Silent Killer

by Beverly Barton

  He swallowed hard, gulping down the tears tightening his throat. Several minutes later, alone in his study, Bruce rose to his feet and walked over to his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed his elder daughter’s work number.

  It is my duty to search for and find the unworthy, those who profess to be servants of the Lord, who pass themselves off as good shepherds but are sinners of the worst kind. I have heard rumors about certain people, but I cannot punish someone unless I am certain of their evil ways.

  People say that Reverend Dewan Phillips is a good man, but he is a proud, boastful man. He likes to talk to hear his own voice, and although he sings the Lord’s praises, he often takes credit for himself instead of giving credit to God. I must keep an eye on him. When You give me a sign that he is a sinner in need of chastisement, I will obey Your command.

  And most people believe Patsy Floyd is above reproach, that as the first female minister in Dunmore, she should be admired for achieving equality for women in her church. But there are a few people who don’t like her. I’ve heard some say that she does not conduct herself in a humble and pious manner, that she wears expensive clothes and jewelry and flaunts her wealth. Has she displeased You, God? If I find all the accusations against her to be true, I will mark her name in my book, and she will be punished.

  And the rumors about the minister at the Presbyterian Church in Decatur cannot be ignored. If Bruce Kelley has hardened his heart and is shirking his duties as a husband, he must be dealt with severely. There is no more grievous sin than one committed against a member of one’s own family. A husband who abuses or abandons his wife, a father who abuses or abandons his child, a son who neglects or mistreats his parents.

  Not my will, O Lord but Thine be done. I know that You have chosen me to carry out Your will, that my suffering proves my worthiness, that I am special in Thine eyes. I am the Angel of Vengeance, the Destroyer of Evil, the Executioner of the Unworthy.

  Jack didn’t like the way that Clay Yarbrough was flirting with Cathy. He wished she would stop smiling at Clay. And why did she have to laugh at all his silly comments? Jack didn’t think he was all that amusing.

  “I sure didn’t mean any disrespect to your late husband when I told you about my old man,” Clay said, grinning like an idiot as he stared into Cathy’s eyes. “But my father, God rest his sorry soul, was a mean old son of a bitch, preacher or no preacher.”

  Jack cleared his throat. Cathy and Clay looked at him. He tapped his wristwatch.

  “I have to return to work in less than fifteen minutes,” Jack said. “We need to get back on track here.”

  “Sorry about that.” Clay bestowed his wide smile first on Cathy and then on Jack. “I tend to talk too much instead of listening, but I wanted Mrs. Cantrell to know how sorry I am about what happened to her husband. And whenever preachers come up in the conversation, I naturally think about my dad.”

  “You mentioned before we ate lunch that you think it would be a good idea for me to hire an architect to draw up plans for the renovations I want.” Jack glanced at Cathy. “Do you think you could draw up the plans? It would save me the added expense of hiring an architect.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I could,” Cathy replied, a touch of surprise in her voice. “The plans wouldn’t be the same as a professional architect would do, but…” She paused and smiled at Jack. “I can’t believe that you remembered I wanted to be an architect.”

  “I remembered the plans you showed me for your dream house,” Jack said. “If I recall correctly, the house was a modern version of a Victorian, with gingerbread trim, a turret and a porch gazebo.”

  “I don’t have a problem with Mrs. Cantrell drawing up the plans,” Clay said. “They don’t have to be professional quality. I’ve had clients who drew up their own plans, and somehow, someway, I managed to give them what they wanted.”

  “Actually, I took some night classes at the junior college right after Lorie and I opened up Treasures of the Past.” Cathy didn’t even glance at Clay; her gaze focused directly on Jack. “If you’ll tell me exactly what you want, I’ll do my best to transfer that into something resembling what an architect would produce for you.”

