Dying Scream (25 page)

She was studying the jagged edge of her nail when she heard footsteps.

“Ms. Barrington?” The voice belonged to Dr. Heckman.

His sudden appearance startled her. “Dr. Heckman. What are you doing here?”

“The police came to see me.”

“Really?”

“They asked all kinds of questions about the Thornton family.”

She placed the sleeper back in the bin. She rose. “What do you want?”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks and moved a couple of steps closer. “I came by to check on the graves.”

Something about his demeanor bothered her. “You are trespassing, Dr. Heckman. I need you off my land.”

“It’s not your land. It’s Mr. Mazur’s.”

She was sorry now Ben and Marie had left. “You need to leave.”

His eyes lighted with fervor she’d not seen before. “Your mother-in-law wanted me to protect the Thorntons.”

“Did she, or do you just believe that?”

His lips flattened. “Your mother-in-law was a grand lady and you are a pale substitute.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “And I’ve said before, Dr. Heckman, I’m used to it.”

“What’s going on in the cemetery is unholy. The bodies and spirits should be left alone.”

Where was her purse? Her phone? “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“No, I mean it, Ms. Barrington. These woods are alive with spirits. This land is not at peace. The bodies deserve to stay in their final resting place.”

Suddenly a question she should have asked days ago came to mind. “Have you been sending me cards, Dr. Heckman?”

“What cards?”

He looked genuinely baffled, but she wasn’t wholly convinced. “If I receive anything like that again, I will call the police and file charges.”

“I haven’t sent any cards.”

Maybe. Maybe not. “Leave.”

His gaze narrowed and for a moment she thought she’d have a problem on her hands, and then he turned on his heel and left.

She stood alone in the center of the room, surrounded by remnants of a past that would not release her.

“Craig is dead,” she whispered. “Gone forever.”

And still a chill snaked down her spine and her breath came fast and shallow.

Craig stared at the woman sitting on the floor. Her head bent forward, sending her red curly hair cascading over her face. She wept quietly. “Please don’t hurt me. Please. I don’t want to die.”

“What’s my name?”

She glanced up at him with hopeful, mascara-smudged eyes. “Craig. And I’m Adrianna.”

So eager to please. Almost too eager. There was no fight, no challenge in this one. And the hair was wrong, he thought bitterly. It needed to be blond. And the freckles on her face didn’t fit his image.

But the wig would fix the hair and hopefully would be enough to let him present that he and his Adrianna had been reunited.

“Don’t you want to leave here?”

She averted her eyes. “Yes. Yes. I do.”

“You don’t seem willing to fight for it.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to do to get out of here. Just tell me.”

He wanted her to fight to rail against him so that he could break her bit by bit.

Craig checked his camera, made sure that the green light flashed on when he clicked RECORD. “I want you to put on this wig. And then I want you to fight me.”

“Fight you? I don’t understand.”

How could he explain? This was all wrong! There was no challenge. What was the point of taking something—someone—that no one else wanted? “Damn it!”

“Tell me what you want! And I’ll be it!” She grabbed the wig and with trembling hands placed it on her head. Her own hair escaped the sides and framed her face.

“Fix your wig.”

She did as he bade.

“Turn your face away from me.”

Again, she obeyed. He dimmed the light and if he blurred his vision he could almost…almost believe it was her.

Anticipation slowly, slowly warmed his blood and he felt his erection harden. “It’s so good to see you again, Adrianna.”

Tammy had never been more terrified in her life. She tried to distance herself from what was happening but couldn’t quite blot out her attacker’s hands pawing at her body. “Why are you doing this to me?”

His eyes darkened as he shoved into her with such force that the pain took her breath away. “Call me Craig when you speak to me.”

She forced herself to look into his eyes. “Why? I don’t understand.”

He shoved her face to the left, forcing her gaze away from his. “That’s my name. I am Craig Thornton.”

“He’s dead,” she whispered. “He’s dead.”

Her attacker started to move inside her with a sharp violence. Her insides felt like they were on fire. Finally, she cried out and begged him to stop. Her pleas seemed to excite him more and soon he found his release. He collapsed on her, his body sweaty and hot. His heartbeat, alive and strong, pounded against her chest.

