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She laid the box and the note on the passenger seat, then retrieved the manila envelope and tossed the bag alongside the box.
What could this be?
After opening the sealed envelope, she removed the contents. A single page from an artist’s sketch pad. Her heart skipped a beat. Brandon was the art director at the junior college. She turned the paper over and gasped aloud. It was a charcoal sketch of her face. This was the work of a true artist.
Brandon Kelley was that true artist. He was her secret admirer. But why was he courting her in such an old-fashioned, secretive manner? Why didn’t he just come right out and ask her for a date?
Because Brandon isn’t like other men, she told herself. He’s older, more experienced, worldly wise and undoubtedlyone of the last of a dying breed—a romantic gentleman.
She reached over, lifted the pearls from the box and fingered them lovingly. She would wear them to school on Monday to show him that she liked his gift.
Bubbling with excitement and giddy with expectations, Thomasina attached her seatbelt, shifted into reverse and began humming to herself as she backed up and headed out to the street.
* * *
Bernie handled the items very carefully, taking her time to study the details as Charlie Patterson gave the pieces to her, one at a time. First were notes written in heavy black ink on white note cards, the kind you could buy just about any place that sold stationery. Each note was succinct, flattering to the receiver and eerily romantic.
“Kyle Preston told me that one of Stephanie’s old boyfriends sent her some notes and gifts. These must be the notes.” But something wasn’t quite right about these things. The notes were unsigned, and the wording didn’t seem to be something a former lover would write. No, her guess would be the messages were sent from a would-be lover.
“Why didn’t he mention these notes before?” Jim asked.
“He’d forgotten about them, didn’t think they were important.”
“I can’t believe a husband could have forgotten about these things,” Charlie said. “Especially not the sketches.”
“What sketches?” Bernie asked. “Kyle didn’t say anything about sketches.”
“Then either he’s lying or Stephanie didn’t share all her little gifts with her husband.” Jim pointed to the thin stack of papers Charlie held in his glove-covered hand.
“Let me see those.” Bernie held out her hand and accepted the items Charlie gave her.
The first item was a sketch of Stephanie, done in charcoal. Just her face, with a hint of naked shoulder. It was a remarkably accurate sketch; the artist clearly was talented. Bernie shuffled through several photographs of Stephanie, obviously taken at a distance, and it was apparent that she had not been aware she was being caught on film. One photo was of her on her front porch. Another was of her coming out of the grocery store wheeling a cart filled with sacks. There were six photos in all, each taken at a different location and apparently on different days.
“He was stalking her,” Bernie said.
“Yeah,” Jim replied. “Keep going. It gets worse.”
She handed the first sketch and the photos back to Charlie and took a look at the remaining sketches, probably a dozen or so. Bernie did a double take after looking at the first rendering. This was an ink sketch of Stephanie, partially undressed, with one naked breast showing, the nipple tightly puckered. She had one hand slipped suggestively between her upper thighs and her right index finger was stuck in her mouth, pressing her lips apart.
Dear God, had Stephanie posed for this or had the artist drawn it from memory? “We definitely need to question the old boyfriend.”
Bernie flipped that sketch and went on to the next. In this one, Stephanie was completely nude, except for a strand of pearls around her neck, and the expression on her face was downright unnerving. She looked like a woman in the throes of an orgasm.
“Lord.”
“Amen,” Charlie said.
Until Charlie spoke, she hadn’t realized she’d uttered the word aloud.
Each successive sketch was more graphic than the one before, and the final four depicted Stephanie in S&M poses. Bound. Gagged. Chained. Her body marred with small, round marks and teeth prints.
Sour bile rose from Bernie’s stomach and burned her esophagus on its ascent to her throat. She gagged, then swallowed. Don’t you dare vomit. Neither one of these big strongmen is sick to his stomach.
“Pretty rough stuff,” Jim said.
“Disgusting.” Bernie managed to get the one word out before she had to clear her throat several times.
“The question is, did the artist use his imagination to draw these, or at some time either in the past or recently, did Stephanie Preston pose for them?” Charlie looked from Bernie to Jim.
“If you’re asking for my opinion, I’d say he used his sick imagination,” Jim said.
