Attempted Matrimony

by Joanna Wayne

  “What we do to each other.”

  She raked a clump of wet hair from his forehead. The need was still strong inside her, the passion still glowing like hot coals. “Make me one promise, Dallas?”

  “If I can?”

  “When this is over, can I have another go at tonight?”

  He touched a fingertip to her lips. “I’m not going anywhere, Nicole—not this time. I’ll be right here until you tell me you don’t want me in your life.”

  Her heart felt as if it were cradled in his hands. “Not cheap lipstick any longer.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’ll hold the light,” she said, bending to retrieve it. “You finish the tire. When we’re done, we can change into the clothes we brought for tomorrow.”

  He nodded and went to work, finishing the job in short order. The tension hadn’t died between them. If anything it grew stronger. She would have to be very careful the rest of the night and on the drive home tomorrow. It would be easy to end up in Dallas’s arms again, heaven to crawl in bed beside him and sleep with her body pressed to his. Pure ecstasy to make love with him.

  He was the only one who had any power to lessen the fear and horror that grew more intense with every passing day. But she couldn’t just rush into another relationship while the one she was already bound to raged out of control.

  And with that thought, Malcomb and the gory image of him slicing through the carotid artery of a horrified woman took over her mind and sent frigid shudders rumbling through her body. Was he out there tonight, choosing a new victim, watching her and planning how to make his move?

  Or was he home, furious at Nicole for leaving town without his consent? Plotting and planning how to kill her and get away with it, just the way he’d done the others? Her hands tightened around the flashlight, squeezing so hard that pain ripped thorough the muscles in her fingers and arms.

  And with the pain came a premonition so vivid it emblazoned itself across her brain. Unless they found some way to stop him, Malcomb was going to kill her. Hers would be the next body found.

  Ronnie would be all alone.

  And she’d never make love with Dallas again.

  THE HOME OF JACKSON and Mildred Lancaster sat a good quarter of a mile from the road, down a dirt driveway bordered by weeds and a hedge that had grown into a wild mass of tangled branches and vines. A hand-painted sign by the street read Lancaster’s Garage. Mechanic on Duty. Repairs While U Wait. Nicole didn’t see the garage itself, but there were a half-dozen junk cars parked in the grass to the left of the drive, a couple on blocks, one with the hood up, all with a few busted windows and multiple patches of orange rust.

  The house itself didn’t look much better. The screen on the small front porch had gaping tears and the paint was faded and peeling. One shutter was missing, another hung askew. A couple of huge black dogs raced down the dirt drive, barking loudly, as soon as Dallas turned in.

  “A welcoming committee,” Nicole said. “And look, what big teeth they have.”

  “Barking dogs never bite,” Dallas said.

  “Sure, and old mattresses in cheap motels are always comfortable,” she said, mimicking his words from last night when they’d settled for the only two rooms available in the storm. “Any other gems of wisdom you want to share on this trip?”

  “I’d try the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but if the man who just stepped onto the porch is the father of the obsessively neat and fashionably dressed Dr. Malcomb Lancaster, I think the proverbial apple must have had wings.”

  Nicole studied the man. He was shorter than Malcomb, or at least his hunched shoulders made him appear short. He wore a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of grease-stained denim overalls that didn’t seem to touch his scrawny body anywhere but at the shoulders. A red rag dangled from his back pocket.

  There was little hair on his shiny head, but his chin was covered with a prickly beard that ran the gamut from brown to silver, with a palette of shades in between. He leaned over the porch and spat out a steady stream of something that looked like the mud they’d sloshed around in last night. Nicole figured it was tobacco.

  “This must be the wrong house, Dallas. Are you certain your information about Malcomb’s parents is accurate?”

  “It’s accurate. I checked it out with the local sheriff’s office. The young deputy I talked to said the Lancasters have lived here ever since he can remember. He didn’t know they had a son, however.”

  “That figures. I’m sure Malcomb hasn’t been spending a lot of time here, since he pretends his parents are dead.”

