Profile of Retribution: FBI Profiler Romantic Suspense (Profile Series #3) (19 page)

Cameron nodded. What could he say to that? Murder impacts so many more people than just the victim. But was money enough for the Blacks? Was their resentment so deep that they’d harass Tisha and Bradley Lucas? He couldn’t picture April committing the acts of vandalism or writing the threatening notes, but Dwayne was another story.

Cameron pointedly glanced at Dwayne. “I need to know where you were the evening of April tenth?”

“How the hell am I supposed to remember that?”

“Wait a minute.” April opened her purse and took out a small calendar. She flipped a couple of pages, then responded. “Dwayne worked late at the Holly’s house on South Street. They’re expecting a new baby, and Dwayne painted their nursery. I have their phone number if you want to call them.”

Cameron withdrew his notebook from his jacket and pushed it across the table to her. “Thanks. Just write down the name and number.”

As April wrote, a sharp image sizzled through Cameron’s brain—Bradley’s desk in the reception area, coated with about a half-gallon of blood red paint. Dwayne Black was a house painter.

“Hey, Dwayne. My brother’s fiancée watches a lot of HGTV. She says we need to paint our front door red for a pop of color. Do you have many clients that want their front door painted red?”

“Sure, I’ve had a couple of clients who wanted to do that.” He slipped a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Cameron. “Just give me a call. Of course, it might cost a little extra considering the drive and all.”

“Thanks. Folks, I think we can wrap this whole thing up if I could take a quick look inside your house and garage.”

A flare of anger lanced through Dwayne’s expression, as he got up and slid his chair back into place. April followed suit. “You can go straight to hell and while you’re there, get a search warrant.”

Chapter Thirty-six

Second Day Alone

Sunlight streamed across the bed and assaulted Tisha’s eyes as she struggled to wake up. Something inside her head pounded like a sledge hammer, and she winced from the pain as she shielded her eyes with her hand. Finally, she managed to push herself up to a sitting position, opened her eyes, and realized she was fully dressed, wearing the clothing she’d worn the day before. Oddly, her grandmother’s quilt covered her. The quilt was stored at the back of her closet and she had no memory of getting it out last night. Tisha cursed herself for finishing off the entire bottle of Pinot the night before. Damn it. She wanted the wine to make her sleepy not knock her out.

With her head exploding with pain, she got up and made her way to the kitchen where she brewed a pot of strong coffee. With a cold glass of water, she downed a few Advil, opened a bag of bread and placed two slices in the toaster. Her father used to tell her that strong coffee and plain toast was a good remedy for a hangover. Tisha hoped this was one of the times he was right.

Filling her mug with coffee, she wandered into the living room to sit in her favorite chair near the fireplace. She’d taken a couple of steps inside the room, when her heart froze and she dropped the hot coffee to the floor, ignoring the burning as it scalded her legs. Biting off the urge to scream, she felt the blood drain from her face. Everything in her living room was different. Furniture that hadn’t been moved in twenty years was now in a difference place. Her favorite chair near the fireplace was now by the window. The table that was in front of the window was now in a dim corner of the large room. Trembling, she gripped the back of the nearest chair and willed herself to calm down and try to make sense of it all. Easing toward the wall, she flipped on the light switch. To her horror, framed photographs of her sons lined the fireplace mantel each documenting a happy time in their lives. Happy times that lived only in her distant memory.

This was impossible. She had to be imagining the row of pictures on the mantel. Bradley had made a big show of packing them in a box and storing them in the basement, lecturing her the entire time about starting a new life, creating a new normal. Sobbing, Tisha sank to her knees, sick and shaken. Was she going crazy? How did the photographs get from the basement to the mantel if she didn’t put them there? Had she been in such a drunken stupor that she couldn’t remember what she did the night before?

Struggling to her feet, she moved from room-to-room checking each door and window to make sure it was locked, looking for any evidence that her home had been broken into the night before. Finding everything as it should be, she swallowed hard and returned to the living room half-expecting the photos to be gone and the furniture back where it should be. But it was not.

Fighting to even her breathing, she called Bradley at the hotel in New Orleans, but the call went to voice mail. Disconnecting the call, she thought about their last conversation when he’d called her crazy and paranoid. There was a good chance that her husband would not believe her. He may think she rearranged the furniture and returned the framed photographs to the mantel herself. Would he think she really was crazy and have her locked up somewhere?

Looking down at her cell phone, she wondered if she should call the police. Would they believe her? Probably not. One call to her husband, and they’d think she was daft, too.

Cursing Bradley and Krystle for leaving her alone, she went to the bar and poured herself a tall glass of wine, the nerves dancing in her body be damned.

Chapter Thirty-seven

The Visit

Bryan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at Mollie in the passenger seat beside him. “I’m not sure this is such a great idea.”

“No kidding. I didn’t get that. You’ve only said that three times now.”

“Tell me again why we’re driving to the Lucas house.”

“You were there when Cameron told us that Bradley went to a four-day conference in New Orleans leaving Tisha alone in the house. She must be scared to death with their vandal still on the loose. I just want to pay her a friendly visit, give her this basket of her favorite chocolate-chocolate-chip muffins, and make sure she’s okay.”

Grinning, Bryan asked, “And why do you think those are her favorite muffins?”

“I don’t think, I
know
. She always orders them when she comes to my cafe. That, and Bradley occasionally stops by to take a dozen home with him.”

Bryan pulled off the highway onto a dirt road that ran perpendicular to a field of corn.

