Dead by Morning (14 page)
They traveled east on I-20, went through Augusta and exited off US 25 North going toward Newberry, but they left the main highway after less than fifteen miles. Derek had spent most of the trip reading aloud the reports that Barbara Jean had sent via e-mail attachments and they had discussed the information. A strong wind had blown in from the south, rocking the SUV and forecasting an oncoming storm. Keeping control of the Equinox, Maleah followed the road signs that led them straight to Apple Orchard, an unincorporated town in Edgefield County. Maleah had traveled around the U.S. and definitely throughout the South enough to recognize the signs of a dying small town. Apparently, the only remaining business was the mini-mart / gas station up ahead. To her left, the rusted hull of an old cotton gin near the railroad tracks rose into the eerily golden twilight sky like the giant carcass of an ancient beast. On the opposite side of the road, a centuries-old clapboard church stood vacant. Half the windows were broken and one of the double front doors, hanging precariously by a single hinge, thumped rhythmically in the wind.
They hadn’t met a single vehicle in the past five minutes and she didn’t see even one human being anywhere.
Derek hummed the theme from the old
Twilight Zone
TV show.
Twilight Zone
TV show.
“Will you shut up,” Maleah snapped at him as she slowed the SUV and turned off into the mini-mart parking lot. “Apparently there are very few street signs around here. We’ll probably have to go in and ask directions.”
“Actually, there are very few streets around here.” Derek grinned.
Did he always have to have a smartass comeback? Okay, she knew that wasn’t true. She was tired, frustrated, and hungry, but she shouldn’t take it out on Derek. And yes, if she had driven through a fast-food place on the way here from Macon, as he had suggested, she wouldn’t be hungry.
Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.
Why was she having so much difficulty accepting the fact that she didn’t have to fight Derek for control? He was her partner, a co-worker she had learned to respect, and a man she was beginning to actually like. He deserved better from her.
Derek cleared his throat. “Want me to go in and ask directions or would you prefer to do it?”
“Why don’t we both go in,” Maleah replied. “I need to use the bathroom and I wouldn’t mind picking up something to eat. Maybe a pack of crackers and a Dr Pepper.”
She halfway expected him to mention his earlier suggestion about fast food, but he didn’t. Instead, he got out, came around to her side of the SUV and walked alongside her toward the mini-mart. In the early days of their working relationship, he had acted like a real gentleman, but after she’d bitten his head off a few times, he had backed off. Occasionally, he still did little things like opening a door for her, and she had stopped reprimanding him for his good manners. She appreciated that a lot of men still treated a lady like a lady, but with Derek, she had seen it as condescension. But she had been wrong. So wrong. Derek didn’t look down on her for being female or consider her a member of the weaker sex.
When they entered the Apple Orchard mini-mart, Maleah noted that the place was all but deserted. Odd, considering this was a Friday night. But then, the population might top out at less than a hundred people. Maleah spotted the bathroom and made a beeline in that direction while Derek meandered along at the back of the store where the giant coolers were located.
A few minutes later when Maleah and Derek approached the checkout, the young, bubble gum smacking clerk eyed them suspiciously. “Can I help you folks?”
“We’re from out of town.” Derek grinned at the girl, whose chin-length, dark brown hair was streaked with purple highlights. “We’re looking for someone. We have her address and were hoping you could help us out with directions.”
The plump, pug-faced clerk sported a shiny gold nose ring and a band of script tattoos circled each bicep revealed by her skimpy yellow tank top. A row of belly fat protruded between the end of the top and the waistband of her low-riding jeans. “Who you folks looking for?”
Derek smiled. Few women could resist his charm. “We’re looking for my girlfriend’s cousin.” He glanced at Maleah to indicate she was the girlfriend. “Blondie hasn’t seen her cousin since they were kids, but since we were on our way up to Columbia, another cousin suggested we look her up.”
