Looking at the woman’s swollen left cheek, colored the distinctive pale green of an old bruise, Jack cursed himself for an idiot, but still wasted several minutes explaining to her that not all men used violence and threats to win their loved one’s heart. The woman nodded, but Jack knew his words fell on deaf ears.
Back at the precinct, reining in his anger and swear
ing if Sheffield ever lifted one hand against Holly he would tear him limb from limb without blinking, Jack interviewed the cowardly creep about his relationship with Holly. Sheffield was hostile and arrogant, calling Holly stuck-up and saying he wouldn’t waste his time with her.
“Then why do your telephone records show that you called her less than two months ago?”
“I didn’t call her,” Sheffield lied baldly. “I got better things to do with my time.”
“Like beat up your girlfriend?” Jack shot back, earning a reprimand from Sheffield’s lawyer.
He spent the rest of the day with the Medical Examiner and the Crime Scene Unit of the Jackson Police Department. Jack had been informed yesterday that the body pulled from the reservoir was Ralph Peyton.
However, the autopsy of the skeletal remains was inconclusive. There was no evidence to indicate that Peyton had been shot or stabbed before his body had gone into the water. It was impossible to determine if he’d been dead or alive when the car went down.
Although the car tag and registration positively identified Ralph Peyton’s car, the murky waters of the Barnett Reservoir had deposited a fine layer of silt over the entire interior and exterior surfaces, effectively destroying any possible trace evidence that might have proven the presence of a second person or given a clue as to the cause of Peyton’s death.
Jack came away more frustrated than ever. He knew they’d have a hard time proving Ralph Peyton was murdered, with no physical evidence on the car. He couldn’t even rule out Sheffield, because the man had refused to give an alibi for the day and time Miss Emma Thompson’s Chevy had hurtled toward Jack
and Holly. His lawyer told Jack that if and when charges were brought, they would discuss his client’s whereabouts.
As Jack pulled up in front of Virgil’s house, he looked at his watch. He was surprised at the number of cars lining the streets this late in the evening.
Jack got out of the car and shrugged self-consciously, settling his jacket onto his shoulders. He didn’t belong in this world. He had no understanding of the kind of love that brought people together to support each other in their sadness.
His mother had been the only family he’d had, so after her death he’d been handed over to Children’s Services and had lived in a series of foster homes until he turned eighteen.
As he approached the house, Jack observed the crowd through the front window. Far from what he expected, the men and women were talking easily, smiling, eating and drinking coffee or iced tea. Holly had called this “visitation.”
Shaking his head, he rapped lightly on the door. A stranger opened it. Jack opened his mouth to explain who he was, but the man immediately held out his hand. Jack shook it.
“Earl Isley,” the man said. “And unless I’m mistaken, you’re Jack O’Hara.”
Jack controlled his expression and smiled blandly. “That’s right.” He studied the man Holly had dated briefly. Isley was a decent-looking guy. He looked normal, just like most serial killers.
“So, Jack, when all this is over, why don’t you give me a call?” Isley dug into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Have you considered increasing your life insurance now that you’re a married man?”
Suppressing an urge to laugh at the man’s persistence, Jack accepted Isley’s card. “I hadn’t, but maybe I should. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my wife.”
Stepping past Isley, he swept the room with his gaze until he spotted Holly’s familiar chestnut hair. Relief washed over him, so sharp and sudden it was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. He headed toward her, but was stopped by a feminine hand on his arm.
“Hey, hunky husband.”
He met Debi’s gaze. “Hi, sis. Did you do what I told you to?”
Debi leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Keep an eye on Holly? Sure. Every minute.”
“Good.” He looked back toward Holly. “How is she doing? How…are you doing? All of you?” Hell, what were you supposed to say at these things?
“We’re doing okay. You sure are jumpy, though. Maybe you’re hungry. Holly’s over there by the dining room table.”
“Yeah, I see her. Thanks.”
“Jack…”
He didn’t miss the odd note in her voice. Had Holly told her about their sham marriage? He steeled himself for sisterly outrage.
“How did you and Holly fall in love so fast?”
