Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2) (24 page)

“Alex! She’s not stopping! She’s going to try and jump the creek!”

The bridge ended, and they hit the sidewalk with a jolt.

“Alex! On the sidewalk!”

A woman was on the sidewalk with a double stroller. Two toddlers were clinging to her legs.

Alex frantically blasted his horn.

The woman looked up. Her eyes were wide in her white, frozen face.

“If I can’t stop in time, I’ll have to hit the grass.”

Alex hit the brakes. If he tried to stop too abruptly, they’d crash. If they couldn’t stop in time, Alex would be forced to crash to miss the woman and her children.

Alex stopped the bike with inches to spare.

They twisted to look behind them at the same time.

The car left the opposite bank, and hurtled over the creek.

Just short of the bank, it crashed into the water. The displaced water flew straight up into the air, and back into the creek bed.

Alex shut off the motorcycle, lowered the kickstand, and removed his helmet. “Are you OK, Marisa?” The bike was blessedly still.

Shaking, Marisa slid off. She could still feel the vibrations in her legs and her ears rang. Her stomach jittered, and her intestines felt like water. “I think I am going to puke.” Her hands trembling, she yanked at her helmet, and yelped when it pulled her hair. “Damn bow.” She unclipped it and pulled off her helmet. She bent over, holding her belly. “And I’ve lost one of my shoes.”

“We have to go and see if she’s hurt.” Alex ran to the bank, and slid quickly down the crumbling dirt bank.

“Great! She tries to kill us and now we’re going to administer first aid!”

Marisa slid after him, barely aware of the tears on her face and the snot running down from her nose. “Maybe I should find a shaved ice stand, and get her a cold drink, too,” Marisa muttered to Alex’s back.

He wrenched the door open. He leaned into the car. Alex emerged from the car and stared at Marisa.

“Oh, God, don’t tell me she’s dead!” Marisa swiped at the combination of falling tears and running nose.

“She’s not in there. She must have bailed before the creek.”

The sound of sirens filled the air.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fred’s bald head gleamed with perspiration. His wrinkled face was tense and his round blue eyes were watchful. With his mouth compressed in a straight line and his body held rigidly erect, he appeared to be braced for a blow.

The clock ticked on the mantle over the fireplace in Fred’s small, neat living room. The smell of spaghetti sauce made Althea’s stomach turn.

When they’d knocked on Fred’s door, he had told them with an apologetic smile that he was busy. However, tomorrow would work, he’d said.

Clay had shoved the door open, sending the astonished Fred stumbling backwards.

Now, Clay held out the picture of Fred and Mrs. Craft. “Pictures don’t lie.”

Fred’s blue-veined hands clenched. “I don’t know that man.”

Althea advanced, her shaking hands full of photographs.

Fred backed away from her, until his legs hit the couch. He fell against the cushions.

She stood over Fred like an avenging fury. “Stop lying to us. We know it’s you. And we don’t care what you did with Mrs. Craft. What I do care about are these...” She threw the pictures in his lap.

Fred glanced down. He closed his eyes in pain.

“What did you do to these children? You stole their innocence with these pictures. What else did you do to them?”

Fred’s face was still and expressionless as a stone slab. “I don’t—”

“Marisa is in those pictures.” Althea slapped him as hard as she could. His head snapped back.

Clay stood by her side. “If you don’t tell us what we want to know, I’ll kill you.”

“Stop!”

All heads snapped to the arched doorway.

Clara’s head was thrown back and her massive body was shaking. “Don’t hit him.” She shook a large ladle at them. “He didn’t do it.”

“Clara, stay out of this.” The red mark of Althea’s fingers bloomed on Fred’s face. “Thirty years ago, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for a sexual thrill. I had a torrid affair with Greta. When she wanted me to let her husband take pictures of me with her, I thought it would be a new thrill for me.”

Fred grabbed the pictures on his lap and shook them. “But I drew the line at children. I didn’t know at first what Greta’s husband was doing. I don’t think she knew, either. When I found out, I confronted him, with Greta there. She seemed shocked, although it’s possible she was simply acting appalled. He just laughed at me. Greta packed her things and left him.”

Clara shuffled into the room, and stood beside Fred’s chair.

Fred threw the pictures onto the coffee table. “Greta’s husband was very good at grooming children, giving them presents and treats. He used a combination of threats and rewards to keep the children from talking about the pictures he took of them.”

Fred covered his face briefly with his hands. When he removed them, his blue eyes were tortured. “I had to stop him. I didn’t have any proof, but I went to the sheriff anyway. I didn’t think he’d believe me. But right after I saw him, some of the children’s parents began to figure out what was going on. They went to the sheriff as well. You have to remember this was a rural area, it hadn’t been developed, and people here had a different definition of justice than the city people.”

