He finished washing, patted his hands dry with a paper towel, then folded it neatly into a perfect square before tossing it into the trash can. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his comb and stood in front of the mirror, smoothing his hair back. “Where’s Lonnie now?” he called out.
“I don’t know. He never tells me where he’s going. If he’s gotten his lazy ass out of bed, then he’s probably down at the lake, fishing. Why do you want to know?”
It was time for the lesson. Laurant was going to learn he wouldn’t put up with any competition.
“Never you mind. Go find him and send him to me.”
“I’ve got to go pick up my new car first.”
“You’ve got to do what I tell you first, then you can get your damned car. I said, go find Lonnie.”
The sheriff shoved his chair back and stood. “But what should I tell him.”
Steve came back into the office. He was smiling when he answered. “Tell him I’ve got a job for him.”
L
aurant deliberately prolonged her visit with the Vandermans. She needed the time to psych herself up for the ordeal ahead of her.
In the blink of an eye, everything had changed. She used to think of her home as her safe haven, a sanctuary really, where she could find peace and tranquility after putting in a hard day’s work. He had taken that away from her, the man the FBI nicknamed the unsub. The unknown subject who was tearing her mind into shreds.
How long had he been watching her? Would he be sitting in a comfortable chair watching her tonight? Laurant blanched at the thought. Soon now she would go into her bedroom and get ready for bed while the camera tracked her every movement.
She had a sudden urge to put on her tennis shoes and go running. She couldn’t, of course, it was dark out, and it wasn’t part of the approved-by-Wesson schedule. Laurant still wanted to do it though. She had started her running regimen after she heard about her brother’s cancer. It was an outlet, a way of dealing with her fear. She loved the physical exercise, pushing herself to the limit, faster and faster, until her mind cleared and all she could concentrate on was the pounding of her heartbeat, the crunch of the scrub under her feet, and the rhythm of her breathing as she raced along the broken path around the lake. She became oblivious to her surroundings as she pushed and pushed, harder and harder, until the blessed endorphins kicked in, energizing her. For a brief time, the panic was gone, and she felt gloriously alive and completely free.
She longed for that feeling now, and oh God, how she wanted control over her life again. She hated being afraid, and alternating between fury and terror was making her crazy.
“Dear, be careful with that cup. You don’t want to chip it.”
Viola’s caution pulled Laurant back to the present. Viola continued to tell her the latest gossip she’d picked up at her ladies’ bridge club. Laurant tried to pay attention as she finished hand drying the blue Spode. When the kitchen was cleaned, she followed the elderly woman out onto the porch and sat side by side with her in the glider while Bessie Jean, her hand tucked into the crook of Nick’s arm, took him on a stroll around the property to show off her petunias and her vegetable garden. The streetlight barely lit the backyard.
Nick was more interested in the dark, vacant, tree-lined lot behind Laurant’s house than the garden. Cluttered with thick shrubs and bushes, it was a paradise for the unsub to hide and watch, or creep up on Laurant’s house without being seen.
“Do kids ever play in that lot?” he asked Bessie Jean after complimenting her on her garden.
“They used to, but they don’t go back there anymore, not since Billy Cleary got a fierce case of poison ivy. He was wearing shorts and he sat in it, you see, and from what his mother told me, it was a very painful experience. The child couldn’t sit down for two weeks. Once he was feeling better, Billy and his friends turned to playing by the lake.”
They had made a full circle of the house. Bessie Jean called out to Viola, “I was just telling Nicholas about Billy Cleary and how he used to play in the lot behind Laurant’s house until he got poison ivy.” She climbed the steps and sat down in a wicker chair.
Viola leaned toward Laurant. “His privates were covered in it,” she whispered.
“I told Nicholas no one goes near that lot anymore,” Bessie Jean explained.
“That’s not true,” Viola said. “Don’t you remember, Sister? Several weeks ago there were children playing back there. Daddy stood on his hind legs at the back screen, barking and barking. We had to shut the door to calm him down.”
