Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (123 page)

The thunder cracked, a deafening explosion reverberating in all directions.
Not a cloud, not a single cloud.
Her pulse raced; she couldn’t draw a full breath. Sick to her stomach now, the bile rose into her throat, choking her. She tightened her legs around Prince.

The horse shot forward, galloping toward home in a stiff gait, his head whipping back and forth. She realized she still had the reins pulled tight, the bit cutting into his mouth. She relaxed her hold and the horse continued to carry her farther away from the dark forest beyond the meadow.

She began to breathe easier, and although her stomach remained queasy, no longer did she feel the urge to throw up. The invisible band around her head gradually eased.

Scarcely twenty yards into the trees behind the house, she stopped. The cool canopy of the trees instantly revived her. She sucked in the crisp, sweet air.

She pulled the tails of her chambray shirt from her jeans and wiped the sweat from her face and throat. She tucked her shirt in, then tipped back her head and stared at the clear sky through the treetops. Not a cloud. No thunder, no lightning, no storm. It was all in her mind.

The only explanation for what had happened as she approached the dense forest was an anxiety attack. Anxiety with a capital A.

A panic attack.

As if she didn’t have enough to worry about.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Steaming bowls of chicken and dumplings, bright green peas, gravy, biscuits dripping with honey butter, and a cranberry mold graced the Paxtons’ formal dining room table.

Tobie sat alone on one side of the long table opposite Robbi and Carl. Lois occupied the end seat. Much to Roberta’s relief, the spot at the head of the table was without a place setting, vacant.

“So, Roberta,” Lois said, “tell us what’s happening at the center. Will they have that dinner dance again this year?”

“Next week,” Robbi said.

“Robbi, can I come to Reno and stay with you before school starts?” Tobie asked.

“I’m working on it, Tobe. Maybe a week in August. Okay?”

“Can we go to Circus Circus one night and play the carnival games? I’ve been practicing darts and—”

“You won’t be tossing away my money on asinine amusements,” a gruff voice muttered from the arched doorway.

“Pomona,” Lois said quickly, “a plate for Mr. Paxton.”

Cameron Paxton, in his wheelchair, was pushed into the room by Hanley. “It’s the same as gambling—worse.” The words were garbled and thick with saliva.

Pomona hurried from the room, returned with a plate that she placed in Lois’s outstretched hand. Lois filled the plate and gave it to Pomona to take to the man at the head of the table.

“We thought you would be eating in your room tonight, Cameron,” Lois said timidly.

He stared hard at his wife. “This is my house. I want a place set in this spot”—he tapped a bony finger on the table in front of him—“at every meal, whether I eat here or not. Is that clear?”

Lois nodded.

The bastard, Roberta thought. Suspecting she might not stay if she knew he’d be present, he waited until they were all seated before he appeared at the table to spoil their dinner. Again.

Paxton’s gaze meandered indolently from person to person at the table as Hanley tucked a linen napkin into the open throat of his shirt.

“Cameron, this gentleman is Carl Masser, a friend of Roberta’s,” Lois said.

“How do you do, sir,” Carl said, holding his napkin and half rising.

“I’ve been better,” Paxton said.

Roberta toyed with the peas on her plate, kept her eyes down. Carl lowered himself back into the chair and looked around uneasily. She should have warned him about her father.

Paxton stabbed the piece of chicken with a fork and held it up, inspecting it. “There’s blood at the bone. I don’t care for blood and veins and gristle on my chicken. I don’t care for thighs.” He let the piece drop onto his plate. Peas skittered across the table.

“I’m sorry, Cameron, I thought it was the breast,” Lois said. She turned to the housekeeper. “Pomona, find Mr. Paxton a breast.” To her husband she said, “Would you like it cut away from the bone?”

He glowered at her, saying nothing.

“Remove the bone, Pomona. Please.”

While the housekeeper went about her task, Paxton again surveyed those in the room. “You were having a discussion when I arrived. Continue.”

“Robbi was telling us about the dinner reception coming up for the women’s center,” Lois said. She turned to Roberta. “Go ahead, dear.”

With reluctance Roberta began. “Well, the center is—”

Her father cut her off, directing a question to Carl. “Mr. Masser, what do you think of all these whiny organizations that are popping up? Women’s this and women’s that. I say crybabies, the whole bunch of them, hiding behind the skirts of the law.”

Carl cleared his throat, glanced at Robbi.

“Young man, do you hunt?” Paxton said.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll have to show you my gun collection. Done any elk hunting lately?”

“Not in a while, sir, I’ve been pretty busy with my job.”

“What is it that you do, Mr. Masser?”

“Construction, sir. High-rise buildings, mostly. I’m super for…” Carl’s words died away when he saw that the man, instead of listening, had turned away and was addressing his caretaker in a hushed voice.

The room became deadly quiet. The only sound was the dragging of Paxton’s fork across his plate. He ate heartily. Finally he turned to his youngest daughter. “You been caring for that animal of yours?”

Tobie nodded.

“If I find that you aren’t, it’s gone. No second chances. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” Tobie said quietly.

“I don’t intend to replace a horse for you every couple of months” his gaze fell on Roberta “due to negligence.”

“It wasn’t Robbi’s fault,” Tobie snapped, darting a look at her father.

“You show respect, young lady, or I’ll shoot the damn thing myself.”