Althea said, “Do you mean vigilante justice? I remember on the patio, you said something about Greta’s husband being put down like a rabid dog.”

“The sheriff formed a group, which included the parents of the children and myself. One night, we went to Barton’s house.”

Althea put her hand to her heart. “Barton!”

Fred didn’t notice. “When we got there, Barton was at home alone. When he saw the sheriff and the parents of the children he’d exploited, he knew he was in trouble. He slammed the door shut. We put our shoulders to it, and crashed into the house. He was reaching for his rifle when the sheriff shot it out of his hands.”

Fred closed his eyes. “The parents fell on him like jackals. Barton was tortured, his eyes poked out and his fingers cut off. His manhood was also cut off.” Fred opened his eyes. “Finally, he got what was coming to him in the form of a shot to the heart. After he was dead, we covered it up. We didn’t get caught. We started the rumor he’d been in a poker game that night, was caught cheating, and the other players killed him for it.”

Clay slipped his arm around Althea and squeezed her tight against him. “Fred, after your confrontation with Greta on the patio, you knew you had to silence her. She either found out or deduced you’d been the one to put the bullet in her husband’s heart. Or perhaps you found out her innocence was just an act. You stole onto the patio that morning. You saw her sitting on a bench. You pulled out the knife you’d either brought with you or you stole from the kitchen. You stabbed her in the back, to keep her from telling anyone you were the one who put the bullet in Barton’s heart—”

“I was the one who shot him.” Clara announced.

“No, Clara!” Fred pulled himself up out the chair.

“Fred, I have to do this. When it came time to end his life, I insisted on pulling the trigger. My daughters were not directly affected. But I was the lunch lady. All the children at the school were my children.”

Clara’s wrinkled face was gentle as she walked to Althea. She put her hand on Althea’s arm. “I killed Barton Adair, Greta’s first husband. Barton Adair, Marisa’s grandfather.”

“There’s Parvis!”

Tara hissed so fiercely in her ear, Marisa wondered if she had permanent damage.

“Marisa, what is he doing here at the nightclub? Do you think he’s investigating the online group for his column? Seeing what he missed by mistreating you? Or maybe he’s the murderer. What if he’s buying and selling porn online?”

“Tara, I sincerely doubt he’s the porn dealer!”

Tara craned her neck to follow Parvis’ progress across the bar. “I bet he decided to troll my online group for potential porn customers. What if Sarah found out Parvis was selling porn? He had to kill her. He was in the strip club with you. Parvis took the knife from the bar, in case he got the opportunity to use it. Sarah fell practically at his feet. He leaned over her, pretending to see if she was OK. Using the upheaval and confusion to his advantage, he slid the knife in her back. He pretended he found her that way.”

“That’s a great theory, Tara. I actually did consider it.”

Marisa and Tara jumped, and Marisa’s Diet Coke splashed on her skirt.

“Jeez, Dreamus! You must have excelled in skulking at the police academy,” Marisa said as she brushed the liquid off her skirt. “I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

“Don’t forget, I’m in disguise.” He was dressed in his porn king hunting uniform of baggy pants, t-shirt, bandana, and enough chains draped on his body to pull a log truck. “Did you notice Parvis Stidham’s black eye? It covers a very large section of his face.”

Dreamus was right. Even in the dim light, Marisa could see the greens and purples blooming around Parvis’ eye. As Marisa stared, he turned his head slightly and met her eyes before she had a chance to look away. Marisa felt as though her eyes were locked with his, and she was permanently joined with him in an emotionally charged gaze.

Parvis turned away from her.

Oooops. Maybe not totally permanently joined.

In spite of their stressful parting, Marisa expected at least an acknowledgement of her presence. “Fine,” she muttered.

“It appears you and Parvis had a falling out of some sort, Marisa.” Dreamus leaned against the wall. “Now Stidham has a huge black eye. And I noticed Caldwell’s knuckles are skinned.”

Marisa and Tara turned as one and faced Dreamus. Both faces were incredulous.

“Hey, I told you before. I’m a detective. I detect.”

“It wasn’t so much a falling out...more of a parting of the ways. Parvis seems to think my past behavior is the best indicator of my future behavior. I’ve made some significant changes in my life. But he doesn’t want to take a chance.”

“You mean because you used to drink and were addicted to drugs and hung out at the strip club every weekend, he thinks you’ll go back to the old ways?” Dreamus smiled slightly at their gaping mouths. “There’s not much that goes on in this town I don’t know about.” His knowing eyes were pinned on Tara.

The blonde fidgeted, setting her curves into a slight jiggle.

