Dead by Midnight (22 page)

“We have no secrets from our congregation,” she’d told them. “They know all about Grant’s past. They understand how the devil can tempt all of us to do evil things.”

Renee Leroy had gone on to suggest the time and place for the meeting. “Grant teaches a young people’s group on Tuesday evening. Have your agents come by the church office around eight o’clock and he’ll meet with them then.”

So, here they were at the Redeemer Church.

Maleah hadn’t attended a church service in years. Her stepfather had insisted on the family attending services every time the church doors opened and had said a prayer of thanks before every meal. To outside observers, Nolan Reaves had appeared to be a good Christian. In truth, the man had been a sadistic monster who had made life a living hell for her mother, her brother, and her. Since leaving home for college at eighteen, Maleah hadn’t been inside a church except for weddings, christenings, and funerals.

“Quite a place,” Derek said. “An auditorium that seats a thousand. Can you imagine the cash they rake in from their parishioners?”

“Enough to allow Grant Leroy and his family to live the good life.”

They entered through one set of five double front doors that led to the expansive vestibule. Dozens of young people, who appeared to range in age from thirteen to twenty, exited the sanctuary, many staying and milling around, everyone smiling and laughing. A tall, slender blonde wearing a fuchsia silk pantsuit and a string of black pearls approached Maleah and Derek.

“You must be the private detectives from the Powell Agency,” she said as she held out her hand. “I’m Renee Leroy.”

“Maleah Perdue.”

She shook Maleah’s hand first and offered her a warm, nice-to-meet-you smile; then she turned to Derek and her friendly smile suddenly came alive with feminine interest.

“I’m Derek Lawrence.”

When he took the lady’s hand, their gazes locked, and Maleah wanted to kick Derek and remind him that Renee Leroy, although at least twenty years her husband’s junior, was most definitely a married woman. He should save all his charm for single women. Surely there were enough of those around to feed his monumental ego with their blubbering adoration.

“Come with me, please.” Renee slipped her arm through Derek’s. “Grant will meet us in the office.”

When Renee led them down a long corridor, Maleah kept in step and gave Derek a scowling glance. He shrugged as if to ask, “Can I help it if women find me irresistible?”

Maleah hardened her frown. Derek smiled and winked at her.

Renee released Derek and punched the Up button on the elevator. When the doors opened instantly, Maleah and Derek entered the elevator behind her, and on the quick ride to the second floor, they didn’t have time for conversation.

“This way,” Renee said when they exited the elevator.

After seeing the size and grandeur of the Redeemer Church, Maleah wasn’t the least surprised by the huge and expensively decorated office area housed on the second level. Renee led them through two outer offices and into her husband’s private domain. Decorated in sleek, black, white, chrome and glass, the 30' x 30' room all but screamed interior designer, which led to Maleah’s question.

“Did you decorate the office, Mrs. Leroy?”

Renee beamed with pride. “Why yes, I did. How ever did you know that?” She giggled. “Silly me. You’re an investigator. You probably did some background research on me as well as on Grant.”

“As a matter of fact, we did.” But Maleah did not recall any info about Renee Leroy ever having been an interior designer. She had been a waitress, a bartender, a restaurant hostess, and even a salesclerk in a paint and wallpaper store.

A robust man with impeccably styled salt-and-pepper hair and sparkling brown eyes came out from behind the enormous chrome and glass desk, walked across the room, and came right up to Maleah. Not handsome by any means, Grant Leroy did project an image of wealth and success with his neatly tailored pinstriped suit, his Italian leather loafers, and the gold and diamond jewelry that adored his wrists and fingers.

“Ms. Perdue, I presume,” he said as he grabbed her hand and gave it a sturdy shake before turning to Derek and doing the same. “And Mr. Lawrence. I understand you have a few questions for me about some of my old cronies from the days when I was trapped in that quagmire of sin and damnation, the adult movie business.”

It was all Maleah could to do not to laugh in the man’s face.
Quagmire of sin and damnation? Give me a break.