Could she be mistaken? Could he be Craig? It had been a long time since she’d seen his picture in the newspaper. And there was something that reminded her of Craig. Was it his jawline? The eyes?

The newspapers’ obituary had said the accident she’d caused had put him in a two-year coma before killing him. But what if the papers had gotten it wrong? Papers weren’t always right. What if Craig Thornton was still alive?

A half hour later, Craig was finished with Tammy and getting dressed. She lay on her side, tracing circles on the concrete floor.

Craig handed a postcard of Tucson to Tammy. “You said you always wanted to go to Arizona.”

She stared up at him with vacant eyes. “Where?”

“Arizona. You said you wanted to go there.”

“I guess.”

He handed her a pen. “Write your mom. Tell her we’re going to Tucson.”

“We’re leaving?”

“That we are, and real soon. Now write that postcard like I asked.”

She took the pen. “What should I say?”

He smiled. “Dear Mom…”

With a trembling hand, she wrote down what he dictated. When she’d finished she handed him the card. He smiled as he tucked it in his back pocket.

As she glanced back to the floor he pulled the gun from his pocket, raised it to her temple, and fired.

Chapter Seventeen

Monday, October 2, 8:00 a.m.

Gage and Vega spent the better part of Sunday plowing through Craig’s phone records. There’d been little time to spend with Jessie or his brothers. Just a quick trip home late Sunday to shower and grab a few hours of sleep before he headed back to the office.

After tedious review of financial statements a picture of Craig Thornton emerged. The guy played the market like an addict and in the few years he had had control of the family fortune, he pissed away ninety percent of it.

No wonder Adrianna had been desperate to sell the land. This kind of financial mess coupled with the medical expenses was crushing.

It was past two a.m. when Gage found the bit of information he needed.

Now as Gage and Vega stood in Warwick’s office, he recapped their find. “Craig had twenty-one credit cards and was an expert at juggling debt, payments, and balances. The guy liked to live well. Trips to Europe. Nice jewelry. Handmade suits. Restaurants not even on my radar.”

Warwick’s chair squeaked as he leaned back. “No real surprises.”

The muscles in the back of Gage’s neck bunched painfully. “He was consistent with his spending until about four years ago. He started taking a series of cash withdrawals. In the past if Thornton wanted something, he simply charged it. But no more. He seemed to be dealing in cash only. Two hundred dollars here. Five hundred dollars there.”

Vega cradled his cup. “Our boy didn’t want anyone to know where he went or what he spent his money on. This went on for several months.”

“Why the secrecy?”

“He’d broken up with his fiancée,” Gage said. “He was trying to prove to her and his mother he was a good boy.”

“Only he wasn’t so good,” Vega added. “In late August there were a couple of charges to a place called Doxies.”

Warwick nodded. “A strip joint/gentleman’s club in the city.”

“Closed about three years ago after the owner was arrested for sleeping with a minor,” Gage said.

“And?”

“Dr. Butler had said the second victim could have been a waitress or dancer.”

“You’re thinking at Doxies?”

Gage nodded. “Yes.”

Warwick tapped a long finger on his desk. “The owner of Doxies has a new place. A bar, no stripping, out near the airport. His name is Rex Jones.”

Gage checked his watch. “When does the new place open for business?”

“They start setups in the afternoon.” Vega stretched his back, looking relieved to be moving. “As soon as he opens we’ll have a chat with him.”

“Okay. What about Thornton’s cell phone records?” Warwick said.

“They show nothing out of the ordinary. If he was calling someone, he didn’t use his cell, work, or home phone.”

“Would he have used his fiancée’s phone?” Warwick said.

“I’ve already requested Adrianna’s cell phone bills. They should be here this afternoon.”

“I’ll have Ricker or Kier go through them.”

“Good.” But a part of him was afraid of what they’d find.

Adrianna had spent the weekend working at the estate going through the last of the bins. Beyond the baby clothes she’d found on Friday, there’d been nothing else of import.

