Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) (44 page)

“Sorry,” the sergeant said, clearing his throat. “It’s just…I knew the guy. He really helped keep drugs off the street. How could anyone do this… to a priest… to him?”

Paxton really couldn’t argue much as the zipper finally blocked the gruesome sight.

Ruth shook her head. Her anger had seemingly evaporated, and it was replaced with melancholy,

“For all of humankind’s capacity for good, we still hold a reservoir to do such evil…”

Something about this church, or the death of the priest, was really affecting Ruth. He’d not seen this much vulnerability in her in the last six months as he had in the last six minutes. She, too, must have sensed it as she shook her head again.

Ruth’s tone was crisp again. Any lingering emotion was gone. “My understanding is that some money was taken?”

“Yes,” the sergeant said, returning to his brusque manner. “At best guess, seven dollars from the collection plate. However, the collection plate itself is solid gold, and is worth over four hundred dollars, but it was left.”

Paxton raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think we can exactly hang our hats on robbery as a motive.”

“I agree. This seems directed at the priest.” Ruth turned to the sergeant. “Thank you. We will contact you if we have any other questions.”

The older officer went to move away, but then turned on his heel. “Oh, one other thing. Mrs. Hendes said that the front door was locked when she came in. The techies scanned for prints. It seems that they only found the priest’s. It looks like Gonzales locked himself inside with the bastard.”

Ruth nodded as the sergeant headed toward the front of the church, but when she turned back to Paxton, she had a concerned look on her face.

“What?” he asked.

They moved out of the way as the MEs rolled away the gurney carrying the priest.

“None of this strikes you as slightly familiar?”

Paxton was going to reflexively answer no, but thought better of it. What had her mind deduced that his hadn’t yet? He was missing something, and he didn’t like the feeling of that.

“Um, to my knowledge, no clergy have been killed since… Well, since ever.”

“No, not that specifically.” She pulled out her smartphone and typed frantically into the browser. “Two weeks ago, they found a prostitute with her head cut off and her eyes gouged out. ”

She brought up the news report. “Her name was María Sanchón.” Paxton averted his gaze. He really did not need that sight burned into his retinas.

“Then, six weeks ago, this homeless man’s feet were cut off.”

Ruth tried to show him another photo, but Paxton became extremely interested in the mustard stain on his jacket.

“Okay, none of these seem the same at all,” Paxton stated.

“I know, but we need to look not at the crimes, but how they were committed.”

Paxton looked up to find Ruth’s eyes crackling with intent. He couldn’t help but respond. “Okay, I’ll bite.”

“They were committed cleanly. For an act of supposed rage from a john, the perp left no forensic evidence. And why cut off a homeless man’s feet? Again, without leaving even a single fiber behind?”

“So, basically, you say they are connected because they have nothing to connect them?”

Ruth nodded. “Work with me here.”

With that shy grin on her lips, how could he not? “All right, fine. But let’s keep your theory under our hats while we track down and rule out all the nut jobs that have been released from our fair city’s mental institutions.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Paxton liked the way Ruth smiled before she continued, “We will need to roll out a full canvas and—”

Her smartphone buzzed in her hand. Her brows knit together as she read the text. Quickly, she pocketed the phone. “Pax, can you supervise the canvas?”

“Oh, man! That’s the fourth one in a row.”

“No,” Ruth chided. “It would be the second one in a row, and I did the six before that.”

“I know, because I
hate
talking with people and listening to them whine, lie, and make up excuses.”

Surprisingly, she seemed sympathetic to his plight. “Look, you know I would do it, but Evan forgot his history paper. The one that’s due today.”

Paxton tried to pout his way out of it, but Ruth drew the line.

“Sorry, but a possible ‘F’ in social
sciences
trumps your lack of social
skills
.”

“Fine,” Paxton said.

“Thanks.” Ruth flashed another smile before she turned to leave.

Paxton watched her walk away, ponytail swaying. Then she picked up the pace. With traffic heavy at this time of day, she had better hurry if she wanted to get to the school before noon. Ruth passed by the lieutenant and waved, giving him the briefest reason why she was leaving as she hit the street. Paxton watched Tyner watch Ruth leave.