Derek jumped in with the first question. Apparently he was not on the verge of laughing. “You’re aware, of course, that four former stars that you directed in
Midnight Masquerade
have been murdered, one each in the past four months.”

Dramatically laying his hand over his chest, Grant heaved a deep sigh. “I was saddened to hear of their deaths, but not surprised. The evil that we do lives on, and if we don’t repent of our sins and beg our merciful Lord to cleanse us, body and soul, then there is no hope for us.”

Someone cleared their throat. Maleah looked over her shoulder and saw a young man in his twenties standing in the open doorway. He was Grant Leroy’s image, only many years younger, with dark hair and eyes and a somber expression on his face.

“Come on in, son.” Grant motioned with a come-here gesture. “This is my son, Heath. He’s our youth minister and I’m proud to say my right-hand man helping me do the Lord’s work.”

Unsmiling, Heath moved his wary gaze slowly from Maleah to Derek and then to his father. “I’m not sure you should be speaking to these people without a lawyer.”

Grant dismissed his son’s objections with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense. I’m not being accused of anything. And since I have nothing to hide, you shouldn’t worry about these investigators asking me a few questions about my amoral past and the people I associated with back then.”

“The Powell Agency has contacted all the actors, those who haven’t been murdered already, to warn them that they’re in danger,” Maleah said. “And we’re interviewing everyone associated with that movie, everyone from the producer to the cameramen.”

“We believe the killer is in some way connected to that one particular movie,” Derek said. “We are not accusing anyone. We’re simply asking questions in order to eliminate as many possible suspects as we can.”

“Then you consider my father a suspect?” Heath asked.

“Mr. Lawrence didn’t say that,” Grant told his son and then focused on Derek. “I am a changed man. I’m a devoted servant of God. I believe in and teach others to love the Lord and our fellow man. I am opposed to violence of any kind. I have only love in my heart for those poor, wretched souls who haven’t found Jesus and are still plagued by their past wickedness.”

“Have you kept in touch with anyone associated with
Midnight Masquerade
?” Maleah asked.

“I have had no communication with anyone in the past six years…well, except for Sonny Deguzman,” Grant said. “Sonny came to see me and asked for my help. He wanted money, of course. At first I refused him, but then he convinced me that he truly wanted to change, to find salvation. He joined the church and even worked with us for several months. Unfortunately, he stole from us and I had no choice but to let him go.”

“Grant could have had him arrested,” Renee said. “But he didn’t.”

“How long ago was that?” Derek asked.

“A little over two years ago,” Grant said. “And about eight months ago, I received a note from Sonny and a check for the amount he had stolen.”

“Do you know where he was at that time?” Maleah asked.

“Somewhere in Europe.” Grant looked at his wife. “Do you recall exactly where?”

“In Italy, I believe, some seacoast town,” she replied. “He mentioned that he was fishing every day and enjoying the simple things in life.”

“Messina!” Grant slapped his hands together. “That’s it. That’s where he was living eight months ago.”

Maleah nodded. “That information should help us track him down and warn him. Is Sonny the only person from your days at Starlight Productions that you’ve heard from in the past half dozen or so years?”

“Yes, he’s the only one.”

“Do you recall anything in particular that went on during the filming of
Midnight Masquerade
that resulted in threats being made?”

For the next twenty minutes, Maleah and Derek went through the series of questions they had asked the other possible suspects. And Grant’s answers pretty much echoed what everyone else had said. Everyone had disliked Travis Dillard and hinted that if anyone from their past might be the Midnight Killer it was the owner of Starlight Productions, the man who had produced
Midnight Masquerade
. To a person, they had all agreed that Hilary Finch had been a first-class bitch and Charlie Wong had been a nice guy with a great sense of humor.

“Yes, of course I remember Lorie Hammonds. She was a good kid. She wasn’t the usual type, if you know what I mean,” Grant said. “Gorgeous and sexy, but classy, the type who came across as a lady. I’ve prayed for her and felt in my heart that she had probably found the Lord.”

“One final question.” Maleah knew that while she had done most of the talking for the two of them, Derek had been observing. After all, that was his area of expertise, using his off-the-charts IQ and noteworthy sixth sense to profile the people they interviewed.