He wasn’t expecting that. Her words left him speechless. He felt his face grow warm. He swiped a hand across the back of his neck.
“It is
so
not like Holly to be spontaneous, and I get the feeling it’s not like you, either. But something obviously clicked between you two.”
“What do you mean?”
Debi grinned. “Come on. You should see your eyes when you look at her. I saw you at the hospital, too. Both of you lit up like Christmas trees when you saw each other.”
Jack’s face got even warmer. His mouth dropped open but he couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“Hey, don’t get embarrassed. I think it’s cute. Now go on, Holly’s been watching the door, waiting for you to show up.”
Something obviously clicked.
Jack tried to dismiss Debi’s comments. She’d probably always been a romantic, making up love stories to fit any occasion.
He picked his way through groups of people, occasionally stopping to verify that, yes, he was Holly’s husband, or to speak to someone he’d already met.
He made a note of everyone he recognized. Uncle Virgil, of course. Bob Winger’s mother was helping herself to the sandwiches and chips from the table. He glanced around, but at first he didn’t see Bob.
Then he spotted him, standing alone in a corner of the living room, his eyes glued to Holly. Just the fact that Winger was looking at her raised Jack’s hackles. He moved quickly toward her, blocking Winger’s line of sight with his body.
Holly was talking to Stanley Hanks. When she saw Jack, her face lit up.
His heart fluttered like a kid’s. Was she glad to see him? He was certainly glad to see her. She looked sedate and slender in a simple gold dress that made her eyes gleam with amber light. The sight of her soothed his burning eyes and eased the tension in his neck.
“Jack, hi.” She smiled at him and slid her arm into the crook of his.
“Hi, yourself.” He ran his fingers down her forearm to clasp her hand as he kissed her cheek.
“You remember Stanley Hanks?”
“Sure. How’s it going?” He didn’t bother to hold out his hand, he just met Hanks’ gaze and nodded.
Hanks nodded and mumbled something about it being nice to see Jack.
“Stanley, thank you so much for coming by. You don’t know how much it means to me. Will you excuse me now?”
“Sure, Holly,” Hanks said. “I’m real sorry about your aunt.”
Jack watched the other man’s face, but all he did was smile briefly at Holly, then head for the food-laden table and pick up a plate.
Jack put his arm around Holly and pulled her close.
“I can’t believe Stanley came,” she said. “He never goes to these things.”
As she leaned against him, he breathed deeply of the strawberry scent of her hair, calmed and stirred by the soft firmness of her body against him. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m doing really well. And Uncle Virgil is doing better than I expected. I was afraid this was going to be so hard.”
Jack’s gaze roamed over the crowd. “Looks like everyone in town is here. Your aunt must have been well-liked.”
“People are here because of Uncle Virgil. Funerals are about the living, to ease the pain of grief, and provide some closure. I think Uncle Virgil is going to be okay.”
“Yeah.” For Jack, a guilty verdict had gone a lot
further than an impersonal ceremony had in terms of closure. “How about you?”
“I’m going to miss Aunt Bode, but her mind died a long time ago. I’m sad, but I think she’s in a better place now.”
Jack squeezed her shoulders. He was relieved that she wasn’t devastated by her aunt’s death, for her own safety as well as her emotional health. He needed her to be focused, not prostrated by grief.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Winger’s mother motion to him. But Bob ignored her and started toward Holly, his eyes still watching her with that unwavering stare.
“Bobby!” a voice shrieked. “Bobby! Help me!”
Jack turned in time to see Mrs. Winger drop into a dining room chair, her attention focused on her son.
At the sound of her voice, Bob stopped in his tracks. A shadow of anger passed briefly across his face before he turned his attention to his mother.
Holly started toward them, but Jack caught her arm. “Let’s see what happens,” he whispered.
“But she’s sick.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Mama, what is it?” Bob asked, frowning.
“I’m feeling faint. I think those cold cuts must have had MSG in them.” Mrs. Winger fanned herself.
“Mother, you’re making a scene.” Bob’s eyes flashed with anger and his voice rose in pitch. “Now, just have some water and sit for a minute.”
