Murder Comes by Mail (21 page)

“You think so?” That sounded way too easy.

“Well, probably not, but it’s worth a shot.” Betty Jean looked at the clock on her mantel. “Too late to call tonight, but I’ll call first thing in the morning. I can check out some things on the computer tonight. Don’t guess anybody got a fingerprint?”

“I suppose we could have before his car disappeared.”

“But you didn’t.” Betty Jean breathed out a sigh. “You think the hospital would have something? They might fingerprint psychiatric patients.”

“I don’t think so. But then, I’ve never been in the psychiatric unit.”

“Yet.” Betty Jean grinned over at him.

“A little therapy might help me get a handle on things. Karen told me I was spooked.”

Betty Jean raised her eyebrows. “You’ve been to your Aunt Lindy’s and to Karen’s and now here. You doing poor lonesome women rounds?”

“I wish that was all.” Michael reached for one of the folding chairs, opened it back up, and sat down. “Sit down a minute.”

“Why am I not liking the look on your face?” Betty Jean dropped down on the couch facing Michael. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You remember about how I said Dr. Colson called to warn me that Jackson might be trying to get my attention. Whitt said the same thing. About Jackson targeting me. Not the girls he’s killed, but me.”

“You’re still breathing. Dead-on-your-feet tired, but breathing.”

Michael leaned a little closer to her. “Whitt thinks the guy might pick somebody I know for his next victim.”

“But you know everybody in Hidden Springs. No strangers here.”

“You hit the nail on the head. Guess that won’t make it too hard for Jackson to find a new target.”

Betty Jean jerked up straighter on the couch. “You think I might be a target?”

“I don’t know, Betty Jean. But I think it would be wise for you not to take any chances. Nobody knows what this guy might do next.”

Betty Jean sprang to her feet as if her couch had suddenly sprouted spikes. “You stay right here and don’t go anywhere. Not till I pack a few things and then you can follow me over to Mom and Dad’s house. They’ll be in bed, but I’ll just wake them up.”

“At last. Somebody sensible,” Michael called after her as she headed down the hall toward her bedroom.

She yelled back, “Karen wasn’t worried?”

“More concerned that I was acting so strange than about herself.”

“She hadn’t seen the pictures.” Betty Jean stuck her head out the bedroom door. “You don’t honestly think Miss Keane is in danger, do you? Don’t these kinds of killers follow patterns? Like this crazy would pick all pretty young things.” Betty Jean made a sound somewhere between a giggle and a hiccup. “Guess that would leave me out too.”

“The first child victim and then the reporter Kim Barbour didn’t have all that much in common.”

“You have a point there.” Betty Jean disappeared into her bedroom. “I know I’ll forget something.”

She kept talking, but Michael couldn’t tell what she was saying over water running. He got up, folded the chair again, and put it back with the others. Then he carried the garbage bag she’d left in the middle of the living room floor out to the kitchen.

“Oh, thanks.” Betty Jean dropped her suitcase in the living room and came into the kitchen to grab a box of cereal out of the cabinet. “Mom will make me eat eggs and bacon if I don’t take this, and there would go my diet for the rest of the week. Tonight was bad enough. Those lemon squares are rich. Still a couple of pieces over there on the cabinet if you want them.”

Michael held his hand palm out in refusal. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Okay, that’ll make Dad happy. I’ll take them to him. He doesn’t worry about his waistline.” Betty Jean wrapped up the leftover cake and stuffed it, along with the cereal, into a grocery bag. “That’s everything but Sandy.”

“Where is the furry terror?”

“The utility room. Some of the girls threaten not to come to my house if I don’t put him up. I don’t know what they think he’s going to do to them.”

“Shred their stockings maybe.” Michael looked around to see if he needed to take evasive action. Sandy was not a friendly cat.

“Nobody wears stockings in this weather. Besides, he’s not that bad.” Betty Jean dipped some cat food out of a sack in the cabinet and filled the dishes by the refrigerator before she cracked the door to the utility room. A fluffy black-and-white cat stalked out into the kitchen, twitching his tail back and forth. He gave Michael a haughty glance but totally ignored Betty Jean.