The open house her realtor had hosted Sunday afternoon went well. Catherine had hinted they might be getting offers. While she’d been out of the house and at her office, she’d continued to go through Frances’s ledgers. She’d found nothing. As she’d slipped through the dusty pages, her cell had rung constantly. Mazur. Dr. Heckman. Kendall. But thankfully no one who claimed to be Craig.

Just after ten Adrianna arrived at the Madison Hotel to discuss the final details of the charity auction. She’d had mixed feelings about this site. Her primary concern was the transport of the art from the auction house to the hotel. Each time art was transported from one venue to another, insurance costs and security concerns rose. In an ideal situation, the sale would have been held at the auction house. But several ladies on the committee didn’t like the auction house’s downtown location on East Broad Street. Too gritty. Too urban. They’d wanted to hold the event in a nice hotel. They’d all gone round and round about the venue until one committee member had announced the Madison Hotel would give them a tremendous discount and another agreed to pay the additional transport and insurance costs. Adrianna had relented.

Now as Adrianna moved over the cobblestone entryway, she was unexpectedly blindsided by memories of her September wedding day. Hot temperatures. Rose petals scattered on the main entrance’s brick circular drive. The shiny limo decorated with a glittery JUST MARRIED sign. Morning sickness.

Adrianna blew out a breath. “One step at a time. One step.”

Inside, marble pillars and a stunning chandelier greeted her as she moved across oriental carpets. Standing next to the front desk was the woman she’d come to see. Cary Winters, the banquet manager, was dressed in a plain dark maternity dress that covered a large, low-slung belly.

Adrianna smiled and extended her hand. “Cary, good to see you.”

Cary grinned. “And you, too, Ms. Barrington.”

“How are you feeling? You look wonderful.”

“Thanks. I feel like Orca.”

Adrianna laughed. She’d barely been showing when she’d miscarried. “How many more weeks?”

“Two.” Cary glanced at her clipboard. “Ready to discuss last-minute details?”

“Absolutely.”

The two moved across the lobby and down a flight of stairs to the main ballroom. Cary pushed open the door to reveal dozens of round tables dressed with white linens, china, and center flower arrangements. At the far end of the room the floor space was open and the staff was putting final touches on the bandstand.

“I wanted you to see the setup because this is how we are going to set up the ball. Of course the color scheme will be different and in place of the bandstand we’ll have the art hung on the walls.”

“You’ll have a podium for the auctioneer?”

“Yes. And we’ve arranged for low-level lighting on the paintings as you requested.”

“It sounds like you’ve got it all covered. As I remember, your staff is very efficient.”

Cary lifted a brow. “I didn’t realize you’d been with us before.”

Adrianna’s wedding day setup had featured white and gold linens. Tall crystal vases with long-stemmed white roses. “For my wedding day. Three years ago.”

Craig had arrived at the church a half hour late that day. The sanctuary had been packed and her mother a nervous wreck. She’d known the instant Craig had taken his place by the minister because relieved whispers had whisked through the room. Relieved and sick to her stomach, she’d never thought to ask what had been the delay.

Now all she could do was wonder why he’d been late. Had he been with Rhonda? Was she that wrong about him?

Cary frowned as if she could have kicked herself for not remembering. “Barrington. You married Craig Thornton.”

“That’s right.”

“I knew you looked familiar. At weddings I often don’t look past the bride’s white dress.” She stammered and searched for the best thing to say. “I was sorry to hear about your husband’s accident and passing.”

Adrianna made an effort at a genuine smile. She wondered when the day would come when Craig’s accident didn’t shadow her life.

Cary hesitated as if she debated what she was about to say. Adrianna braced for another platitude.

“I do remember your reception very clearly. I’d never seen so much food, and the champagne flowed endlessly.”

“My mother knows how to throw a party. And my mother-in-law wanted a big splash.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots immediately. The event was a huge deal for the hotel. I was head waitress then. It was all hands on deck.”

“You all did a nice job that day. Everything went smoothly.”

They started to walk toward the door. “We pride ourselves on handling problems that could ruin a bride’s big day.”

Something in the tone of her voice had her saying, “Were there problems on my wedding day?”