Bessie Jean nodded. “I don’t believe those were children,” she said. “It was going on dark. It was probably just a raccoon or possum back there. Actually, now that I reflect upon it, I believe that a wild animal was making a home back there because Daddy put up a fuss several times that week.”
Viola nodded. “Yes, he did,” she agreed.
Nick leaned against the railing. “How long ago did this happen? Do you remember?”
“I can’t be sure,” Bessie Jean said.
“I remember,” Viola announced. “I’d just put in the Big Boys.”
“Big Boys?”
“Tomatoes,” she explained.
“And that was when?” Nick asked patiently.
“Almost a month ago.”
Bessie Jean didn’t agree. She thought Viola was mistaken and that it hadn’t been quite that long. The sisters bickered about it for several minutes before Laurant stood, drawing their attention and putting an end to the budding argument.
“Nick and I should be heading home.”
“Yes, dear, you’ll want to get unpacked and settled, won’t you?” Viola remarked.
“She looks tuckered out, doesn’t she, Sister,” Bessie Jean commented.
Nick was in full agreement. Laurant did look worn-out. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked completely different from the first time he’d seen her at the rectory. When she had learned that Tommy was all right, she completely relaxed, and for a short while, she didn’t appear to have a care in the world.
But that was before her brother had told her about the sick bastard who wanted to kill her. To her credit, she hadn’t collapsed or gotten hysterical like some would. And Nick remembered the strength she’d shown later when she’d talked Pete into letting her set a trap. How much strength and endurance did she have stored inside her? He hoped to God she had enough to see this nightmare through.
“Thank you so much for dinner. It was lovely,” Laurant said.
“I’ll give you my recipe for my macaroni dish,” Viola promised.
Bessie Jean scoffed. “What recipe? You followed the directions on the Kraft macaroni and cheese box. Just get her one at the store, Sister.”
Nick added his thank-you, then casually draped his arm around Laurant’s shoulders. Bessie Jean escorted the couple to the end of her walk and opened the gate for them.
“Your eyes never settle, do they, Nicholas?” So that the young man wouldn’t take offense, she hastened to explain. “I notice little things, you see, and from the moment you stepped out on my porch, you’ve been surveying the neighborhood. It’s not a criticism,” she added. “It’s just that I noticed. You’re always on your guard, aren’t you? I imagine you were trained to do that at the FBI school.”
Nick shook his head. “Actually, I’m just nosy.”
She smiled up at him, her green eyes sparkling. Nick guessed she must have given the men in Holy Oaks a merry chase when she was a young girl.
Leaning around Nick, she whispered loudly, “I like your young man. Don’t chase this one off, dear.”
Laurant laughed. “I’ll try not to,” she promised. “I like this one too.”
“Sister and I know all about a woman’s biological clock,” she said. “A good number of women your age already have two or three children. It’s time you got started on a family.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she answered for lack of anything better to say. She knew it was pointless to argue with Bessie Jean or mention that plenty of women waited until they were in their thirties to start a family and that Laurant had several years to go before that momentous birthday. Bessie Jean was outspoken, opinionated, and as subtle as a sledgehammer, but Laurant still liked her. As flawed as she was, she was also honest and kind . . . on occasion anyway.
“Why, look, there’s Justin Brady and Willie Lakeman.”
The neighbors across the street were carrying a long extension ladder around from the backyard. One of them propped it against the side of the house and began to climb up while the other held it in place.
Bessie Jean called out a greeting and smiled when the two men waved.
“It’s late to be painting,” Nick remarked.
He’d only just made the comment when the floodlights were turned on from inside the house.
“Justin’s the young man on the ladder,” Viola said. “I told you about him. When he saw me working in my flower bed, he came right over to lend a hand. I didn’t much care for any of them starting out, but I’ve since changed my opinion.”
“Why didn’t you like them starting out?” Nick asked, eyeing the tall, muscular man who was leaning into the ladder and reaching for the putty knife in the back pocket of his jeans.