“Come on, Sandy sweetie. I gave you extra food.” Betty Jean leaned down to stroke the cat, but he dodged her touch. “Just my luck to get a cat with an attitude.”

“Don’t give me that. You love it. You probably spike his fur for him.”

“Only when I’m having company.” Betty Jean straightened up. “You spending the night at Aunt Lindy’s or on Karen’s couch?”

“Aunt Lindy’s. Karen decided to pack up and drive to her sister’s house.”

“Now?” Betty Jean glanced at the clock again.

“Said she liked driving at night. Guess she decided that would be better than me insisting she come camp out at Aunt Lindy’s house.”

“Probably afraid Miss Keane would slip poison in her morning coffee.”

Michael scowled at Betty Jean. “Aunt Lindy likes Karen.”

“I’m sure she does, but you know your aunt is in the Alex camp.”

“I’ve told you a dozen times Karen and I are friends. That’s all and there is no Alex camp.” Michael kept the scowl on his face even though he liked the idea of an Alex camp.

“But Miss Keane wants there to be.” Betty Jean flicked on the light over the sink and turned off the ceiling light. She gave him a curious look. “Did you ask Alex to marry you last night? That was only last night you drove halfway across the country to see her, wasn’t it? It’s beginning to seem like days ago.”

“Tell me about it.” Michael was bone-tired. He should have asked Betty Jean to make him some coffee, but no time for that now. “And what I did or didn’t ask Alex is none of your business. But she was supposed to call today and leave me a message. Did she?”

“You mean like yes or no?” Betty Jean gave him a sideways glance.

“No, Betty Jean. Like a name of an expert on how psychotic killers think.”

“Now that would be a creepy job.” Betty Jean shivered. “But no. No messages from Alex. Just that Dr. Colson.”

“He didn’t call again after I talked to him today, did he?”

“I don’t know. There were so many calls, I lost track of who called when.” She unplugged the laptop on the counter and stuck it into a padded bag.

“Whitt says the doctor is probably writing a book, so if he calls again, be careful what you tell him. You might see your name in print.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m not telling him anything.” Betty Jean looked around. “Okay. I’m ready. Be a gentleman and carry my suitcase out while I lock up.”

Mike picked up the suitcase. “Do you always lock your doors?”

“Well, yeah. I’m a female. I live alone. Bumps in the night scare me.” She switched off the lamp, then switched it back on as if the dark might be scaring her now. She looked over at Michael and almost smiled as she picked up her keys. “Don’t look so disappointed, Michael. Bad things happen everywhere. After last year, you of all people should know that. You’re going to have to face facts. There are bad people in this world, even in little towns like Hidden Springs.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right, remember?” She did smile then as she led the way out the door. “You know, that doctor isn’t the only one to think about writing a book. I’ve thought about doing that myself. I could write about all the crazy things that go on at the sheriff’s office. It would probably end up a bestseller.”

“I hope you remember to change the names to protect the innocent.”

She laughed. “There are no innocents. Just people who haven’t gotten caught yet.”

“We can hope this guy is one we catch tomorrow.”

“I can agree with that.” She watched as he loaded her suitcase in her car. “You are going to follow me over to Mom and Dad’s, right?”

“I am.”

Her parents’ house was dark when she pulled up in front of it. Michael stopped behind her and got out to lift her suitcase out of the car.

She put her computer bag strap over her shoulder and reached for the handle of her suitcase. “It’s got wheels, so I’ll take it from here. Don’t want to scare my folks silly. Bad enough me showing up at the door this time of the night, but I’ll make up something. That my toilet’s backed up or the electricity went off. Just make sure you don’t drive off until you see me inside the door.”

“Got it.” He turned back to his cruiser.

“And Michael?” She waited for him to look back at her. Her eyes glittered in the dark. “Be careful.”

“You just worry about you. I’ll be fine.”

“Weren’t you the one who said nobody knew what this guy might do next?”

22

When Michael stopped the car in front of his log house, Jasper met him the same as he had the night before. And like the night before, Michael got what Whitt had called the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it was Betty Jean’s warning. Maybe it was a lack of sleep or those images of Hope and Kim Barbour burned into his mind. But the dark pushed in on him like a black trash bag blowing against his face. Over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears came the rustling of monster feet closing in on him.