  Dallas stopped the car near the porch, on high ground so that he wouldn’t get stuck. The house rested on cement blocks, and the man shuffled down the half-dozen wooden steps to meet them, going slow and favoring his right leg, which seemed particularly stiff. From his wizened skin and sagging jowls, Nicole guessed him to be around seventy years old. He hollered at the dogs to stop barking. They slinked over to the shade of a tree and stretched out in the grass.

  “You folks got car trouble?” he asked before Dallas had a chance to say a word.

  “No. Car’s running fine.”

  “Must be lost then. We get a lot of lost tourists out here. Where you trying to get to?”

  “The Lancaster residence.”

  The man stared at Dallas a minute, then spat again. “Reckon you’re not lost then. What can I do for you?”

  “Are you Malcomb Lancaster’s father?”

  His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer, peering into the car and checking both of them out. “I got a boy named Malcomb. He’s a doctor. You know him?”

  “Not well, but the lady with me does.”

  Nicole leaned toward Dallas’s window. “I’m Nicole Lancaster, Malcomb’s wife.”

  The man rubbed a callused hand over his jaw. “You say you’re Malcomb’s wife?” His tone suggested he didn’t believe her.

  “Yes. I hope you don’t mind my just stopping by. I was in the area on business and I really wanted to meet you. Malcomb’s told me so much about you.” None of it accurate, of course, but he had talked of them.

  Mr. Lancaster Sr. didn’t look totally convinced, but he finally let his lips crack into a tentative smile. “Malcomb never was one for telling us what he was up to. How long you two been hitched?”

  “We were married ten months ago, in Shreveport.”

  “Shreveport, eh?”

  “Yes. We live there.”

  “Well, looks like he did well for himself. Come on in,” he said, slapping a hand on his thigh. “Mildred’s gunna be tickled pink. She’ll fry you up a skillet of chicken for lunch and then talk so much it’ll be cold ’afore you can eat it.”

  Nicole pushed the car door open. The two dogs stretched and stood. She watched them warily.

  “Don’t worry none about them dogs,” Mr. Lancaster said. “They look vicious, but they don’t bite, not unless they take a disliking to you. I mean, you kick ’em or something, they’ll probably take you down, but they’s just pets.”

  Pets or not, she was glad when he called the dogs over to him. She and Dallas both got out and followed Mr. Lancaster inside to meet Malcomb’s mother. As soon as Nicole saw her, she knew where Malcomb got his good looks. She was quite a bit younger than her husband, with soft, gentle features, dark eyes and enough weight on her to fill out her face and arms.

  Her eyes watered when they made the introductions. “Land sakes. You married my boy, and you come to see us.” She dabbed at her eyes with the tail of the flowered apron tied about her waist. “He’s the smartest thing that ever was, my Malcomb, but he ain’t much for visiting. Tell me how he’s doing.”

  Nicole concentrated on the positive—Malcomb’s work and his professional accomplishments. His mom glowed at every word. Nicole felt guilty about being there under false pretenses, especially with Mrs. Lancaster so touched by her coming. And seeing how hungry she was for news of Malcomb, Nicole found it difficult to believe he could have just w
ritten them out of his life.

  They were good people. Country people with no pretense about them. Not the neatest of beings, but though the house was cluttered, with stacks of papers, magazines, and folded clothes everywhere, it was reasonably clean.

  A picture of Malcomb in his white lab coat with a stethoscope dangling from his neck captured a prime spot on top of the television set. Their son the surgeon. But one day soon, he might be known as something else. If that were true, the news would break their hearts.

  Nicole had to fight the urge to get up and run away. To run and run and run and never stop. Instead, she sat on the couch and listened as Dallas steered the conversation in a direction that would hopefully help him find answers to his questions. If this were a book, they could name the chapter “The Formative Years of Malcomb Lancaster,” or “The Making of a Psychopath.”

  THE LANCASTERS WERE NOT what Dallas had expected. Fact was, they reminded him a lot of his own grandparents—simple people who had never had a lot of material things and didn’t seem to miss them. What the Lancasters did miss was their adult son, which made Dallas wonder if he’d get much real information from them or if they’d created their own version of the past, one that painted their son in a favorable light.