The girl smiled when Derek leaned over the counter and looked right at her. “You know a woman named Jeri Paulk? That’s my girlfriend’s cousin.” Not taking his eyes off the clerk, he called to Maleah, who had gone in search of a canned cola. “Honey, what’s that address your cousin Barbara Jean gave you for Jeri?”
“I know where Jeri lives,” the girl said. “It ain’t half a mile from here.” She practically drooled while licking her lips, all the while looking as if she could swallow Derek whole.
Maleah scanned the refrigerated coolers across the back of the store, searching for a Dr Pepper while listening to the girl.
“Y’all remember passing an old church right before you got here?”
“Yes,” Derek replied.
“Just go back and turn off on the road by the church. Jeri lives down the road a piece. You can’t miss it. She painted the place bright blue last year. I told her that I’d bet the astronauts could see her place from outer space.”
“Sure do thank you for your help,” Derek said. “Honey, you got our colas and crackers?”
Maleah removed two canned Dr Peppers from the giant coolers and then grabbed a couple of packs of peanut butter and crackers off the shelves on her way back to the checkout counter.
After laying her items down, she said, “Yeah, thanks for helping us out. I sure am looking forward to seeing Jeri again after all these years.”
“Sure, no problem.” The girl rang up their order.
Maleah waited for Derek to pay for the items, then picked them up and headed out of the store. Halfway to the SUV, she handed him one of the colas and a pack of crackers.
“Thanks.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. You practically had that girl eating out of your hand.”
Derek chuckled. “What can I say, the ladies like me.”
She punched him in the arm playfully and they both laughed.
They sat in the mini-mart parking lot long enough to devour the crackers and finish off part of their canned colas. Maleah started the SUV and went back the way they had come into Apple Orchard. She turned at the old church and headed down the narrow paved road that twisted and turned, carrying them farther and farther away from civilization. It was past sunset and darkness was fast approaching. Without lights along the road, Maleah had to rely totally on the Equinox’s headlights to guide them. Just as Miss Purple-streaked-hair had told them, the bright blue house came into view less than half a mile from the mini-mart. Even in the encroaching gloom of nightfall, the small wooden house was visible. An older model Chevy truck and a late model Ford Mustang were parked in the gravel drive. Maleah pulled in behind the Mustang.
“So, what do we say to Jeri Paulk? Do we tell her why we’re looking for her sister Cindy or do we make up some lie like we did back at the mini-mart?” Maleah asked.
“I suggest we play it by ear,” Derek told her. “Let’s see what kind of reception we get. If you’re agreeable, let me take the lead and you just follow along with whatever I say. Can you do that?”
“Of course, I can.”
They got out of the SUV and walked toward the porch. As they drew closer Maleah noticed the broken recliner, the vinyl ripped and the padding showing through, sitting beside two metal lawn chairs on the right side of the porch. Suddenly a dog reared his head up off the floor on the other side of the porch and barked. Maleah jumped. Derek cursed.
The dog kept barking, but didn’t move toward them. The porch light came on and the front door flew open. A bear of a man wearing overalls and no shirt and carrying a shotgun in his meaty hand stood in the doorway. Behind his massive frame, a TV screen flashed and the sound of recorded laughter drifted outside.
“Get the hell off my property,” the man yelled. “I know why you’re here and you ain’t welcome.”
Maleah opened her mouth to respond, but before she could utter the first word, the man aimed the shotgun and pulled the trigger, sending a blast of buckshot in their direction.
Derek shoved Maleah out of the line of fire, tossed her onto the ground and came down over her. Eye to eye with her, his heavy weight a protective shield, Derek said, “Maybe we should have called first.”
Chapter 14
Maleah didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or just slap Derek in the mouth. During the process of rolling off her, he managed to unsnap her holster and remove her Glock pistol before she could. He aimed and fired. The bullet hit the tin sign hanging over the front door of the Paulk house. The pinging sound rang out over the dog’s incessant barking.