Bernie nodded. “Unless there was a side to Stephanie that no one knew about, I agree with Jim.”
“There are a few other things.” Charlie pointed to the open box atop the closed cedar chest. “Little gifts. A string of pearls. A bottle of perfume. A gold ankle bracelet. A tube of pink lipstick and matching nail polish.”
“Gifts a guy would give his girlfriend?” Bernie thought about the presents, two pieces of jewelry and three toiletry items. “Why these things?”
“Good question.” Jim’s gaze met hers. “Were they things he knew she liked? Or were they items he wanted to see her use?”
“Look, you two, I’ll get these items to our Crime Scene Unit today,” Charlie told them. “While I’m taking care of that, why don’t y’all follow up on the old boyfriend? And while you’re at it, get a list from her family of every man in Stephanie’s life, other than her father and husband.”
“That could be a long list,” Bernie said. “She worked at McDonald’s during the day and went to school at night. Plus, she attended church regularly. The list of men in her life could add up to a hundred or more.”
“We’ll start with the old boyfriend and then go on to any guy who’s shown a particular interest in Stephanie recently,” Jim said.
Charlie nodded. “I’ll try to get a preliminary report for us and we can go over it tonight. Unless tonight’s out for some reason.”
“Tonight’s fine,” Jim said.
Bernie nodded. “Good thing I don’t have an active social life.”
“Hey, you’ll get to spend the evening with two good-looking guys.” Charlie chuckled.
“What more could a girl ask for on a Saturday night—two handsome lawmen, takeout from the King Kone and a stack of crime scene photographs?” Bernie rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed dramatically.
Chapter 7 (#ufc7b371f-5FFF-11e9-9e03-0cc47a520474)
Thomasina had skipped Sunday school this morning, so she’d driven her own car to eleven o’clock church services. When she’d dragged in five minutes late, her mother had given her one of those disapproving glares that only parents can give. She had sat through the sermon, doing her best to relate to what Reverend Donaldson had to say, but the honest truth of the matter was that she’d spent those forty minutes looking at the new minister, actually drooling over him the way every other woman in the congregation was. The man was gorgeous. Black hair, blue-gray eyes that were such a contrast to his darkly tanned face, and a body that would put sinful thoughts into a woman’s mind.
Her sister Amanda, who’d been sitting on her right, had nudged her in the ribs and whispered, “He’s single, you know.”
Thomasina hadn’t reacted in any way except to smile. Matthew Donaldson was drop-dead gorgeous and single, facts that under different circumstances would have interested her greatly. But not now. Not when Brandon Kelley was on a mission to woo and win her with a very old-fashioned and utterly romantic courtship. She had hoped to catch a glimpse of her secret admirer this morning, but Brandon wasn’t overly religious and came to church on average once a month. Not seeing him had been disappointing, but she consoled herself with the thought that she could make a point of running into him at school tomorrow. She would be friendly, maybe even a little flirtatious, but in a very ladylike way. If she came on too strong, too female-in-charge, she might turn him off and put an end to their romance before it actually began. Taking her cues from him was the wisest course of action. Apparently he wanted their relationship to begin by being sweetly romantic, with an air of mystery.
Thomasina made a point of speaking to Reverend Donaldson and welcoming him to Adams Landing. She figured if Amanda had picked the man out as a potential brother-in-law, her mother had zeroed in on him as son-in-law material. And as every girl knows, it’s always best if you can keep your mama happy. Of course, every mother in town with a single daughter over the age of twenty was probably making mental wedding plans for her daughter and the reverend. Young, handsome, successful single men in Adams County were few and far between.
Amanda grasped Thomasina’s arm just as she started walking toward the parking lot. “Hold up.”
Thomasina paused. “I spoke to him, smiled at him and made friendly. That should satisfy Mama.”
“Hmm … What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, I know you. You’ve got a new boyfriend, haven’t you? And it’s about time. You should have stopped pining over Ron Hensley two seconds after the bum dropped you like a hot potato.”
“He didn’t drop me like a hot potato. We just wanted different things from a relationship.”
Amanda lowered her voice. “Yeah, all he wanted was sex.” She looked directly into Thomasina’s eyes, as if daring her to lie to her. “Come on. Who is this new guy?”
