Among the Missing (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-seven

The Watcher

Merton, sitting in Walter's car near the corner of Malfi and Granger Street, watched the car of the female deputy drive away. That left two of them in the house: Bass Paxton and the skinny brunette.

The brunette obviously wasn't the woman who'd seen him at the Bend. That one was blonde and had a much better figure.

He wondered where the hell she could be.

The brunette came out, climbed into her car and backed out of the driveway.

That left Bass alone in the house.

He could take Bass.

He could walk up to the door and ring the bell. Bass would open up. There would be a quick struggle, Bass under him warm and hard-muscled for a couple of minutes, then dead.

The images of it brought a smile to Merton's face.

Then the garage door swung up and Bass stepped out carrying an overnight bag. As the door lowered, he walked down the driveway and went to the rear of an old red Pontiac parked on the street.

Merton figured he was about to stow his bag in the trunk. But then Bass shook his head slightly, stepped around the side of his car and tossed his bag into the back seat.

Merton started his engine.

When the Pontiac pulled away from the curb, he followed it.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Victory

Ina arrived back at her house ahead of Bass. She parked in the driveway, leaped from her car and ran up to the front door. Remembering the shotgun trap, she stood aside as she unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Nothing happened.

She peeked around the door frame.

No trap. Nothing looked unusual.

So she entered, shut the door and hurried into the bathroom. After locking the door, she studied herself in the mirror. Her hair needed work. She brushed it. Her eyes and lips looked fine.

Stepping back, she turned to each side. She looked good in the halter top. It was loose on her, clinging slightly and showing a lot. The cut-off jeans were even better with the denim legs scissored away at the crotch, the sides slit almost to the waistband.

She watched one of her hands slide up the front of her thigh, lift the hanging denim and slip under it. Closing her eyes, she imagined that the hand was Bass's.

The doorbell rang. Her hand jerked away and she rushed to the door.

"Who's there?" she called.

"It's me."

Recognizing Bass's voice, she opened the door.

And saw no one.

"Is it safe?" asked a voice from the side.

Before Ina could answer, Bass stepped away from the front wall. He glanced past her into the foyer. "No booby traps?" he asked, grinning.

"I don't think so."

He hurried through the doorway, brushing against her as he went by.

She shut the door and fastened its guard chain. "Aren't you scared?"

"Not much."

"You were almost killed."

"Almost, but not. A world of difference there."

"I'd be scared to death. In fact, I am scared to death and nobody's even after me."

"Nobody that you know of."

She laughed. "Oh, thanks a heap."

"Don't worry, I'm here. I'll protect you from any and all harm."

"Thanks. Can I get you a drink?"

"I could go for that."

"Whiskey on the rocks, right?"

"Exactly." Bass smiled. He sat on the couch and watched her.

"I'll be right back," Ina said. Walking to the kitchen, she could feel his eyes on her. She could feel them as if they were hands caressing the bare curves of her back, sneaking up her cut-offs, delving. The wall of the kitchen blocked the contact, making her feel suddenly abandoned. But the excitement remained.

Her hands trembled as she took two glasses down from a cupboard. She dumped a handful of ice cubes into each. Crouching, she felt the inseam of her cutoffs press into her. She moaned a little. Then she reached into a low cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet.

On her way to the counter, she twisted off the bottle cap. The heavy fumes filled her nose as she poured. They smelled rich and sweet and woodsy. After capping the bottle, she picked up both glasses.

She carried them into the living room. The television was on. Bass looked away from it as she approached him. He grinned. "I should go into hiding more often," he said.

Ina, bending to hand him the drink, saw his eyes move down to her halter top. He was looking in. She waited, even after he had the glass, letting him take a good long look at her breasts before sitting down on the couch beside him.

Bass lifted his glass toward her. "To you, Ina. For saving my neck."

"Pac's the one."

"To both of you."

They clinked glasses and drank.

