said, “Not right away. He’s going to need some privacy to work through it. The support will come later.”

  They returned to the waiting room and sat down in the hard, orange plastic chairs that looked like rejects from an elementary school lunch room. Anderson watched a soap opera on the television mounted on the wall while Krista fiddled with her phone.

  “Do you feel like a drink or a snack?” Anderson asked.

  Krista nodded. “I forgot to eat lunch. A bottle of water and some crackers would be great. Thanks.”

  Anderson crossed the room to the vending machines and made his selections. “Water and peanut butter crackers for you; soda and a candy bar for me.”

  “That stuff is bad for you, Anderson.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Anderson replied. “This is a diet soft drink with zero calories. The candy bar contains two percent of the recommended daily allowance of vitamin C. That means I should be eating at least fifty of these a day.”

  The smile on Krista’s face died at the sight of Dr. Wills entering the waiting room. The doctor sat down beside her and glanced at Anderson.