  “Sounds great,” Clay said. “And I’d be more than happy to help you out. Sometimes I have to sketch out things for a client myself, and if you need any tools of the trade, I’m sure I can round ’em up for you. What say we have dinner tonight and—”

  “The lady already has dinner plans.” The words were out of Jack’s mouth before he realized that Cathy might object to his high-handed manner. He looked at her pleadingly. “That is…”

  “Jack’s right,” Cathy said as she turned to Clay. “I’m having dinner with my son tonight. I appreciate the offer to loan me your supplies, but I have my own, everything from trimmers and drafting templates to a sketch board and parallel rulers and gliders.”

  “Well, another night then,” Clay said. “Maybe you and your son would like to go over to Huntsville for dinner and a movie. How old is your boy?”

  “Seth’s fifteen. But, you see, I haven’t started dating.” She cut a quick glance Jack’s way. “Not officially.”

  “If we take your boy along with us, it won’t exactly be a date, but I tell you what—consider it an open invitation. When you do start dating, just let me know.”

  Clay slid back his chair and stood. He grinned at Cathy, and then offered Jack his hand. Jack stood.

  “I’m ready to start when you are,” Clay said. “I’ll get an inspector out there on Monday to see where we need to start on structural repairs. And as soon as I get Mrs. Cantrell’s plans, I’ll have the carpenters go right to work.”

  Jack shook Clay’s hand and walked him halfway to the restaurant’s front entrance. He wanted to tell the man to stay away from Cathy, to back off and leave her alone. But he thought better of the idea, sensing that she would resent him running interference for her. She’d made it clear that she was in charge of her own life.

  When he got back to the table, Cathy didn’t question him about his attitude toward Clay; instead, she smiled warmly, a look of excitement in her blue-green eyes.

  “Thank you for allowing me to draw up the plans for remodeling your house. I haven’t been this excited about a project in I don’t know when. Never, actually.” She laughed.

  He liked the sound of her laughter. “I’m glad you’re excited about it.”

  “I’ll need your input as soon as possible, but since both of us have to go back to work right away and I’m having dinner with Seth and his grandparents tonight, maybe you could drop by my house tomorrow evening and we can discuss everything then. Tomorrow morning the movers are bringing my furniture out of storage to the house I’m renting, but by tomorrow evening, I’ll need a break. Of course, if you have other plans…”

  “You mean unless I have a date?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t have a date,” he told her. “And I’d like to stop by and discuss my plans with you. But I’ll tell you right now that although I have some basic ideas about restoring the old place, I’d like for you to help me decide just what to do. Like, what do you think of adding a gazebo on the porch? And you can design the master bathroom for me. I thought I could convert one of the bedrooms. Then there’s the kitchen—you’ve already mentioned some ideas on how to modernize it and yet at the same time retain its Victorian heritage.”

  “You—you want me to make all these decisions? Are you sure? I mean, this is your home. It should reflect your tastes.”

  “It’s a home meant for a family,” he said. “That’s what I want it to reflect. I want it to have a similar feel to the way it was when Maleah and I were kids, and my father…” He paused and huffed quietly. “I want to erase Nolan Reaves from every inch of the house and grounds.”

  She reached across the table and clasped his tight fist. He stared at her small, delicate hand lying on top of his tense knuckles, and then he looked up at her. “I understand. You told me some of t
he things that horrible man did, the way he treated you and Maleah and your mother.” She squeezed his hand. “I promise you that I’ll help you make your house a home again.”

  After a surprisingly pleasant dinner with her in-laws, her mother, Seth, Brother Donnie Hovater and his daughter Missy, Cathy pulled her son aside and told him she needed to speak to him alone.

  “That would be kind of rude, wouldn’t it?” he said.

  “I need five minutes of your time. Surely that’s not too much to ask.”

  Seth nodded, then walked across the living room and spoke quietly to his grandfather. J.B. glanced across the room at her, a questioning glint in his eyes.

  “I told Granddad that I wanted to show you my room,” Seth said.

  “Thank you for thinking of an excuse so that we can have a few minutes alone.”