Suddenly, an arm draped over his shoulder. “Well?” the ME asked.

“Well, what?” Paxton asked as he scooted the man’s unwelcome appendage off his jacket.

“Exactly how long have you two been partners?”

Paxton was pretty sure where the pale, Vitamin D-deficient doctor was driving this conversation train, but for inter-departmental cooperation, he had to hear the guy out. “Just over six months.”

“So, my question still stands…” the guy’s eyebrows went up and down, “Well…?”

“Don’t start,” Paxton stated as he headed for the door. Even a neighborhood canvas was sounding better than hanging out with Doctor Inappropriate.

“What? Like you weren’t just watching her ass. I am just applying the Socratic method to determine if you two have—”

Paxton held up a hand. “Yes, I get it. No need to elaborate.”

“Come on. I’m stuck in the autopsy room all day. Can’t you tell me just a little—?”

Thankfully, Paxton’s phone began vibrating.

“Oh, gosh. I guess we will have to cut this conversation short.”

Paxton headed toward the door as fast as he could.

Still, he could hear the ME shouting, “I think you’ve got that thing rigged!”

With the text message on-screen, Paxton wished that were the case. Unfortunately, his already crappy morning just took a turn for the worse.

CHAPTER 2

Cecilia tried to stay out of everyone’s way as they rushed to class through the crowded quad. She was already plastered up against the statue that dominated the center of their Catholic school.

Our Lady of Sorrows.

She glanced up to see the larger-than-life statue of the Virgin Mary glaring down at her, as if scolding her for trying to hide within the Lady’s stone folds. Even the Virgin found her wanting.

Ugh. Where were her friends? If they didn’t get here soon, she would have to head to science class herself, which did not sound appealing. It had taken everything just to get Jeremy out of bed this morning. Cecilia really did not think she could face a dry lecture on photosynthesis on her own without nodding off.

“Cec!” a bright voice called out from behind.

She turned to find the freckle-faced Helen hurrying toward her. Right behind her was the darker-haired Francesca. Cecilia didn’t even wait for them to catch up before she made her way through the surging crowd to Building D.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Helen demanded. Puffing, the redhead caught her by the sleeve. “What is going on with your skirt?”

Cecilia looked down at her school uniform. Everything seemed in order. Her shirt was a stark white, and her skirt the required blue-and-black plaid. “Nothing.”

“Um, what about the length?” Helen asked, in that weird I-am-trying-to-talk-about-something-secret-without-really-telling-you-what-I-mean voice.

Francesca tried to help out. “A quarter turn, remember?”

“What are you guys talking about?”

Both of her friends glanced over their shoulders at Sister Switzler, the vice principal. The matronly figure stood outside her office, watching the quad like a hawk over a field of mice, trying to decide which one she would pluck from its day.

Helen leaned in with a harsh whisper. “You were supposed to roll your waistband a quarter turn this morning. You know, to bring your hem up.”

Cecilia rolled her eyes. She had forgotten about this ill-conceived attempt to get around the strict uniform guidelines. The theory went that if
every
girl in school rolled her waistband just the tiniest bit each day, so that every girl’s skirt looked the same, that somehow in a few weeks they could get their hems above the knee. It was, quite possibly, the stupidest idea Cecilia had ever heard. Besides, she liked her hem exactly where it was.

“Sorry, not doing it,” Cecilia said as she renewed her trek to get to class on time.

“Come on!” Helen pleaded. “We need everyone to do it, or we’ll get busted.”

“Then you’ll get busted,” Cecilia snapped, then instantly regretted it as Helen’s lips fell from a smile into a frown.

Francesca, though, had a sympathetic look. “Rough night, again?”

Cecilia could only nod.

“Your mom had another migraine?” Francesca asked.

Yeah, sure. A migraine. Cecilia nodded, though, letting them think what they would. It was easier than explaining the truth.

Helen shifted gears as only she could. She grabbed Cecilia’s arm so that they walked locked together. “I am
so
sorry! I wouldn’t have bugged you if I’d known. You do look really tired.”

“Can’t the doctors figure out what’s wrong with her?” Francesca asked, as they finally made their way to Building D.

