'Til Grits Do Us Part (47 page)

“August third,” he whispered. “The day we were supposed to rob the bank together and run away. Marry. Because we were always meant to be together, you know. You wouldn't back out on me.”

In an instant I understood all the numbers. The reminders. In his twisted way, Ray'd been trying to give me another chance. To make things right again.

Because he still believed my heart was white, innocent, and we were tied together with a red string of fate
.

I would have banged my head on the dashboard if it wasn't already smarting from two blows.

“So that's what this is all about?” I demanded. “A jilted wedding and bank robbery from twelve years ago?”

“I've been following you for weeks, trying every possible way to tell you I love you. To tell you I remember and we can still do things right—and be together again just the way we planned.”

“Ray. I'm not Amanda.” I lifted one palm, my other hand still clinging to the armrest.

“Oh yes you are. I saw your debit cards and driver's license. Everything's the same. Your birthday. Your Japanese stuff. Your artistic talent. I know all about you.” He lowered his voice as if confiding a secret. “I checked all your cards and information that night I visited you in Waynesboro. Did you know I used to be a wrestler? I won some championships, actually. I'm ambidextrous. Takes people by surprise every time.”

For Pete's sake
. I groaned inwardly. That explained a lot. “So you're the creep who stole my purse.”

“Oh yes.” Ray smiled sweetly as if announcing a summer picnic. “I went to the city council meeting and slipped your keys out of your purse so you'd have to go back inside. You should pay more attention, angel.”

“You wore contacts?” I glared.

“Certainly. Glasses don't work well in a mask.” He punched the accelerator, turning down an even more deserted farm road. “But I left you a wedding gift, like we exchanged for our engagement. A paper fan.”

“Oh, that's original.” My mouth twisted. “Amanda did that with Jim Bob, too.”

“And I did it to make her forget him. The jealous beast.” Ray's lip curled. “He planted all those roses at his dad's house for her, you know? But I won anyway.”

He turned abruptly. “You don't still love him, do you? You followed him in those funky cowboy boots. I saw you.”

“You know I followed Jim Bob?” I shouted, sitting up straight. “And no, I don't love him.”

His face distorted into a bitter smirk as he jerked the wheel, skidding around a fallen branch. “No. You love that UPS guy. Believe me, I know. I've been trailing you for weeks now. Watching you price invitations and price wedding dresses. That one with the puffy skirt Becky picked out seems like it would have suited you just right. I got a picture of it after you left.”

“You liked it?” I tipped my head. “I don't know. It was kind of fluffy, if you ask me.”

“Hmm. Maybe a little.” He stroked his chin. “If they'd take out some of the tulle underneath, though, I think it could work.”

Wait a minute. What was I saying? “Just where, Ray, do you get off following me around?” I bellowed. “You had no right!”

“My name's Odysseus!” He swerved again, hard, so that my teeth banged together. “I've been watching you—just me and my camera. At work. At your grandmother's house.”

“I don't have a grandmother!” I waved my arms.

“Sure you do. Kate Townshend.” Ray pushed on the gas. “And I saw you at the doctor's office. He was my doctor, too, you know, before he was Amanda's.”

“Sure. Because you're sick,” I muttered under my breath.

“I've watched you in Food Lion. Driving home. Everywhere. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to take you back.” He shrugged sadly. “I almost did last night. But? Foiled again.”

Ray seemed to forget reality and gave me a hazy smile. “But I'll never forget seeing you in person for the first time after all these years.

Right there in my den, covering your story.”

I glanced at the door handle, wondering if I should risk flinging it open at this speed—or if Ray would shoot me first. He saw and pressed on the gas, laughing at my panic.

“That's impossible! You were in the photo with me.”

He looked over at me with eyes full of love and anger, but mostly pain. “We had coffee together, remember?”

“Yeah. It was really good.”

“It was, wasn't it? Colombian.” His face relaxed to a fond look. “I knew it. Bold and rich, with a hint of acidity. More body than Guatemalan.”

“Precisely! It's quite robust.” He tipped his head toward me like we were old friends. “Organic, of course. I prefer it to Sumatra—too earthy for me.”

For a moment I thought I might be out of my mind, too, sharing coffee memories with a madman. If only he weren't so doggone conversational, with such good taste in bridal wear and coffee!

Ray waved angrily. “Forget the coffee! That was just an excuse to buy a few minutes so I could set up my camera tripod outside. Timers, angel. Ever heard of them?”

I. Am. A. Moron
.

“And then I stayed there watching you. You in that gorgeous kanji T-shirt, with your messy hair and perfect eyes.” He closed his eyes. “The only eyes in the world with that beautiful green and gold starburst. I've never seen anything like it. I had to mix the green paint six times before I got the right shade.”

So that was it. My eyes looked like Amanda's, and we shared the same birthday.
What a psychopath!

“I invented that story about Adam's picture on the letter, too, to send him a warning. Because I knew you never stopped loving me.” Ray's chest shuddered with emotion, and I looked around for something to use as a weapon. The headrest perhaps? If I dislodged it, could I smack him over the head with it?

And then I spotted it: a red ribbon coiled through the roses at my feet. My eyes darted to Ray's neck, and in a seamless second, I'd snatched it up. And looped it around Ray's throat with one fluid movement.