  They hadn’t talked but a few minutes when an old Chevy with a damaged or missing tailpipe clattered up the driveway. Jackson Lancaster excused himself to go check on business. Mildred Lancaster kept talking.

  “We didn’t have enough money to send Malcomb to college, but he won a scholarship. That’s how smart he is. Scored higher on the SAT than anyone who ever graduated from his school. That’s that test they give you if you’re going to college. Have you heard of it?”

  “I sure have, had to take it myself. I didn’t win any scholarships with my performance, though.” Dallas leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “Is Malcomb your only child?”

  “Yes.” She looked from Dallas to Nicole and back to him again, her brow furrowed, her hands clasped in her lap. “I suppose I can tell you this. Malcomb’s probably already told you, Nicole. I wasn’t married when I had Malcomb. I know people do that now, but it wasn’t so common back then. My parents tossed me out, and Jackson took me in and married me. He’s a good man, my Jackson, but he’s not Malcomb’s real father.”

  “Who was Malcomb’s father?”

  “I’d rather not say. He was married. Handsome as sin, and smart and charming—like Malcomb. I just made a mistake, that’s all. Jackson made things all right. And I was never sorry about having Malcomb. Even though I was just a girl when he was born, I loved him.”

  “Did Malcomb know Jackson wasn’t his father?”

  “I told him the truth when he was ten. Figured he was old enough to hear it, and didn’t see no use to keep lying. Jackson wasn’t no blood kin, but he gave Malcomb his name and raised him like his own. He wanted more kids, but I just couldn’t get pregnant. So Malcomb was it.”

  “It sounds as if your husband was a good father,” Nicole said.

  “He was great.” Her smile disappeared. “But Malcomb wasn’t always nice to Jackson. When he’d get mad at him, he’d tell him he wasn’t worth nothing, that he was glad Jackson’s blood wasn’t in him.” She folded and unfolded her hands. “Malcomb didn’t mean anything by it. You know how young folks are.”

  “Kids can be cruel at times.”

  “But Malcomb didn’t mean to be. Same as when he used to get upset with me and say the house was too filthy for flies. Sometimes I’d get upset with him or with Jackson, and he’d go out in the yard and pick me some wildflowers. That’s how sweet he could be when he wanted to.”

  “It sounds as if he was a pretty neat guy,” Dallas said. “He must have had a lot of friends.”

  “He could’ve had all the friends he wanted, but he didn’t hang out in town with ’em much. He said the kids at his school were stupid. I guess they seemed that way to him, since he was so smart. One of his teachers said he was near genius.”

  Smart and strange. And quite possibly a psychopathic killer. As far as Dallas was concerned, the dominoes were falling in perfect order. Too bad the evidence wasn’t.

  “I’ll bet he had lots of girlfriends,” Dallas said, hoping to keep Mrs. Lancaster going.

  “One in particular his senior year. The sweetest thing. Pretty, too. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, Nicole.”

  “Oh, please do. I love hearing about Malcomb, and I’m not jealous of his past. After all, I have him now.”

  Dallas was amazed at how well Nicole was handling this. They’d planned the strategy over breakfast this morning, but he’d never expected her to be this good at what Corky called “baiting with honey.”

  Mrs. Lancaster reached over and patted Nicole’s knee. “He’s lucky to have you. You remind me of Tammy, in fact. That was his girlfriend’s name. Tammy Sullivan. Her family had money, but she wasn’t a bit conceited. Her hair was just about the color of yours, her eyes, too. Petite little thing. I’d never seen him so crazy about a girl.” She shook her head and looked away as if the memories were painful.

  “What happened?” Dallas asked.

  “Once they graduated, she moved down to Shreveport. Started college right that summer. Didn’t even wait till fall. Then one weekend she come home to see her parents and she was murdered. I hate to even think about it. I haven’t in a long time. It was such a horrible thing. They found her body down by the old creek that ran back of her father’s property, all sliced up, as if some fool had just taken a knife and started swinging.”