With a hand on Jasper’s head, Michael breathed in and out slowly. Time to get control of himself. Jackson wouldn’t chance coming back out here again tonight. Of course, the man had no way of knowing Michael had found the earring. For all Jackson knew, Michael might leave his dirty clothes on the floor for days without washing them. If the man wanted to be sure Michael found the earring, he would have left it in plain sight on the table or maybe in an envelope with Michael’s name scrawled across the front.

Why had the man planted the thing in his house anyway? To show Michael he wasn’t safe in his own home? If that was his purpose, why hadn’t he written a warning on the bathroom mirror or ransacked the house? Why hide an earring in one of his pockets?

Michael pushed away the questions he had no way of answering and surveyed the yard between him and the house. He didn’t spot anything that might be reason for alarm. Jasper shoved his nose up against Michael’s hand and wagged his tail. Not one hair was raised on his haunches.

Karen had him pegged. He was spooked. Jumping at shadows. Even so, the thought of what could be in those shadows made him pull his gun out of the holster. He felt a little foolish creeping up his own porch steps and sliding along the wall to peek around the side of the house, but better foolish than dead.

On the south side of the house, the lake glittered serenely in the soft light of the half moon. Nothing out of the ordinary except a nasty odor. Jasper must have found a dead fish. Funny that he couldn’t smell anything on Jasper. That was a good thing. Aunt Lindy wouldn’t be happy about a dog that smelled like rotten fish tied among her roses.

When he tried to turn the doorknob, he remembered the door was locked. He dug into his pocket for the key while watching for something to move in the darkness. But nothing was out there. At least nothing he could see.

Inside everything was the way he’d left it. The sink faucet wasn’t dripping. His clothes were wrinkling in the dryer. Remnants of cornflakes were crusted on the dish in the sink. All was still and peaceful. All except Michael.

Stock-still in the middle of the house, he listened as though he might hear the echo of any intruders. A cricket chirped out on the porch. The clock on the kitchen wall made that peculiar battery-powered click that replaced the ticking of a spring-wound clock. Jasper’s tail swept back and forth against the floor where the dog sat and waited for his supper.

“You’re right, boy. Time for me to quit imagining monsters going bump in the night.” Michael filled Jasper’s dish with kibble. “Here you go, but you better not get sick on the way to Aunt Lindy’s.”

He left the dog crunching his food and checked out the bedrooms. Nothing disturbed there. Back in the front room the light flashed on his answering machine. He hit the button to listen to the new messages.

First, a kid named Shane asked if he and his buddies could go fishing off Michael’s dock on Friday. “I promise no booze and no girls. Just a few of us guys, okay? We might spend the night if we can find a couple of tents to borrow. You don’t have one, do you?”

They probably wanted him to supply the bait too. A smile tugged at Michael’s lips and for a moment this day seemed like any other ordinary day without worries. Then the next voice came on.

“Dr. Phillip Colson here, Deputy Keane. I wanted to thank you for talking with me earlier today. I’m wondering if you’ve heard anything more from our patient or perhaps I should say your suspect. At any rate, our Mr. Jackson. I did as you suggested, or should I say ordered, and attempted to contact Detective Whitt, but he was out of the office. In any case, I truly doubt my brief chat with that poor young reporter could be of any help to his investigation. Do call me if you think I can be of any additional help or if you yourself need someone to explore your feelings about all this. I’m sure you’ve been under a great deal of stress the last few days. If you’re concerned about my fee, I often pro-rate my charges based on an individual’s ability to pay.”

Michael’s smile vanished. The doctor was beginning to get on his nerves with his psychoanalyzing. Maybe Whitt was right and the man was planning to get rich off the story.

Finally, the next voice was Alex, obviously before his panic call a few hours ago. She sounded the same as always. “And you say I’m never home. I tried your cell, but as usual, you didn’t pick up. I’ve got two names for you.” Michael grabbed a pencil and jotted down the names and numbers. “I hope they can help. Try me later. I might be home around nine.”

Michael looked at the clock. Ten thirty. She was probably already out again, but she should have called him again after hearing his message. He pushed the message button again to hear the mechanical voice say no more messages.