Sure, it seemed everyone knew what was wrong. No one though, not the doctors or even her uncle, actually seemed willing to do anything about it. But that was TMI for her friends. They didn’t need to be as bummed out, or as
worn
out, as she was.

“They just say she needs plenty of rest.”

Her two friends nodded in sympathy until they heard some tinny music. That same stupid song from last night. A group of four boys were gathered around watching a video on someone’s phone. They had the speakers cranked up so high that even she could hear the KMNY radio promo.

“And once again, K-Money comes through for Halloween! We’ve got the creepiest bands at the creepiest mansion on the creepiest night of the year. You’re gonna stain your shorts when you see what Diana Dahmer has in store for you! To win these exclusive tickets you just need to—”

“Mister Donovan!” a shout came from across the quad. Sister Switzler did not even have to move away from her office to make her displeasure known. The boy in question shoved the illicit phone back in his pocket and tried to act like he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. Then, she crooked a finger at him.

No one, but no one, ignored that finger.

Francesca leaned in to whisper, “Those eyebrows alone scare me.”

Yes, Cecilia had to agree. Sister Switzler did look like Mike Myers in drag as a Russian weight lifter. Only Mike Myers would look way more girly.

Finally, the boy lowered his head in acceptance and started the trek over to the vice principal’s office. They all made a clear path for him, not wanting the “Finger of Switzler” to beckon them as well.

“Darn it,” Helen sighed as they put as much distance between Mister Donovan and them as they could. “I really wanted to find out how to win those concert tickets.”

“What?” Cecilia asked. “Why? You hate that music as much as I do.”

“Um, hello? Look at those guys over there.” Helen indicated three boys sitting along the far railing. “Why else would I want to go?”

Even Francesca nodded. “They
are
hot.”

“Ah, from those bleached tips to their pointy goatees, they are smokin’ hot.”

Cecilia, though, did not see the attraction. The boys in question were a fairly skinny and pale lot. Apparently, looking sickly was a goth code. And given that they went to a Catholic school, it made it a little hard to really go full-on death black, but somehow they tried to make up for it with hair products and eyeliner. One even had a folder with Diana Dahmer doing something unsavory to a sheep.

“You guys can have ’em,” Cecilia said, but then one of them nodded and smiled.

Helen gasped. “OMG. Michael just smiled at me!”

“You? It was for me,” Francesca stated, as she stepped in front of them.

Cecilia sighed. “Whatever. I’m going to science class, if either of you would like to join me.”

Her friends followed, but only so that they could try to flash that quarter of an inch more leg they had showing.

“You guys do realize that they have goatees because they don’t have enough testosterone to grow full beards yet?” Her friends ignored Cecilia. “And even at that, they still have to use eyebrow pencils to fill in their mustaches.”

Helen elbowed her in the side. “Shh! If we can do a little touch-up work, why can’t they?”

“And the folder?” Cecilia asked, incredulous that her friends would swoon over such cretins.

“Oh, look how lucky we are…” Francesca said as she pointed to the other end of the quad. A group of five jocks strode across the lawn as if they were gladiators returning in victory. Even though it was like, seventy-eight degrees, they each had on their letterman jackets. The boys were so covered in huge varsity letters that they were nearly stacked upon one another.

The tallest and broadest of shoulder, John, led the group. Cecilia picked up the pace. He was possibly the only person she wanted to hang out with less than the goth boys.

“Hey, wait up!” the jock called out, but Cecilia struck for Building D’s large double doors. She really did
not
want to have to talk with him. All the speculation during their junior year was that he and Cecilia would be crowned King and Queen of the prom this year. Even she had gotten wrapped up in what others called the “dream team.”

Had it only been a year since the prom was the focus of her life? When after school was filled with booster club and cheerleading? It seemed like an entirely different life.

Today after school, all she had to look forward to was the state of disarray her mother was in, and whether or not they had any food in the refrigerator. That and dishes, and, of course, laundry. If they had enough money to buy detergent, that is.

Crap
, she thought. She’d forgotten to check the bank account online before she left for school to see if her mom’s disability check had cleared. If it hadn’t… well, it would be frozen burritos again.