“Unless you want the next one aimed directly at you, then don’t fire that damn shotgun again,” Derek hollered at the shooter.
“When did you damn bill collectors start carrying guns?” the man called out to Derek, then shouted at his barking mixed-breed dog. “Shut up, damn it, Pork Chop.”
“We aren’t bill collectors,” Maleah said, as she grabbed for her gun still in Derek’s clutch.
“We’re from the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency.” Derek handed Maleah the Glock and whispered, “Don’t holster that thing yet. You never know what Jethro there might do.”
Jethro? If they hadn’t been in such a deadly serious situation, she would laugh. Derek undoubtedly meant Jethro Bodine, the big dumb character from the
Beverly Hillbillies
TV series of long ago.
Beverly Hillbillies
TV series of long ago.
“Are you folks lost?” the shooter asked.
“We’re looking for Jeri Paulk,” Maleah said as she rose to her feet, pistol in hand.
“That’s my wife.” The man lowered his shotgun, the muzzle pointed toward the porch floor. “I’m Lonny Paulk. What y’all want with Jeri?”
Derek stood, brushed the dirt and grass from his slacks and took a stand at Maleah’s side. “We’re looking for her sister, Cindy Dobbins. We think she might be in danger.”
Lonny stepped out farther onto the porch and came over to the edge of the steps, shotgun still pointing down, and motioned to them. “Y’all come on up closer.” He twisted his head and yelled over his shoulder, “Jeri, get your fat ass out here. There’s some folks here who want to talk to you about that fuck-up sister of yours. Seems she’s gotten herself into more trouble.”
As they approached Lonny, Maleah noted several things all at once. He was as hairy as a grizzly, his greasy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he emitted an unpleasant body odor. The man definitely needed, at the very least, a haircut and a bath.
Maleah paused when she reached the foot of the steps. Derek halted directly behind her.
“Who the hell’s looking for Cindy?” A short, obese woman who was almost as broad as she was wide—about five feet—came out onto the porch. The first thing Maleah noticed was the woman’s hair. It looked like bright yellow straw. She wore an oversized moo-moo in some hideous floral design of purple, hot pink, and turquoise that on a taller person would have hit them mid-calf. But on Jeri, the hem reached her ankles and floated over her small, broad feet and bright orange toenails.
“Are you Jeri Paulk?” Derek asked. “And is Cindy Dobbins, also known as Cindy Di Blasi, your sister?”
“Yeah, I’m Jeri and I got a sister named Cindy. What’s this all about?” Jeri waddled across the porch to her husband’s side.
“We’re from the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency,” Maleah told them. “We’re investigating a series of murders and we have reason to believe your sister Cindy is in danger. We’re trying to locate her to warn her. We want to offer her our agency’s protection.”
“Who is it that you two are working for?” Jeri sized up Derek and apparently liked what she saw because she licked her lips and smiled at him.
Once again, if not for the gravity of the situation, Maleah would have laughed. “We’re agents for the Powell Private—”
“I heard that part,” Jeri said. “But who hired you?”
“Several murder victims were connected to our agency,” Derek explained. “Our employer assigned us to investigate.”
“How’s my sister involved?”
“The killer that we’re tracking is a copycat killer.” Maleah watched for a reaction and when Jeri looked as if she understood, Maleah continued. “He’s copying the style of a murderer known as the Carver. Your sister Cindy has been visiting the Carver, who is incarcerated in the Georgia State Prison. We want to question her.”
“You said she might be in danger,” Lonny said. “How?”
Derek leaned over and whispered to Maleah, “Cindy’s here.”
Maleah didn’t know how Derek knew or why he was so sure, but she had learned not to question his instincts, which for the most part had proven to be infallible.
“Jerome Browning, aka the Carver, has had three visitors in the past year, one was a writer interviewing him for a book about his life, the other was his lawyer and the third person was Cindy.” Maleah paused, giving Jeri and Lonny time to digest the info. “Browning’s lawyer was murdered earlier today. We have reason to believe that Cindy could be next.”