"Feels sort of strange," Ina said, "you being here without Faye."

"Does it?"

"Sure. Don't you feel . . . a little odd about it?"

"Not very. I like it."

"Me, too," Faye said.

"Remember last time?" he asked.

"Sure I do."

"Her last disappearing act. I think I would've gone nuts if it hadn't been for you."

"Thanks."

"You made it . . . bearable."

"I was glad to help. I thought she was horrible . . . to do a thing like that. To you."

"You were wonderful," Bass said. "I think about it all the time. How sweet and understanding you were."

"Well . . ."

"The thing is, I'm through with Faye."

Ina gazed into his eyes. Her heart pounded hard. "Are you?" she whispered.

"Even if this . . . all this today . . . hadn't happened. It isn't about today. It's about everything." Bass set down his drink. "It's about you, Ina. You and me. It's about everything I've been feeling about you. . . . Not just because of the day we were waiting for her. Even before that. I've always felt . . . very strongly about you. I've always wanted you."

Reaching out with one hand, he stroked the side of her face. She pressed his hand. As she leaned forward to put her drink on the table, he caressed her back. She turned to him and they kissed. It was the way she had hoped it would be, gentle at first, then wet and open and crushing.

Too soon, his mouth went away. "You won't feel bad about it later, will you?" he asked.

"Why would I?"

"Some kind of loyalty to Faye."

She wondered briefly if this might be a trick, a test. She studied his eyes, but they held nothing. "I don't want to come between you two," she said. "But if it's over anyway . . ."

"It is. One way or another, Faye and I are finished. Either she's not coming back . . ."

"Oh, don't say that."

"I don't care if she comes back. She's run out on me once too often."

"Oh, Bass."

"You're not like that," he murmured.

"No, I'm not. I'm sure not. I'd be true to you forever."

"I know, I know." He reached out to her.

"We'd be more comfortable in my room," she whispered.

"More exciting here," he said.

Ina leaned back on the couch and watched his hand move up her leg. So much like before, in the mirror, but now it was real. Now it was his hand warm and strong on her leg.

His hand under her cut-offs.

His fingers slipping into her.

Soon, she was naked under him and it was his penis inside her, big and hard, filling her, thrusting.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Doris's Tale

From a coin-operated newspaper display case in front of Patty's Cafe, Rusty bought a copy of the Evening News. He glanced at it as he entered the cafe.

The Parkington murder didn't make the headline -- an earthquake in China held that spot -- but it made the front page. The bold print read, WIFE OF PROFESSOR SLAIN.

Rusty scooted across the red vinyl cushion of a booth and started to read the news story:

The naked body of Alison Parkington, wife of Sierra College visiting lecturer Grant Parkington, was found early this morning at a beach area of the Silver River known as the Bend.

According to a source close to the Sheriff's Department, the victim's head, arms and legs had been severed from her torso. . . .

"Crap," Rusty muttered. Where the hell do they get this crap? What source did they have for such garbage?

He folded the News and slapped it down on the table.

A paper mat, napkin and silverware were placed in front of him. Rusty looked up at the waitress, embarrassed to be caught with his anger showing.

He didn't know her.

She set a glass of ice water at the corner of the mat. "Are you ready to order?" she asked.

"Sure am. I'll have a patty melt and coffee." Hardly the brats and beer that he'd hoped for. But after the call about the shooting, he'd told Millie to go ahead and eat without him.

"With or without onions?" The waitress laughed softly. "The patty melt, not the coffee."

Rusty smiled. "With."

She nodded, writing it down. She was young, maybe just out of high school. Soft blond bangs draped her forehead. She had the sort of face that probably kept the boys awake half the night with dreams of kissing her. And her figure . . . Rusty tried not to stare, but it wasn't easy. The yellow blouse of her waitress uniform was too tight, the skirt too short.

He looked at her hands as she slipped the note pad into a pocket at the front of her skirt.