Marisa said, “No harm, no foul. It’s not like we were dating or anything. Saturday was the first time I’d seen him since the events four months ago. I’m just glad I did not invest more in him.”

“Maybe he came here tonight on the chance of seeing you,” Tara said.

Marisa held up a hand. “No way. He’s on the scent of another hot story. He knows Sarah was here last Friday, and her death must be connected with this group. It’s just part of the job to him.”

Firmly forcing Parvis out of her mind, Marisa stared across the crowded bar. William and Alex were talking to the High Priest of Death, the funeral home director. Since Steve was dressed in a suit and tie, he must have had another Friday night viewing.

“Marisa, you and Tara-byte will lead to my early death.”

Marisa turned back to the lawman. “What do you mean?”

Dreamus surreptitiously glanced around to make sure they were still out of earshot. “You added an undercover operative without clearing it with me first. You sent my blood pressure skyrocketing so high, it’s a wonder I didn’t have a stroke.”

Marisa said soothingly, “You shouldn’t let yourself get so stressed out over little things.”

Dreamus’ face reddened.

Marisa wondered if the vein was popping out under the bandana.

Tara intervened hastily. “What is it with Alex? He is so different. He always seemed so puny and focused on only saving the hospital money. He always looked like a pasty accountant. Definitely pasty. Now it’s like he’s a normal, rational human being. With a tan.”

“You never know what a person is really like.” His eyes behind his tinted glasses were focused unwaveringly on Tara’s flushed face. “Or what she is thinking.” With that enigmatic remark, he turned away.

Tara stamped her foot. “Ohhhhh, he makes me so mad! He’s so judgmental! So I almost killed a man a few months ago! Big deal!”

“Tara...”

Either not hearing Marisa or pretending not to hear her, Tara headed to the bar.

“What’s wrong with Tara? I’ve never seen her in such a snit.” Marina Poole cocked her head, her three ponytails shaking with her movement.

Marisa shrugged, not wanting to discuss her friend. She racked her brain for a change of subject. “How are your nieces?”

“Bryce!” Marina Poole spotted the Royal Bloodhound, and trotted over to him.

“Marina Poole is an only child, Marisa. She doesn’t have any nieces or nephews.”

Her heart stuttering in her chest, Marisa whirled. “Carla! I didn’t see you standing there!” She narrowed her eyes. What better role than “den mother” for the head of the porn ring? Carla would be in an excellent position to execute any number of surreptitious acts. “By the way, I never asked. What’s your online moniker?”

Like a cobra weaving to music, Carla’s reed thin body swayed. “I am Merlin.” In the dim light, her features seemed to rearrange themselves into wise lines. Her huge hair seemed to coalesce into a hood.

Marisa blinked.

“One could argue not the best Merlin.” Shaking her head in regret, Carla hauled her black tube top up her flat chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Caleb is dead and Brianna is locked up. Although to give myself some credit, I did try to warn Caleb away from ‘public service work.’ And I did my best to thwart Brianna’s plan. Did you know she thought she was carrying a real gun?” Carla’s eyes twinkled.

“You followed her into the bathroom! You switched her weapon for a paintball gun!”

The older woman looked down at her skimpy tube top and form-fitting capris. “Marisa, where would I hide a weapon of that size?”

“If you did, you saved Alex’s life. Thank you.” Marisa shuddered at the terrifying thought of Alex’s vitality extinguished. To distract herself from her dark thoughts, Marisa tried to lighten the conversation. “I thought Merlin was a man.”

Carla shrugged, sending the tube top slipping. “Do you know how hard it is for a woman to make it in a man’s world? Back then, there wasn’t any such thing as the Civil Rights Act. Merlin pretended to be male to break not the glass ceiling, but the granite ceiling.”

Behind her head, mysterious fingers of smoke rose as if from an ancient brazier. Carla’s hands moved in synchronization with the lazy plumes. Her eyes were dark pools, filled with knowledge.

Marisa’s chest constricted.

“Hey! No smoking in here, Duke of Marlboro!”

Carla laughed as she pirouetted, exposing a tall, craggy faced man holding a smoldering cigarette. “Things are not as they appear, Marisa. Remember it.”

Marisa laughed weakly at her own fancies.

Alex walked across the crowded room. His stride was confident and lithe. Marisa’s eyes narrowed. Most of the women in the bar were watching him cross the room.

“No luck with the crypt keeper.” Alex stood next to her.

“Carla—” Marisa broke off. The older woman had disappeared. “She was just here.” Marisa scanned the room.

“Who?” Alex frowned. “Carla? I haven’t seen her all night, and I’ve been watching who comes and goes.”