“Swear you won’t tell a soul.”
Amanda giggled. “I swear.”
“It’s Brandon Kelley, the art director at the college.”
“And when did this start? When was your first date? Details, girl. I want details.”
“Look, I’ll fill you in on everything after dinner today, when Mama takes her nap and the guys and kids are outside playing ball. But I can tell you this—he is so romantic.”
Amanda let Thomasina leave without further questioning, probably realizing that they could easily be overheard by any number of people. The church grounds were covered with three fourths of the congregation who lingered to chit chat and gossip before going home.
Despite the clouds blocking the sun, the July heat seeped through and the high humidity created a damp heaviness in the air. On her way to her car, she spoke to half a dozen people and threw up her hand and waved at Robyn and Bernie Granger, who were with their parents. She’d bet Brenda Granger had her eye on the reverend as a potential mate for one of her daughters.
When Thomasina reached her car, she realized that in her haste to make it inside the church on time, she had forgotten to lock the doors. No big deal. She didn’t have anything worth stealing inside the vehicle, and who’d want to take her older model Grand Am? She opened the door and started to slide inside, wanting to get the air-conditioning going as quickly as possible. But she stopped dead still when she saw the large manila envelope lying on the driver’s seat. Her heart lurched. Was this another gift from Brandon? After picking up the envelope, she got in, closed the door, started the engine and turned up the air-conditioning. Glancing around to see if anyone was watching her, she tried to decide whether to open the envelope now or wait until she got home.
No one was paying any attention to her, so why wait? She opened the envelope eagerly, barely able to contain the fluttering excitement in her belly. Peering inside, she saw a note and what looked like four-by-six-inch snapshots. She removed the note from its envelope.
I love looking at you. You’re so beautiful.
Thomasina sighed. Her whole body quivered with pleasure.
Her hands trembled as she reached inside the manila envelope and removed the photographs. Three pictures of her. One taken at the college, one coming out of Robyn’s Fitness Center, and one going into the Piggly Wiggly yesterday.
An odd feeling rippled up Thomasina’s spine as she realized that he’d been following her yesterday, that he’d been close and yet hadn’t made his presence known. It was almost as if he was stalking her. A hint of uneasiness crept into her romantic fantasy of Brandon Kelley courting her with notes and gifts.
You’re being silly. There’s a difference in a man like Brandon being secretively seductive and some guy she wasn’t interested in stalking her. After all, she wanted Brandon to notice her, to take an interest in her, to pursue her.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Thomasina banished every negative thought from her mind. Perhaps tomorrow, at school, Brandon would make his next move and ask her for a date. After all, how long could he continue admiring her from afar when it was obvious what he wanted was to admire her up close and personal.
Jim felt downright awkward coming for Sunday dinner at the Granger house when it was apparent that everyone else here had come straight from church services. Everyone was still dressed in their Sunday best. Reverend Matthew Donaldson still wore his suit and tie. Raymond Long had removed his jacket, but wore a white button-down and blue-and-gray striped tie. Only R.B. Granger looked halfway comfortable, having taken off his jacket and his tie, leaving him in a white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. My kind of man, Jim thought. Jim wore khaki dress slacks and a navy blue, short-sleeve, cotton pullover. In comparison with everyone else, he was definitely underdressed. But he usually didn’t put on a suit and tie, except for funerals.
“Come on in, Captain Norton.” R.B. invited Jim in with a wave of his hand. “Bernie’s introduced you to everybody except her mother and sister. They’re out in the kitchen getting dinner ready to put on the table.”
Jim entered the large den where the others had congregated. This room, like the living room and dining room he had glimpsed when he’d entered the foyer, possessed a sense of hominess. The furniture was a mixture of styles, mostly dark woods and earthy colors, antiques blending with sturdily built, more modern pieces. In many ways, it reminded him of the home he’d grown up in, the place where he’d been happy and at the time hadn’t realized what a lucky kid he was. As a boy, he’d had everything he now wanted for Kevin. A happily married mother and father, a kid sister, and a house filled with love.
“Smile, Jim,” Bernie whispered to him. “This is Sunday dinner, not a walk to the electric chair.”