On her left hand, she wore a class ring with a blue stone.

When she walked away, he watched her buttocks and the high backs of her thighs. But he quickly lifted his gaze to her head. Her ponytail swished and bounced.

Where'd she come from? he wondered.

Wherever -- they oughta patent it.

When she brought the coffee, Rusty saw the front of her hand. White tape was wound around the band of the class ring to help it fit. He smiled. Millie had done the same thing to the class ring he'd given her, so it wouldn't fall off.

The girl started to walk away, then turned around and looked at Rusty with a frown. She came back to his booth. "That's really something about Professor Parkington's wife, isn't it?"

"It's something," he agreed.

"Do you mind if I talk to you?"

"Sure."

"I mean, you're the sheriff, right?"

"That's right. Sheriff Rusty Hodges. And you're Doris?"

"Right!" She seemed surprised that he knew her name. Then she glanced down at the red plastic name tag above her left breast. She gasped, "Ah!" and slapped the tag, making her breast give a small hop. "That's how you knew! You had me going there for a second. I forget I'm wearing the darn thing. This is just my first day, you know."

"I figured you were pretty new."

"You're a regular, aren't you?"

"I get in here now and again."

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Not at all."

She slid into the booth across the table from him. "I don't want to interrupt your dinner or anything," she said, sounding uncertain of herself.

"It isn't here yet."

"It won't be ready for a while," she said. "Five or ten minutes, maybe. I'll bring it when it's ready." She eyed his glass of ice water. "Do you mind if I have a sip of that?"

"Help yourself, Doris."

"Thanks." She lifted the glass to her mouth. When she set it down, half the water was missing and a pink lipstick print had been added just below the rim. "I'll bring you another with your meal, okay?"

"Fine," Rusty said.

"Anyhow, here's the thing." She leaned forward until the edge of the table stopped her. Gazing into Rusty's eyes, she said, "I have Professor Parkington."

"You have him? What do you mean?"

"Romantic Lit. It's a morning class. You know, just a summer session thing."

"How is he?"

"Romantic." She smiled, turned red, and lowered her eyes. "Not in the sense of Romantic literature. That's something different, you know. That's like praising poverty, the simple life, nature and all that. You know. But he wasn't romantic that way, he was romantic horny. That's why I think he killed his wife."

"You think he killed her?"

"Oh, sure." She drank the rest of the water. "Him and maybe his girlfriend. I think maybe they collaborated on it."

"Why?"

"Why'd he kill her? He was screwing around, that's the thing. So maybe she was causing him some kind of grief about it. Maybe she found out about his girlfriend and made some kind of threat. You know. Like she might blow the whistle on him. Something like that."

"What do you mean, blow the whistle?"

"You know. Tell on him. Snitch. Like to the college administration, for instance."

"Would that present a problem for him?"

"It might. I mean, it's probably against the rules to mess around with your students. To, you know, screw them?"

"Was he doing that?"

"You bet he was."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure. Are you kidding?"

"Was he that obvious about it?"

"He was pretty obvious if you were one of the girls he liked."

"Did he like you?"

"What do you think?"

Rusty blushed. "I'm sure he must've. How could he not?"

She grinned. "You got it right, there. I must've been his first. I mean, he's a real operator. It was only like the second day of class and he asks me if I'll stay after the bell. So the bell rings and I stay in my seat till everyone's gone. Then he starts coming on to me like he thinks he's God's gift to everything with a . . ." Frowning, she shook her head. "Anyhow, I let him know I wasn't interested, you know? Not that there's anything much wrong with the guy except for the fact that he happens to be married -- was married. But I'm already sort of going with someone else, you know?"

"I noticed the ring."

"Yeah? You like it?"

"It's very nice."

"The fit's not too great, but who cares? I don't. Robby and I aren't exactly engaged. Not yet. But I'm not in the market for a guy, and if I was, I wouldn't go around messing with someone who's married."