  As they headed for the hallway, Seth said loud enough for the others to hear, “It’s my dad’s old room. Nana got some of Dad’s stuff out of the attic, stuff like his baseball glove and bat. We hung them on the wall over my bed. And we put together a photo album of pictures of Dad from the time he was a baby to when I was born.”

  Seth opened the door to his bedroom and flipped the wall switch. The overhead light, with its two sixty-watt bulbs, illuminated the twelve-by-twelve space. This room didn’t resemble Seth’s old room in the parsonage; instead it looked, in an almost eerie way, like a shrine to Mark Cantrell.

  Cathy swallowed and held her thoughts at bay, determined not to say or do anything that would upset her son. But seeing this room only reinforced her determination to regain custody of Seth. She didn’t want him to forget Mark, but holding Mark up as some saintly figure that Seth had to live up to was wrong. Had filling this room with all of Mark’s boyhood things been Mona’s idea or had it been J.B.’s? Or perhaps it had been a joint endeavor. After all, Mark had been their only child. His younger brother, for whom Seth was named, had died as an infant. What was it like for J.B. and Mona to have lost both of their children? Her heart ached for them, but she was not willing to give them her son as a replacement for his father.

  “Why didn’t you and Dad ever tell me that he’d been married before?” Seth asked, the question coming from out of the blue.

  “What?”

  “When Nana and I were going through the old photograph albums, I saw Dad’s wedding pictures from his first marriage,” Seth told her. “Nana said that Dad’s first wife died. Her name was Joy.”

  “Yes, I know.” Cathy hadn’t thought about Mark’s first wife in a long time. “She died when she was quite young.”

  “Nana said she had cancer.”

  “An inoperable brain tumor.”

  “Why didn’t y’all tell me about her?”

  “There was no reason to,” Cathy explained. “Mark’s first wife died several years before we married. She had nothing to do with our life, nothing to do with you. And, well, it made Mark unhappy to talk about Joy.”

  “Did you mind that he’d been married before?” Seth asked. “Were you jealous of her? Did you think Dad might have still loved her?”

  “My goodness, what strange questions for a fifteen-year-old boy to ask.”

  “I asked Granddad about her.”

  “Did you?” She could only imagine what J.B. had had to say about Saint Joy. During the first few years of her marriage to Mark, she had been forced to listen to her father-in-law sing the woman’s praises.

  “He said Dad never got over losing her, that, well, that she was the love of his life.”

  Damn, J.B. Why on earth would he say such a thing to Seth? “I was never jealous of Joy. Your father loved me. He was happy in our marriage, and he adored you.”

  Apparently remembering the good life the three of them had shared, Seth smiled. “I sure do miss Dad.”

  “I miss him, too.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course I do. And I miss you, Seth.” He had given her the opening she needed. “You know how much I want you to come and live with me. I’ll be moving our furniture into the rental house tomorrow morning.”

  Seth stared down at the floor. “Granddad doesn’t believe—”

  “I don’t care what J.B. believes. I need to know what you want. Do you want to come and live with me?”

  “Granddad would never agree. You know what he thinks.”

  “Yes, I know what he thinks. What do you think?”

  “I guess I’d like to be two people.” He glanced at her quickly and then looked back down at the floor. “One of me could stay here with Granddad and Nana and the other me could go live with you.”

  God, she hated doing this, hated making her son choose between her and his grandparents. But it wasn’t her fault that he was being put in this position. It was J.B.’s fault.

  “But there’s only one you—only one Seth Nelson Cantrell. As much as your grandparents love you and you love them, you’re my son, not theirs.”

  “Maybe, if we give Granddad time, he’ll come around.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Cathy knew that waiting for J.B. to change his mind would be like waiting for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east.

  “I don’t know. What do you want me to say?” Seth curved his right hand into a fist and punched it into the open palm of his left hand.

  Cathy curled her hand over his shoulder. He looked right at her. “I’ve hired a lawyer, Elliott Floyd. I want you to talk to Mr. Floyd and tell him how you feel about living with your grandparents and about the possibility of coming to live with me.”