Silence.
Lonny turned to his wife. “I told you not to let her stay here. That woman is nothing but bad news. Every goddamn time she’s around, trouble follows her.”
Jeri planted her fat little hands on her ample hips. “She’s my sister. What did you want me to do, tell her she can’t come to me when she needs family? Lord knows I’ve put up with enough shit from that bunch of heathens you come from.”
“Are you saying that Cindy is here?” Maleah asked.
A petite figure appeared in the doorway and stood behind the screen door.
“Cindy?” Maleah asked. “Are you Cindy Dobbins?”
The woman pushed open the door, came outside and moved past her sister and brother-in-law. “I’m Cindy Dobbins.” She turned to Jeri. “You and Lonny go on back inside. I want to talk to these people alone.”
“Are you sure?” Jeri asked Cindy.
Cindy nodded.
Jeri and Lonny went inside, but left the front door open.
“Y’all come on up here and take a seat.” Cindy motioned for them to join her on the porch.
Maleah holstered her Glock and then walked up the steps, Derek directly behind her. Cindy sat in the dilapidated recliner. Maleah’s first instinct was to wipe off the metal chair before sitting, but she didn’t. When she sat, Derek came over and stood behind her. The yellow bug light shining down from the bare bulb in the ceiling cast a blaring amber glow across the porch
“Is Wyman Scudder really dead?” Cindy asked.
Maleah studied the slender, petite woman, who certainly looked older than thirty-five. But she wasn’t a badlooking woman, just old before her time. Hard living could do that to a person. Her short, curly hair had been dyed a dark burgundy red which made her pale face seem colorless. Without makeup and wearing jeans and a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, she didn’t look like a prostitute, just a rode-hard-and-put-away-wet middle-aged country gal.
“Yes, Wyman Scudder is dead,” Maleah said. “We’re pretty sure he was murdered.”
“How did you meet Mr. Scudder?” Derek asked.
“Look, before I answer any of your questions, I need to know that I’m not going to get in any trouble with the law.” Cindy glanced from Maleah to Derek. “I got myself involved in something I wish I hadn’t. But I didn’t have no idea . . . I just needed the money. I’ve been out of the business for a while, you know. I’ve tried waitressing and working in the chicken plant and all sorts of odd jobs. I got a kid, see, and it ain’t right that she’s in foster care. The only way I can get her back is . . .” Cindy swallowed her tears.
“You have a daughter?” Maleah leaned forward toward Cindy. “What’s her name?”
“Patsy Lynn. I named her after my mama.”
“How old is Patsy Lynn?”
“She’ll be eleven this October.”
Maleah looked Cindy square in the eye. “Cindy, my name is Maleah Perdue, and I promise you that Derek—” she glanced at him “—this is Derek Lawrence. I promise you that we will do whatever we can to protect you and that includes protection from the police.”
Cindy took a deep breath. “He paid me five thousand dollars. All I had to do was visit Jerome Browning at the Georgia State Prison and exchange a few letters and a few phone calls.”
“Who paid you?” Derek asked. “Who hired you?”
“Wyman Scudder. I thought you knew.”
“Are you saying that Wyman Scudder hired you and he’s the one who paid you five thousand dollars?” Maleah asked. “You never met anyone else, were never contacted by anyone else?”
Cindy shook her head. “Nobody else. Just Mr. Scudder.”
“Then you never met a man named Albert Durham?” Derek asked.
Cindy didn’t respond immediately. Maleah sensed that the woman was giving her reply a great deal of thought.
“Cindy?” Maleah prompted.
“I never met him. But . . . Jerome talked about him. You know, when I’d go visit him. The first time I went for a visit, he said a man named Albert Durham was going to write a book about him and make him even more famous than he already was. Jerome liked the idea of the whole world knowing who he was and what he’d done.”