An amused laugh seemed to echo throughout the dark corners of the bar. Marisa shook herself, and pushed the enigma of Carla from her mind. “Do you think the High Priest of Death is using the group to distribute child pornography?” Marisa shivered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he molests dead bodies in the funeral home. It wouldn’t be a stretch for him to be involved in the porn ring.”

Amazed, Alex turned to her. “Steve seems like a good guy. He works in a funeral home, and he indulges himself in a macabre sort of humor. That doesn’t make him the villain.”

“If you don’t like the idea of the High Priest of Death as a suspect, then who do you think is the murderer?”

Alex looked across the room.

Marisa followed his gaze. “The Royal Bloodhound? You think he’s behind everything?”

Alex shrugged. “He’s a respected businessman. He’s obviously highly intelligent. What if he’s using that quirky dog persona to throw everyone off his track?” Alex slid a sideways glance at her. “He’s been posting comments about you online, Marisa.”

“Posting comments about
me
? Why on earth would he do that?”

“You must have made quite an impression on him at the last meeting. He goes on and on about your intelligence and your attractiveness. I think he’s hoping Tara will do some matchmaking between the two of you.”

Marisa threw up a harassed hand. “No way do I want anyone trying to fix me up with him. He tries to bite people and he howls at the members as they come in the door. And,” Marisa’s voice rose in outrage, “when he saw me tonight, he tried to lick my face!”

Alex chuckled. “At least he didn’t try to put his nose up your skirt.” He shook with laughter.

Marisa’s breath whooshed out of her chest as she felt herself scooped up in a bone-crushing bear hug. Her feet were dangling several inches off the floor.

“Marisa! How awesome it is to run into you! How have you been?”

Her hugger shook her like a terrier with a chew toy. “Uggghhhh...”

She heard Alex say mildly, “I don’t think she can talk in that vise grip of yours. If you loosen your hold on her, she can probably respond with something other than grunts.”

Marisa was dropped to the floor. She wheezed, “What the hell!” She looked up into the face turned down at her. She looked up about a foot. The face was round with remaining youthfulness. The blue eyes sparkled with fun, and he was grinning down at her. His hair was a riot of black curls, and bounced energetically with his movements. The man was tall and he was thick with muscle. He held out his bulky arms. “I’ll be devastated if you don’t recognize me!” His face shone with good humor, and his smile looked as if it was used a lot.

Marisa’s brow cleared. “Of course I recognize you! Nick the waiter!”

Nick threw back his head and laughed, catching the attention of everyone within a fifty-yard radius. “Not a waiter any longer! The past two years, I’ve worked my way up in the boxing world. I just opened my own gym.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. He handed Marisa the rectangle. “It’s called ‘Think Outside the Box.’ It’s geared toward boxers.”

“Very cute play on words, Nick.” Afraid she’d laugh, Marisa avoided eye contact with Alex.

Nick leaned down until his face was close to hers. “Come see me at the gym sometime, Marisa. I’ll give you the special tour. Then maybe you’d like to have dinner with me.” He bounced away as if he was riding a pogo stick.

Alex was openly inquiring. “A friend of yours?”

“In a manner of speaking. It’s a bit of a convoluted story...”

Alex grinned. “Somehow, I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“You already know I started the online group a couple of years ago. There was a guy named Derick who was posting great comments. He was insightful, and hilariously funny. We started messaging back and forth outside the group. I found out he was a database administrator at a college in southern Indiana. He was coming to Louisville a couple of days a week to work on his doctorate in information technology.

“The communication between us escalated from email messages to instant messenger to telephone conversations. He was so amusing and his mind was so quick...I loved communicating with him. When he suggested we meet for lunch on one of his ‘in Louisville’ days, I accepted.” Marisa paused to sip her Diet Coke. “I couldn’t believe how different he was in real life than he was online. I should have known the meeting was doomed when he immediately started picking on the waiter. He was very condescending, and nothing the waiter could do pleased him.”

“And Nick was the waiter!”

“You’re getting ahead of the story! Anyway, as the conversation continued, it got worse and worse. Derick was so negative about everyone and everything. He talked about a co-worker of his who was suffering from depression and who’d made some comments about suicide. Derick said he got fed up with the guy moaning and groaning. He said he finally told the guy to do them all a favor and go ahead and kill himself.”

“Oh, my God, what a cold, uncaring, inconsiderate bastard.”

“And then he was talking about the Ph. D. program. He said there was a quiet Asian girl in the group. He said he started saying things like ‘Godzirra! Godzirra!’ and pointing up in the air. You remember all those Godzilla movies made in Japan? Derick was blatantly making fun of her. Then he said he made her cry. He went on to say his professor was totally unreasonable, because he told Derick he would be kicked out of the program if he didn’t leave the young lady alone.”