Caterpillar, a Paranormal Romance With a Touch of Horror (6 page)

“So, what did you do yesterday morning?”  Tegan was trying to sound casual, but his intent came across loud and clear.

“Uh, I-uh, I returned some phone calls when I got to the office then went to take some pictures and put a sign up at a new listing on Bonham Court.”

“Bonham Court, huh?  Does somebody live there?”

“No.  It’s vacant.  The owners moved to Miami.  Why?”

“So you were alone?”

“Yes.  Why?”  The blood was rushing back to my face in a hurry.

“Just curious,” he said again then he continued, “Time of death for the girl.”

“Well, I had nothing to do with it.”

Tegan watched me—silently, closely—like he was trying to see inside my head.  With a frown, he cleared his throat and dropped his eyes.

“So, you and Newly.”

Was that the worst subject change ever or what?  My mouth, which had fallen agape, snapped shut. 

“I don’t need to ask if it’s serious,” he said.

“And why is that?”  I bristled.

Tegan smirked, a tight twitch of the lips.  “I just don’t.” 

His smug response was like pouring gasoline on a matchstick.

“And what is
that
supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said dismissively.

“No, not ‘nothing.’  What did you mean by that?”

“Your reaction
to me
speaks volumes.”

Although his words were undoubtedly true, I found it degrading and humiliating that he obviously thought I was putty in his hands.  Or at least that was how I took it.

“Actually, Scott and I are pretty serious.  You’ve just caught me on an off night.  I mean, I nearly passed out in there.  Not my best day.  Don’t make the mistake of reading too much into
anything
that happened tonight.” 

“So that’s how you act when you’re
serious
with someone?  Not much on fidelity, I see.”  Disgust was clear in his tone.

I had no rebuttal.  I
shouldn’t have
 reacted to Tegan like I did and I shouldn’t have been stringing Scott along, knowing I didn’t feel for him what he felt for me.  It was wrong.  But I’d never admit any of that to Tegan.

“I need to get back.  Scott’ll be worried.”  With that I walked away.  I wanted to stay and argue, to save a little face.  But I knew that if I didn’t keep my mouth shut and leave now, I’d just be digging myself a deeper hole. 

Tegan didn’t bother to try and stop me; he just followed me inside.  I felt his brooding presence all around me, though. 

Many of the tables had filled since we’d left.  It hadn’t seemed like we’d been gone that long.  Then again, I suppose it is very hard work keeping up with the Joneses and rubbing elbows with Atlanta’s finest, and it seemed that many of the patrons had worked up voracious appetites socializing and swimming in the shark tank.  They all seemed very ready to enjoy the hors d'oeuvres in the Grand Ballroom.  

I scanned the room until I found Scott, who had apparently been looking for me.  He was making his way across the room toward us. 

I jumped at the sound of a loud crash to my right.  To my overwrought nerves, it sounded like a shot, but it barely registered as a sound at all amid the buzz of voices in the room.  Behind the bar, a waiter was holding a broken champagne bottle by the neck, wielding it like a weapon against the bartender, who looked positively livid. 

When Scott reached me, I saw Tegan move off toward the bar, presumably to intervene and save someone’s jugular from being shredded.  Scott, as well as most of the other attendees, remained blissfully oblivious to the altercation.  His focus, however, was on me.  “Are you alright?  What happened?” He looked concerned.

“I feel much better now.  I think I just got too hot.  Plus, my stomach’s empty.”  As if on cue, a waiter with a silver tray of bacon-wrapped scallops stopped in front of us.  I took one and popped it gratefully into my mouth.  Not as much because I was hungry as the fact that if my mouth was full, I couldn’t be expected to talk.

Scott led me to the place setting with a little card bearing my name and pulled out the chair.  I plunked down, too disconcerted for much decorum at that point.  “I’ll go round you up some snacks.  Be right back,” Scott said, already on the heels of a man with a silver tray.

I watched Scott walk away, but before I could release the sigh of relief that hovered at the top of my lungs, I caught sight of the mayor heading toward me. 

I’d seen John Scruggs on television multiple times and I’d seen him in person at several functions, though only from a distance.  I’d never actually met him or seen him up close, however, and it was anything but pleasant. 

Of average height, his frame was thin and narrow.  Watching him move was disturbing; he slinked and slithered in a boneless way that reminded me of a ferret.  He had thin, black hair that was slicked back over his bumpy skull and dark, swarthy skin that was stretched tight over his bony face.  I watched as his lips curved into a polite smile, but it never reached his eyes.  They remained cold and empty and black as a lump of coal.  Chills spread down my arms when I looked into them.  I wanted to look away, but I didn’t want to appear rude.

“You must be the lovely Catherine.  Scott’s told me so much about you,” the mayor said as he reached the table.  When I said nothing, only smiled, he continued.  “A pleasure,” he cooed, dipping his head dramatically. 

He took another step closer to me, extending his hand.  The faint hint of smoke drifted to my nostrils and my palms started to sweat.  Again, I didn’t want to be rude, but I
really
didn’t want to find out what lay inside the mayor’s head.  I really, really didn’t. 