“But you never met Durham?” Derek said.
Cindy shook her head.
“Can you tell us exactly why Wyman Scudder hired you?” Derek asked.
“Wyman was my lawyer, a few years back. We . . . uh . . . sort of had a thing. You know. For a while. I hired him to help me try to keep my daughter out of foster care. I couldn’t afford to pay him.” Cindy hung her head.
“When did Scudder first contact you about visiting Jerome Browning?” Maleah asked.
“About five months ago. He said he had a client who needed a friend, a female friend, to visit him every once in a while. I thought why not? I mean for five thousand, I’ll do just about anything.”
“What did you and Jerome talk about?” Derek asked.
“Everything. Nothing. Mostly about him. He liked to brag. And sometimes, he’d give me messages for Wyman.”
“What sort of messages?” Maleah asked.
“Nothing really. Just things like, ‘tell Wyman to come see me’ or ‘ask Wyman to tell Mr. Durham that we need to talk.’ Stuff like that.”
“You exchanged letters with Browning and spoke to him on the phone,” Maleah said. “Do you still have those letters?”
“No, I ain’t got them.” She shook her head. “I turned each one over to Wyman as soon as I got it. They weren’t really for me no how. That’s what Wyman told me.”
Maleah and Derek glanced at each other.
“What about the letters you wrote Jerome?” Maleah asked.
“I didn’t write them letters. Wyman gave them to me, all typed out real neat like, and told me to write them out in my own handwriting and then mail them off to Jerome.”
“Do you remember anything about what was said in those letters?” Derek asked.
“Not really. I didn’t care. Weren’t nothing to me one way or the other.”
“I understand,” Maleah told her. “But if you could remember something, anything, about the content of those letters, it might help us.”
“Would it help you find the man who killed Wyman?”
“Yes,” she replied. “And the person who has already killed five innocent people, using the same method that Jerome Browning used in his Carver murders. If you would come with us, let the Powell Agency give you around-the-clock protection, you could work with us to prevent this person from killing again.”
“But how can I help you? I really don’t know nothing.”
“You probably know a lot more than you realize,” Derek said. “The more you think about your visits with Browning and about the telephone conversations and the letters you exchanged with him, the more you might remember.”
“You think so?”
Derek smiled. Cindy responded the way all women did to Derek’s charm.
“You help us and we’ll help you. Tell us what you want and we’ll do our best to see that you get it.”
Cindy studied Derek as if trying to decide whether or not she could trust him. She nodded. “Okay. You’ve got a deal, but I need to talk things over with my sister first and then pack a bag.” Cindy got up and headed for the front door, then paused and asked, “I can let my sister know where I’ll be and I’ll be able to talk to her whenever I want, right?”
“Absolutely,” Derek assured her.
As soon as Cindy disappeared inside the house, Derek and Maleah got up and walked out into the yard.
“Do you think she really can’t remember anything or she’s playing us to see what she can get out of us?” Maleah nodded toward the house.
“A little of both. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that Cindy isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
Maleah grunted. “I noticed, and apparently it runs in the family.”
“I figure if Griff can find a way to get Cindy’s daughter out of foster care and if we can promise to return her daughter to her, she’ll tell us everything she knows. And I can guarantee you that she knows more than she’s told us.”
When he had left Ardsley Park, he had fully intended to check into a downtown Savannah hotel and get a good night’s sleep. He had planned to kill Saxon Chappelle’s cute little sixteen-year-old niece tomorrow evening. But as fate would have it, he had decided to stop for a bite to eat and had carried his Netbook into the coffee shop café. While drinking an after-dinner cappuccino, he had removed a keychain flash-drive from his pocket, hoping it contained some useful information. After killing Wyman Scudder, he had downloaded the files from the man’s computer before wiping Scudder’s computer clean. It would take an expert a good while to restore those files, if it was even possible.
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