He forced a closed-mouth smile and entered the den. Bernie had introduced him to everyone, including Raymond Long’s mother, Helen, who was at this very minute studying him intently. He couldn’t figure out why she was so interested. It was as if she’d taken an instant dislike to him and was searching for a reason to justify her decision.
“Dad, you’ll have to keep the conversation going,” Bernie told her father. “I need to help Mama and Robyn. Dinner should be on the table in just a few minutes.”
Jim glanced at Bernie as she walked away hurriedly. She wore a two-piece tan suit, with a skirt that hit her mid-calf, but she didn’t look all that different today than she had the past two days. Everything about her—from her simple style in clothes to her minimum of makeup and long hair pulled away from her face and secured in a ponytail—was neat, orderly and… well, to be honest, plain. Not that Bernie wasn’t pretty. She was, but in a plain sort of way. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium complexion, simple clothes, simple hairstyle. Bernie’s only outstanding feature was her five-nine height, making her as tall as a lot of men.
R.B. pulled Jim aside and said, “Bernie tells us that you’re going to be keeping your son for a few weeks while your ex-wife undergoes surgery and then chemo.”
“That’s right.”
“I sort of know what your ex-wife is facing. I was diagnosed with prostate cancer a few years ago.” R.B. grunted. “Cancer. That’s a word no one wants to hear in reference to their own health.”
“No, sir.”
“Look, son …” R.B. clamped his big hand down on Jim’s shoulder, the two men standing eye to eye, R.B. not quite an inch taller. “Brenda and I talked things over after Bernie explained your predicament, and we’re both ready, willing and able to act as surrogate grandparents for your boy.”
Jim released an emotional breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “That’s mighty kind of you and your wife, but—”
R.B. squeezed Jim’s shoulder, then lowered his voice and said quietly, for Jim’s ears only, “The way I see it, one good turn deserves another.” R.B. scanned the room so quickly that Jim doubted anyone else even noticed. “You look out for my kid and I’ll look out for yours.”
“Do you mean Bernie?”
R.B. nodded. “It’s not that I don’t think she’s doing a bang-up job as sheriff. She’s smart and good as any man on the force. But she’s young, and well, son, she is a woman. And we both know that a woman thinks with her heart and not her head. Of course, my girl is better than most about using her common sense and seeing things the way we men do.”
“Are you concerned about something in particular?” Jim asked.
“Yeah, I’m concerned about this murder case,” R.B. told him. “This is a bad one, and we both know it. Unless y’all just get lucky, it may become an unsolved murder. Bernie’s not going to accept that easily. She’s got a lot to learn, and that’s where you come in. You have the experience she lacks. I want you to help her … guide her along through this case.”
Jim blew out a deeply inhaled breath. No beating around the bush for R.B. Granger. Bernie’s father said exactly what he thought. The only problem was that Jim wasn’t sure he could make that kind of a deal. “Bernie’s my boss. She’s the sheriff, I’m just the chief—”
“Dinner is served,” a feminine voice called from the doorway.
Taking this as an opportunity not to finish his conversation with R.B., Jim turned his attention to the owner of that syrupy sweet voice. The woman standing in the doorway, smiling, her long, curly black hair framing her beautiful face, all but took Jim’s breath away. Tall and willowy, with slender curves in all the right places, the lady was a real knockout.
“Y’all heard my little girl,” R.B. announced. “If I know my Brenda, we’ve got a feast waiting for us in the dining room.”
Jim allowed the others to go first, taking his time, bringing up the rear, so he was surprised that when he entered the hallway, R.B.’s “little girl” was still there. When he passed by, he glanced her way. She smiled at him, then reached out and slipped her arm through his.
“I’m Robyn,” she told him. “Bernie’s sister.”
“I’m—”
“Jimmy Norton. I know. I’ve heard all about you from Daddy and Bernie. I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“Have you?”
When she flashed that thousand-watt smile at him, his stomach muscles tightened. “I hear Mom and Dad are going to be looking after your son. I love kids and I’m a great babysitter. I’ll be happy to help out the folks with—What’s your son’s name?”
“Kevin.”
“And how old is Kevin?”