  “Did they arrest the perp—the person who did it?”

  “The case was never solved. Tammy’s dad thought it was a drifter who’d done some work for him, but they couldn’t get no evidence on him. Anyway, it just about killed Malcomb. He mostly stayed in his room after that, so we didn’t hardly know he was living here. He went off to Little Rock to school that fall, and we didn’t see him much after that. Guess Monticello reminded him of Tammy.”

  “I’m sure it was tough.” Dallas glanced at Nicole. She looked ashen, and he didn’t have to guess what she was thinking. He didn’t want to put her through any more of this.

  They stayed a few minutes longer, then went outside to find Mr. Lancaster and say their goodbyes. Both of Malcomb’s parents hugged Nicole and made her promise to come back to see them again.

  A promise she’d probably never keep.

  NICOLE STARED OUT the window of the car, thinking of the Lancasters and wondering how in the world they’d ever raised a son like Malcomb.

  “Are you sorry you came with me?” Dallas asked, breaking the silence.

  “A little. I don’t see how you can deal with murder and mayhem day after day, case after case.”

  “It’s not all bad. I like the work. Not the deaths, but figuring out the puzzles and believing I make a difference.”

  “I don’t think I could ever get used to this. It’s just too hard. If it turns out that Malcomb’s a serial killer, his parents are going to be crushed.”

  “There’s not a lot we can do about that.”

  “Do you think he killed Tammy Sullivan?”

  “I think there’s a good chance he did. If so, that might have fostered his taste for killing.”

  “Surely he hasn’t been killing women all those years and getting away with it.”

  “It’s not likely. Sometimes urges like that lie dormant for a long time, all the while festering inside the person. Then at some point, a situation triggers the explosion mechanism, and all hell breaks loose.”

  Dallas ran his hand along the back of the seat and let his right thumb ride the tight tendons in her neck. She leaned back, closed her eyes and remembered the way it had been last night in the rain.

  She didn’t really know Dallas all that well. What they’d shared in the past had been youthful and energetic—flirting and teasing with huge doses of lust. What they shared now was frenzied and caught up in the macabre.

  So why was it
she only felt whole when she was with him?

  “What happened nine years ago, Dallas?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What made you run? Did I do something wrong? Was I not enough of a challenge? Or was I just not what you wanted for more than a one-night stand?”

  He withdrew his hand and stared at the road. “It’s not the best time to go into all of that.”

  “I agree. The best time is long past.”

  He exhaled, shrugged, finally turned to glance at her. “You’re not going to like my explanation.”

  “Probably not, but I still need to hear it.” Even if it brought back all the hurt she’d experienced at the time. And looking at the pained expression on his face, she had a feeling that it just might.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The green road sign said take the next right for a roadside park. Dallas decided the subject matter was too important to discuss while driving, so he pulled into the exit lane and tried to get his jumbled thoughts in some kind of coherent order.

  He’d rather face a dangerous killer eight days out of seven than talk about relationships with any woman, much less Nicole. Not only did he not have a handle on what had been going on inside him at age twenty-one, he didn’t understand a lot more about his feelings now.

  All he knew was that something happened when Nicole was around. Breathing, talking, swallowing—all those things that he did every day without thinking about them took effort the second she appeared. Sexual urges that never reared their demanding head in the course of an ordinary workday took on a life of their own the second he got near enough to catch a whiff of her perfume.

  “All you have to do is tell me the truth, Dallas.”

  The truth. The phrase had such an impressive ring to it. As if there were one specific, earth-shattering fact that defined a man’s life—and his mistakes. And the closest thing he knew to the truth would just bring new hurt to Nicole at a time when he didn’t know if she could bear any more.

  He took the exit, slowed and cruised through the rest area until he had passed the long line of cars near the rest rooms. He found a parking space out by itself, shaded by a couple of tall pine trees. He pulled in, killed the engine and scooted his seat back so that he could stretch his legs. Might as well be physically comfortable, since his mental state was none too relaxed.