“I thought they were all useless, but they’re just ornery, not shiftless. They’re keeping their promise,” she added with a nod. “The owner, Mr. Morrison, made an arrangement with the boys to paint his house in lieu of paying rent. He’s off in Florida taking in the sun until after the celebration.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen any of them working on the house,” Bessie Jean said. “I’ll tell you what I have seen though. Almost every single night for the past couple of weeks, they’ve been walking down to the bar and grill on Second Street and drinking until closing time. They don’t care about their neighbors trying to sleep. They sing and laugh and carry on, making a terrible racket when they’re coming home. I’ve watched them from my window, and just two weeks ago one of them passed out in the front yard. I believe it was Mark Hanover. He slept there all night. It’s shameful the way they carry on, getting drunk as skunks.”
The sisters obviously had different opinions on the renters.
“But now they’re keeping their word,” Viola reminded her. “And Justin told me that, as soon as they finish working at the abbey, they’re going to fix the house up, even if it means working from sunup to sundown. I believe they’ll do it too.”
Nick kept trying to get a better look at Willie Lakeman, but his back was turned to the street and he was wearing a baseball cap. Even if he turned around, Nick doubted he’d see his face clearly. Willie appeared to be about the same height and weight as Justin.
He decided to walk over and say hello. Maybe he could get the third renter to come outside and he could size him up too. His plan changed when he heard Laurant yawn. She was falling asleep on her feet.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed.”
She followed him to the car and helped carry in the bags. The house was dark except for a small desk lamp by the phone, and all the draperies were closed. The phone rang just as she started up the stairs with her overnight bag. She dropped it on the floor, switched on a light, and hurried into the living room. Nick had warned her that there would always be at least one FBI agent inside her house at all times, so she wasn’t taken by surprise when the swinging door to the kitchen opened and a man dressed in black pants and a long-sleeved white shirt rolled up to his elbows came hurrying toward her. There was a gun clipped to his belt and a sandwich in his hand.
He beat her to the phone, which was on the desk between her living room and dining room, checked the caller ID, and picked up a headset attached to the base of the phone, then motioned for her to answer.
From the number displayed, she knew it was Michelle Brockman calling. She was Laurant’s best friend and would soon be a bride.
“Hi. How’d you know I was back?”
“This is Holy Oaks, remember?” Michelle said. “So tell me, is it true? Did some man actually threaten you in Kansas City? I’m never letting you leave this town again if it’s true.”
“Don’t worry,” Laurant assured her friend. “It was just some guy thinking he was funny. The authorities looked into it and said he’s not to be taken seriously.”
“That’s a relief,” Michelle sighed. “Okay then, tell me, who is the hunk?”
“Excuse me?”
Michelle’s laughter erupted over the phone. The sound always made Laurant smile. It came from deep in her belly, and it was filled with such joy and mischief. They had met at the monthly fish fry. Laurant had only been in town a week and hadn’t even unpacked her things before Tommy volunteered her services in the kitchen at the fund-raising event. Michelle had also been commandeered.
An instant friendship developed. They were complete opposites. Laurant was reserved, and Michelle was exuberant. She was also considerate. Lorna Hamburg had cornered Laurant and was trying to get as much personal information as she could for an article she wanted to write about the newcomer, or as she called her, the foreigner from Chicago. Michelle dragged Laurant away from the busy-body and wouldn’t let Lorna harass her. They became best friends from that moment on.
“I asked, who is he?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Laurant replied, deliberately tormenting her friend.
“Stop playing games. I’m dying of curiosity. I want to know. Who is the hunk you brought home with you?”
“His name is Nicholas Buchanan. Do you remember I told you that my brother lived with the Buchanans when he was growing up?”
“I remember.”
“Nick’s Tommy’s best friend,” she explained. “I never met him until last weekend.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Have you gone to bed with him yet?”
Laurant could feel herself blushing. “Hold on a minute, will you?”
She put her hand over the mouthpiece of the old-fashioned phone and whispered to the agent, “Do you need to listen in on this private conversation?”
The agent was trying hard not to smile. He put the headset down and walked away. She pulled the chair out and sat down at the desk, facing the wall.
“All right, I’m back,” she announced as she picked up a ballpoint pen and began to click it open and shut.