Tears welled up in Tobie’s eyes. She muttered something that sounded like “excuse me,” tossed her napkin on the table, then ran from the room, a sob escaping her lips.

Hanley, sitting in a chair by the door, rose partially, hesitated then sank back down. His white-knuckled hands clenched into fists as he watched Tobie exit.

Paxton turned to Carl. “A family of women,” he said. “Weak sisters all.”

Roberta caught an exchange of glances between Hanley and her mother. His sympathetic, hers disconcerted. Then Roberta felt a gentle touch on her knee. Her mother’s pleading eyes seemed to say, Please don’t interfere. You can walk out, but we have to live with him.

Robbi bit down on the inside of her lip, forcing herself to keep quiet.

The room was uncomfortably silent.

The invalid lowered his utensils. “Hanley, take me out. I prefer the solitude of my room to these damn silent stares.”

Hanley wheeled him out.

After dinner Robbi and Carl found Tobie in the stable with her horse. Tobie insisted Carl take Prince out.

Sitting on the rail fence alongside the stable, they watched the horse and rider disappear into the trees. Robbi reached into a paper bag, brought out the bubble gum, and handed one package to Tobie.

“Watermelon! Cool. He’ll have a cow if he sees this. ‘Gum chewing’s for sluts.’” Tobie mimicked her father.

“I remember.” Robbi unwrapped a square and popped it into her mouth. “I doubt he’ll ever change.”

There was nothing more to be said on the subject, so they each opened another square of gum and popped it into their mouths. After an appropriate amount of silence, when they worked at chewing the sugar from the gum, Tobie blew a practice bubble, then cleared her throat.

Here it comes, Robbi thought, the Tobie Paxton third degree.

“So if he’s not a new guy, then what is he?” Tobie, staring off in the direction of the forested slopes, asked softly as if they’d been talking about Carl Masser all along.

From experience, Robbi knew it was useless to be evasive. “His fiancée is missing. I’m trying to help him find her.”

She turned to stare at Robbi, her eyes large and inquisitive over an enormous pink bubble. She sucked it back in. “Yeah? Like how?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I got lots of time.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“If you say Tobie, don’t tell,’ it’d take truth serum to get it out of me. You know that.”

Robbi told her sister about the visions and the missing women.

“Wow,” Tobie exclaimed in a rush of air when Robbi had finished. “That’s incredible. You’re so lucky to have the power, or whatever it is, to see this stuff.”

“This isn’t fun and games, Tobie. It’s serious.” She thought of the death premonition. Then she remembered the dream, the nightmare of being chased through the woods. An urgent desire to leave, to get as far away from there as possible, rushed over her. It couldn’t come true, could it? Everything had to be just right. If she stayed far from the woods on a rainy night, then it couldn’t come true.

Tobie sat quietly a moment, staring off into the distance. “Sometimes I think maybe I have it.”

“Have what?”

“A little of the Roberta Paxton ‘inner sight,’” Tobie said, seeming to like the idea. “Maybe it runs in the family.”

“What do you feel?”

Tobie became solemn again. “I’m not sure, but sometimes when I go into my room, it feels weird. Like my privacy’s being invaded. Like somebody’s in there watching me. And even when I’m out riding I can feel eyes on me. Does that sound totally wacko?”

Roberta managed a smile. “You’re asking me?”

“I read a sci-fi story once about two sisters who could read each other’s minds. Wouldn’t that be cool if we could do that?”

Robbi put her arm around her sister’s thin shoulders and squeezed.

________

A pulse pounded in Eckker’s temple. From the edge of the treeline he watched the dark-haired man on horseback cut through the woods. Then he turned his attention to Tobie and the brunette sitting on the rail fence. The brunette had been riding the black horse in the forest. His forest. He didn’t like strangers traipsing all over his mountain. If they got too close…

________

Jake sat in the small room that served as his office in the condo. He leaned back in his swivel chair, his feet propped on his desk, and spoke into a compact tape recorder. He reviewed certain passages, made notes then resumed. From Roberta’s descriptions of the killer’s environment, mannerisms, and general makeup, Jake attempted to work up a psychological profile.

Roberta, as the receiver, was able to see the man as no other could. No other who lived to tell about it, that is. In the two visions she had seen a childlike man, eager to please, become out of control when angered—angered to the point of murder.

Was this man a recluse, squirreling himself away in his mountain retreat, having little or no contact with the world in general? Was he impotent? Incapable of normal sexual relations? Did he derive sexual release from killing his victim?

There were so many details that only Roberta knew, points he hadn’t asked her about. She had turned away from him, unwilling to let him explain the misunderstanding regarding her mother. She needed him, and he certainly needed her. He had to find a way to regain her trust.

He checked the time. Eight forty-five p,m. He looked up her number, lifted the receiver, then dialed. Before it could ring, he hung up. Go to her.

As he gathered his notes he came across the latest draft of his manuscript. He paused, shuffled through the pages with a sense of guilt. Several weeks before he’d been bursting with enthusiasm, working at a furious pace. And now it seemed so far removed, as exciting as the survival instincts of the earthworm.

He tucked the folder under his arm and headed for the door.

________

“Your old man’s a real jerk,” Carl said on the drive back to Reno.

Roberta stared straight ahead at the road.

“I like the rest of your family though. Your sister was shitting me about the rattlers.” He looked over at her. “Robbi, did you…pick up on anything out there? Y’know, sense any vibes concerning Maggie?”