  Seth’s eyes widened. “Why did you hire a lawyer?”

  “That’s a very good question.” Elaine stood outside in the hallway, her hard gaze directed at Cathy.

  “This is none of your business, Mother. This is between my son and me.”

  “If you’re thinking of suing for custody, I think you should know that I will side with J.B. and Mona, and I’ll testify that I do not believe you’re stable enough to—”

  “You do whatever the hell you have to do.” Cathy barely managed to control the anger inside her. “And I’ll do what I have to do.”

  “Don’t argue, please,” Seth said. “Grandmother, don’t say anything to Granddad and Nana about this.”

  “I think they should know what your mother has planned,” Elaine told him.

  “Please don’t tell them.” When Elaine hesitated, Seth added, “If I promise not to go and talk to Mr. Floyd, will you promise not to tell Granddad?”

  Elaine smiled triumphantly. “I promise. Now go on back to the living room and tell everyone that your mother and I will be along shortly.” Seth hesitated; then, without a backward glance, he left the room.

  Elaine turned to Cathy. “Think about what Seth needs, not about what you need. You’ve become quite a selfish person, haven’t you? The daughter I raised never would have—”

  “I’m still the daughter you raised, Mother. I’m the end product of all your years of tender, loving care. You can’t imagine how much I learned from your example. You taught me exactly what kind of mother I don’t want to be.”

  Elaine gasped. “I had hoped they could help you at Haven Home, but apparently they taught you that it’s acceptable to be disrespectful to your mother. You have no idea how you disgraced me and J.B. and Mona when you pulled that stunt last year—going stark raving mad the way you did. That was bad enough, but then you had to check yourself into that place in Birmingham when you knew everyone in town would be aware of where you were. When I look at you right now, I don’t know who you are, but you are not my daughter.”

  “If that’s the way you feel, I’m sorry. But I’m not going to let you and J.B. or even Mona keep Seth from me and try to turn him into a carbon copy of Mark. He’s my son, and he is his own person. I’ll fight all of you to see that he has a chance to spread his wings and soar with the eagles.”

  “Soar with eagles. What are you jabbering about? You’re talking nonsense again.”

  “No, Mother, I’m
telling you like it is.”

  Cathy turned around and walked away, leaving her mother with her mouth gaping wide open.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The house on Madison was half the size of the parsonage where Cathy had lived with Mark and Seth. The church had provided them with a modern twenty-five-hundred-square-foot home that she had decorated in a simple, traditional style. Due to Mark’s thriftiness, they had purchased inexpensive furniture, and only Cathy’s flair for decorating had kept their home from looking like an assortment of yard-sale finds. Over the years, she had used her owner’s discount at Treasures to buy a few antique items that had added a certain elegance to their home. She liked the idea of starting fresh now and being able to decorate this rental house without any input from other people, including her mother and mother-in-law. The movers had brought only the pieces of furniture she had chosen. She intended to sell the other items that were still in storage and gradually replace them with better pieces.

  Ruth Ann had agreed to work at Treasures today, which she seldom did on Saturday mornings, so that Lorie could help Cathy instruct the movers and begin the grueling job of unpacking a slew of boxes. At one o’clock, Lorie had left to relieve Ruth Ann, and Cathy had taken a short lunch break, eating a pack of cheese and crackers and downing a diet cola.

  After unpacking a box filled with bed linens, she carried an armload down the hall and into the kitchen, where the compact washer and dryer were stored in a small closet behind louvered doors. She put the sheets and pillowcases in the washer and laid the folded blankets and quilts on the floor to be washed later. Leaving the washer chugging away, Cathy strolled through the house, taking her time to explore each room. The twelve-hundred-square-foot house had been built in the early fifties and added on to in the mid-sixties. The exterior was a combination of dark red brick and wooden shingles that had recently been painted a muted moss green. One of the three bedrooms was tiny, only eight by nine. It would make a perfect studio/workroom for her. She could set up her drafting table and her sewing machine and add some bookcases along the back wall.