T
he car swerved, and I grabbed the steering wheel as Ray clutched at the ribbon. I yanked tighter, feeling a grim satisfaction as I remembered his knife blade at my neck.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” he croaked, groping for the ribbon. “You wouldn't want to hurt your beloved. Any more than he already is.”

“What did you say?” I gasped, loosening the ribbon slightly.

“You heard me. Let me breathe, and I'll tell you where he is.”

“You're a liar.” Tears filled my eyes, and I pulled the ribbon tighter in vengeance, steering with one hand while the car skidded across the poorly marked lanes of the winding road. Fending off Ray's fists as he tried to free his neck.

His face turned a purplish color, and he grasped at the ribbon. “In…the…back,” he wheezed.

I stomped on Ray's shoe covering the brake and stretched tall enough to tip my head over the high seat back and see—to my horror—a bulky figure slung haphazardly across the backseat and floorboards, covered by an old blanket. One lifeless arm slung across the carpet, tied at the wrist.

Adam's arm.

I screamed, pounding Ray with my fists, and he jerked the ribbon away from his throat long enough to grab the gun and shove his hand in the little space between the driver's seat and the door, pointing it straight toward the bulge of Adam's head.

“Let him go!” I cried, punching wildly.

“If you stay.” Ray grinned, fending off my fists with one arm as if enjoying his little game. “You're the one I want anyway.”

The car had stopped. If I flung open the door now, I could make it. I could run. I could…

Ray's voice came out so steely and stilled I barely heard him. “If you so much as move a finger, angel, I'll blow him away. Got it?”

“I'll stay. Just let him go.” I closed my eyes.

Ray grabbed my neck in a vicelike grip and reached over to unlock the back passenger's side door, shoving my face into the fabric of the seat. At least he vacuumed often; it smelled nice. I heard him throw open the door and push Adam out into a pile on the side of the road. Without a single word or sound from Adam.

Then Ray slammed the door and threw the car in D
RIVE,
squealing down the road in a blaze of mud and gravel.

“Is he dead? Did you kill him?” My mouth quivered as I raised my head and inched up to a sitting position, trying to catch a glimpse in the side mirror.

Oh no. Not somebody else I'd driven to his grave. Not Adam
.

Ray didn't answer. Only a faint smile played on his lips.

I clawed at the window to see, out of the corner of the glass, the supine figure of Adam Carter, still clad in his brown UPS uniform and strewn in a heap. A bloody gash on his ghostly white forehead and his arms tied together with rope.

“Odysseus,” I managed, barely keeping back sobs. “Listen to me. What would you say if I told you that you were mistaken? That you might be right about Amanda, but I'm not her?”

“I'd say you were lying!” A vein in his neck bulged.

“But what if I'm not?” I sniffled, and Ray—out of odd courtesy—handed me a tissue box from between the seats. Scented, no less. I took a tissue and nodded my thanks, scrubbing my cheeks. “What if I told you that I'm Shiloh P. Jacobs, and I just moved here a year ago from Tokyo? I never met Amanda.” I balled up my tissue and reached for another one. “Think about it. Twelve years ago I was…what, thirteen years old?”

I could see the wheels in Ray's head spinning. Something seemed to make sense, as if he were waking to reality, then he pounded on his forehead with his fist.

“Stop it!” he yelled, eyes wild. “Stop trying to confuse me!”

He abruptly jerked his gun out of his pocket and leveled it at me, hand shaking. “You're my angel! You think I didn't see all those clues you sent me? Wearing red? You know I love red. It was our color.”

“Red?” I interrupted incredulously. “You said you liked green and yellow! At Gypsy Hill Park! Remember that horrible shirt?”

“No! That's Ray's favorite color. I'm Odysseus.”

I gasped and covered it with a cough. “Sorry. I thought you were kind of…you know. The same person.”

“Only sometimes! Don't you get it?” His eyes looked wild. “Twelve years ago you loved red, angel, and so did I. Red's the color of love in Japan, as you know. The color of life and energy, like the sun, and used for celebrations. For weddings.” He beamed at me. “Especially when coupled with white, like your innocent heart.
Kohaku
, I think they call that special red-and-white combination. Your school colors. Because even then you loved me.”

Cornell. Deep carnelian red and white. I groaned.

Ray's smile darkened. “Although I'm not sure your heart's as innocent as I thought.”

I had to hand it to him—he was pretty creative for a man losing his wits. “What are you, some kind of accountant? Messing with letters and phone numbers?”

“Statistics major. I love numbers.” He smiled briefly. “Anyway, I stole that Farmer guy's stamp from his car, since I know you love stamps, and I sent you one.” He narrowed his eyes. “You should have known it was me, angel. I made you a wedding ring—see? I'm an artist, too, like you.”

Ray dug in his pants pocket and pulled out a gorgeous band of interlaced metals. “Silver and copper. The closest thing I could find to white and red.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Copper shavings. But…you told me you had a girlfriend! Back at the park!”

“I do.” He raised his eyebrows. “You.”

And then as suddenly as sun in a rain shower, Ray calmed. “Hi, Shiloh,” he said pleasantly. “What are you doing here? Another story?”

“Another story?” I gasped. “Ray, you've kidnapped me!”

He looked genuinely surprised, furrowing his brow. “Me? Don't be silly.” He chuckled. “What's the story about this time?”