“No. You have to take me home, now. I can’t stay here another minute.”
So Bob escorted his mother out of the house, his face red and his expression stony as people watched and whispered.
Taking their cue from Mrs. Winger, people began to say their goodbyes and leave.
“Poor Bob,” Holly said.
Jack stared at her. The man could be a killer and she was feeling sorry for him.
As he shook his head in wonder, she lay her hand on his forearm. “Guess what? I think we can eliminate Earl Isley from the list.”
“Eliminate? What are you talking about?” He looked around and noticed that a couple of the stragglers were watching them curiously. “Let’s get out of here. We need to talk, about several things.”
Holly’s chin went a fraction of an inch higher. “I should stay with Uncle Virgil tonight.”
Jack’s neck was tight, his shoulder ached, he was frustrated by his inability to get a handle on Holly’s stalker, and he really didn’t feel like dealing with her stubbornness tonight.
“You are not staying here. Debi is doing a fine job of taking care of your uncle Virgil. And there’s no way I’m letting you spend the night away from me.”
Chapter Twelve
Holly climbed into bed and leaned back against the pillow. “So when Earl started talking to me about seeing his kids on Tuesdays and Fridays, I realized he might have an alibi. He told me he’d spent Tuesday evening with his kids watching a Buster Keaton film at a silent film festival in Hattiesburg, then he took them for pizza afterwards.”
Jack shifted restlessly.
“So he couldn’t have been the one in Mrs. Thompson’s car.”
Jack raised a brow. “And he just happened to start talking about what he was doing on Tuesday night?”
“Yes. He was just making small talk I guess. You know, there’s not much to say to grieving families after you’ve expressed condolences.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Or maybe he mentioned it to give himself an alibi. Whoever is doing this is clever. He’s killed three people and hasn’t been caught. You can’t take what anyone says at face value. Any man in that room could be the killer.”
Holly’s pulse thrummed in her temple. She thought the same thing. She couldn’t look at anyone now with
out wondering. “What about you? What did you find out today?”
Jack told her about Donald Sheffield and relayed the information that Ralph Peyton’s body had been found. “Someone may have been in the car with him,” Jack told her. “Someone who escaped through the open passenger window, leaving Ralph to drown, trapped by his own seat belt.”
“Oh my God, poor Ralph.” Holly felt the snare of danger tightening around her like a noose. She moved closer to Jack. “You know, for a few minutes while I was getting that information from Earl without making him suspicious, I felt in control of my life. I felt like maybe I was even helping to keep you safe.”
Jack was silent and unmoving. It was comforting for Holly to have him so close, but the barrier was still there.
“You don’t need to keep me safe, Holly. I told you, it’s my job—”
“Stop saying that!” she cried. “I do. I need desperately to keep you safe. Don’t you understand?”
Jack held out his arm and, despite her vow not to let him touch her again, she slipped easily and naturally into his embrace. She lay her head against his chest.
“Maybe I do understand,” he said softly. “Tell me about your parents. What happened to them?”
She was mildly surprised at his change of subject. What did her parents’ death have to do with anything? But his arm around her and his warm breath against her hair coaxed her into talking.
“My father was a journalist. My mother taught English at the college. She would go with him when he went out of town, and Aunt Bode and Uncle Virgil
would keep Debi and me. I still remember listening to Mama telling Aunt Bode what to do if something happened to them. It was always fun staying with Aunt Bode. We’d sit up late at night and watch scary movies, and talk about Mama and Daddy going on dangerous adventures, like on television. I imagined them battling monsters.” She paused. “I was always so relieved when they got home.”
“And then one time they didn’t come home?”
She nodded, laying her cheek against the sinewy muscles of his chest. “And I couldn’t help but believe the monsters got them, although I know it was a small-plane crash.”
“And now this monster is after you.”
She burrowed a little deeper into the warmth of his chest, wincing in expectation of the low rumble of his laughter. But tonight was a night of truths. “Please don’t laugh at me.”
Jack put his finger under her chin and lifted her face to look into her eyes. “I promise I will never laugh at you.”
And Holly believed his promise, just like she believed everything he told her, even that he could keep her safe.