“Certainly,” Grant replied confidently.

“Can you account for your whereabouts at the time Dean Wilson, Hilary Finch Chambless, Charles Wong, and Shontee Thomas were murdered?”

Heath Leroy grumbled under his breath and then as he walked toward his father, he said aloud, “Damn it, Dad, I told you that you shouldn’t have agreed to this interview without your lawyer present!”

Waking suddenly, Lorie shot straight up in bed. Her heart hammered maddeningly, the sound drumming in her ears. What had awakened her? She hadn’t been dreaming, at least she didn’t remember if she had. She sat quietly and listened, but heard nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual creaking and popping sounds that a house made. The foundation settling, the water pipes moaning, the wind sighing softly around the eaves.

A dog howled in the distance.

Once her breathing returned to normal, she reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, then tossed back the covers and got out of bed. She checked the clock. 3:15
A.M
. Well past the witching hour. Or in her case, “the hour of death.” Not bothering to slip into her house shoes and put on her lightweight robe, she left her bedroom and walked into the hall.

Why was she so jittery when there was no reason to be? The Midnight Killer murdered once a month, and always around the hour of midnight. It had been only a few days since Shontee’s murder. There was no reason to be so scared. The timing was wrong, both the month and the hour. She knew that the alarm system was armed and Shelley Gilbert was here. Shelley, a trained bodyguard who knew how to use the gun she carried.

She didn’t want to wake Shelley, but she was now wide-awake and knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. If she went down the hall and into the living room or kitchen, Shelley would hear her and get up to check on her. But what did it matter? It wasn’t as if either of them had anything to do tomorrow, anywhere to be. They could take afternoon naps.

Thinking that perhaps a glass of chocolate milk and a few cookies might help her relax—sugar certainly might help to soothe her rattled nerves—Lorie headed for the kitchen. As she neared the kitchen, she noticed light creeping out from beneath the closed door. Was Shelley in the kitchen? Had she been unable to sleep and had gotten up and that’s what had awakened Lorie?

She approached the door, then hesitated, her hand hovering in the air. “Shelley?” she called to her bodyguard.

No response. She called her name again. Silence.

A tremor of uncertainty began in Lorie’s belly and spread out into her limbs. Reminding herself that it was highly possible that they had simply not turned off the kitchen light before they went to bed, Lorie grasped the doorknob. When she opened the door, her pulse raced at an alarming speed. But once she looked into the room and saw that it was empty and nothing was out of place, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She decided that maybe ice cream was called for now, to go with the cookies, instead of chocolate milk. As she reached to open the small pantry where the cookies were stored, she noticed that the back door was cracked open ever so slightly. How was that possible? Shelley always locked the outside doors, soundly securing them, before she armed the alarm system and went to bed. Had Shelley heard something outside and gone into the yard to check the grounds?

Shaking nervously from head to toe, Lorie forced herself to go straight to the back door and check the alarm keypad. The green light winked at her, warning her that the system was deactivated.

Don’t panic. Shelley’s outside. There’s nothing to worry about, nothing at all. But what do I do? Go outside to find Shelley? Close the door, lock it, and telephone Jack?

Lorie stood behind the partially closed door and called Shelley’s name several times, but did not get a response of any kind. She eased the door open wide and looked outside. Moonlight washed the backyard and nearby woods with a faded yellow-white hue. Pallid gray shadows hovered at the corners of the house and the trees spattered cadaverous silhouettes across the lawn, their tips splintering into thin, finger-like shards.

Lorie shivered.

Dear God, where are you, Shelley?

Had the Midnight Killer come to Dunmore? Had he lured Shelley into a trap? Had he killed her?

Don’t assume the worst.

Shelley was a trained professional. She wouldn’t be easily duped.

Something is wrong. Close the door and lock it!

Lorie’s heartbeat pounded in her head. Her pulse rate revved up as fear-induced adrenaline flooded her system.

When she reached for the door handle, she looked down and in her peripheral vision saw a dark puddle on the back porch. The light from inside the kitchen cast a dim glow over the red liquid.