Slowly, hesitantly, I raised my fingers toward his.  Still trapped in his obsidian eyes, I accidentally knocked over my bottle of water in my typical clumsy way.  The mayor reflexively straightened, stepping back to keep from being splashed. 

“I’m so sorry!  I’m such a klutz.”

“Not a problem, Catherine.”  As I mopped up water from the linen tablecloth, I heard someone further into the room calling the mayor’s name. I saw his slimy head jerk in that direction and relief washed over me.  I knew I’d been rescued. 

Obviously very familiar with that voice, the mayor mumbled “excuse me” and was gone in a flash. 

Must’ve been a campaign contributor,
I thought snidely. 

I was still trying to shake off the heebie-jeebies when Scott returned.  “What did the mayor have to say?”

“He was just introducing himself when he was called away.”  I left out the “Thank God” that I was feeling.  Instead, I took the napkin onto which Scott had piled a variety of little delicacies.  I was loath to ruin a gourmet five course meal, but as far as I was concerned, the night was already a total loss. 

Once the dinner portion officially began, I worked to keep my attention focused tightly on Scott and the others at our table.  I’d rather have fashioned a noose out of napkins and hung myself from the chandelier than be caught looking in Tegan’s direction.  I pushed aside thoughts of mocking blue eyes as well as evil-souled senators, but it took constant effort and, by the end of the evening, I was exhausted and frustrated.

By the time the dinner had officially come to an end and Scott had delivered me to my house, I had a wicked headache. I also had the sneaking suspicion the bizarre events of the night had something to do with my aunt’s letter, but it was late and I didn’t want to drag a minister out of bed just to answer my questions.  It would have to wait until the next day.  Besides, all I wanted at that moment was my pillow and some peace and quiet.  Little did I know, peace and quiet were two things my life would no longer be able to offer me.

Chapter Five

Sunday.

Sunday dawned sunny but cool.  Since I couldn’t very well wear my ruby princess gown to church, I dressed in my favorite winter suit of charcoal gray.  It was appropriate for both church and work, both of which were on the agenda for the day.  The tightly fitted jacket hugged my waist and the mint green shell I wore underneath showed off the remnants of my tan.  I slid my feet into my matching heels, stuffed papers and my aunt’s letter into my attaché, grabbed my Bible and scurried out the door.

I attended church at Bethel Calvary Baptist, where I had gone most of my life.  I knew everyone and they knew me.  Most of all, the preacher was fantastic, which was really all that mattered anyway.

I walked in and took a seat beside Mamaw Huntley, who was resplendent in her Sunday finery of navy blue jacket and skirt with navy tights and navy shoes.  Atop her head was a navy hat with a humongous yellow sunflower on one side.  My grandmother’s fashion sense favored the bold and extreme.

“Mornin’, Mamaw,” I whispered as I leaned close to her ear. 

She turned to look at me, a smile already in place, but it quickly faded and was replaced with a troubled look, a look that spoke of reluctant awe.  Or was it carefully concealed unease?

“What’s the matter?”

“You look…different.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, Punkin’.  You…shine.”

Puzzled, I laughed to downplay the moment, but her expression concerned me.  She almost looked fearful.  “And that’s a bad thing?”

“I s’pose not,” she said, but her expression clearly said that, in her opinion, it was a
very bad
thing.

Our conversation ended as the congregation quieted when Jessie, our minister, took the pulpit.  Before he could speak, loud sobbing at the back of the church had all heads turning in the direction of the vestibule. 

The interior church doors opened and Linda Long, escorted by her husband and her brother, walked slowly up the aisle.  Linda’s feet dragged along the carpet, barely touching the floor.  The two men appeared to be almost carrying her, like her legs weren’t working. 

As the trio made their way to the altar, Jessie began to speak.  “I’d like to start the service a little differently this morning, folks.   Brother Marvin Long and Sister Linda got a call just before church that their only child, little Mistee, was the victim of a brutal killing in Atlanta.  Her body was discovered by one of our own, Cat Deen, in an empty house in Atlanta.  I’d like for us all to gather around this hurting family, offering up our prayers for comfort and support.” 

The pews emptied almost instantly, people flooding the aisles and making their way to the altar to lend their requests to the multitude going up on behalf of Linda and Marvin.  Nearly all of them looked questioningly at me as they passed.  I sat, immobilized and dumbstruck.  It was news to me.  I’d had no idea to whom the body parts I’d found belonged.  As soon as Jessie had put a face to the horror, though, I couldn’t get the picture of that bloody hand and broken, black-tipped finger out of my head, my mind going back to that image over and over again like a vulture circling death.   

Something niggled at the back of my mind, but I was incapable of analytical thought.  All I could think of was poor Mistee and what she must’ve suffered.

The service passed in a very uncharacteristic way.  I missed the majority of it, preoccupied not only with memories of the murder scene, but concern over my lack of a more normal reaction.  I felt strangely calm.

Nothing like that had ever befallen a member of our small group before.  By the time the service had come to an end, many of the congregation were gathered around the Longs, while others were quietly making their way to the doors.

As I walked down the steps, someone called my name.  I turned to see Linda Long making her way toward me.  I was instantly uncomfortable, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t sound trite to a mother who’d just lost her child.  She saved me from having to say anything at all.