“What are you doing? This is not the route to the Lucas house.”

“Correct.”

“Why are you stopping?”

Instead of answering, Bryan levered back his seat and dragged her over the console until she was sitting on his lap. Before she could object, he crushed his mouth to hers, exploring her mouth for all it was worth, igniting a bone-melting fire that surged through his blood. He wanted this woman. Seeing her and not having her was making him a crazy man.

There was an excellent chance she wanted him just as much because she melted against his body and wound her arms around his neck.

Bryan paused, drew a ragged breath. “We need some time alone.”

Looking down at him, trying to catch her breath, Mollie said, “I know it’s not easy dating a woman with a teenager in the house.”

Bryan feathered light kisses down her neck as his large hands circled her waist, holding her captive. “Any chance we could have next weekend away, just the two of us?”

“I’m not sure I can wait that long. It just so happens that Hailey is spending the night with her best friend. How does dinner for two tonight at my place sound?”

Smiling suggestively, he rubbed his thumb along her lower lip. “Just a heads up. I may not be able to wait for dessert.”

As he pulled into the Lucas driveway, Mollie adjusted her clothing and put a fresh coat of lipstick on her mouth. Bryan opened her door and when she got out, gave her an affectionate pat on her bottom that made her blush. At the front door, he pressed the doorbell several times before Tisha appeared, her blond hair tousled, her clothing wrinkled as if she slept in them.

“Hi, Mrs. Lucas. I hope you remember me. I’m Bryan Pittman. I live just down the road—”

Tisha interrupted. “Yes, Dr. Pittman. I remember your being here the night our mailbox was set on fire.”

“Yes, I was.” He placed his hand on the back of Mollie’s waist. “This is Mollie Adams. She owns the cafe in town.”

Tisha nodded at Mollie, then sent a questioning glance to Bryan. Mollie spoke up. “I hope you don’t mind us stopping by. It’s just that I haven’t seen you visit the cafe in a while and I thought you might like some chocolate-chocolate-chip muffins.” Mollie held out the basket to her, pulling back the white napkin to reveal the baked goods.

Tisha paused and for a moment Bryan didn’t think she was going to ask them in. But she surprised him by opening the door wide and gesturing them to come inside. Leading them to the kitchen, she asked them to sit down at the small breakfast table as she brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Bryan’s eyes narrowed on Tisha noticing the dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes and her quick, nervous movements as she gathered three mugs from the cabinet.

“I’m glad you stopped by. Bradley is away at a conference and Krystle, my housekeeper, is in Chicago, so it’s a bit lonely in the house.”

Bryan couldn’t be certain, but Tisha appeared more upset than lonely, making him wonder if the vandal had contacted her again. In addition, he could smell alcohol on her breath. “I haven’t talked to you since the mailbox incident. I want to assure you that Sgt. Chase is doing all he can to find your vandal.”

Placing a mug of hot coffee before each of them, Tisha sat down, her hands gripping her mug. “He can’t move fast enough for me. Bradley may be just blowing the whole thing off, but I think whoever is doing this is serious about wanting retribution. I don’t think he’s finished with us.” She turned to Mollie. “The last time I was in your restaurant, I was accosted by a large man. Do you remember that day? Did
you
see him?”

“Yes, I remember,” Mollie began. “I was heading toward your table with a broom when I saw him.”

“Is he a regular? Is he someone that you know? Would you be able to identify him if you saw him again?”

Mollie thought for a second. “He’s not a regular. Cam asked me about that. I’d never seen him before that day. Would I be able to recognize him? I’m not sure. I saw him from the side as he whispered something to you. I remember his looking hostile, maybe even angry. I wondered at the time if you knew him.”

“No, I’d never seen him before, either. Not sure I’d be able recognize him if I saw him again. I was too upset. I noticed him sitting at the bar, but couldn’t tell you what he looked like. But one thing I’m sure of is that he bumped into me on purpose. He meant for me to drop the coffee cup, make the mess, so he could pretend to help me clean it up.”

“Please forgive me for asking, but he
did
say something to you. What did he say?”

Tisha flushed as the memory hit her front and center. “He called me a monster-making bitch. He said he couldn’t believe I’d show my face in public.”

Mollie reached across the table to squeeze Tisha’s hand. “I am so sorry that happened. He had no right to say that.”

“He just said out loud what everyone else is thinking. What my sons did to those poor girls
was
monstrous. I need to buck up and get used to this kind of reaction.”

Shaking his head, Bryan spoke up. “No, you shouldn’t. Not for a minute do you deserve that hurtful attitude. I think it’s that your sons aren’t here anymore for them to hate, so people are going to hate you and your husband. It’s wrong. It’s not fair.”

“Nor was it fair for the seven families who lost their daughters, sisters, mothers, or wives. There are times when I want to contact them and tell them how sorry I am. But there is no way I can repay them for what they’ve lost. And I am the last person they would want to see or hear from.”

Mollie leaned toward Tisha. “They are not the only ones grieving a loss. You lost both of your sons. I’m a mother, and I can’t imagine losing my daughter. I’m sorry for your loss, Tisha. If you ever need anyone to talk to, I volunteer.”

As they drove away from the house, Bryan turned to Mollie. “Something’s wrong back there. Tisha was wired before we arrived. I feel it in my gut that something is off. There’s something she isn’t telling us.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

Charity

Disconnecting the call, Cameron realized that was the first time Bryan had ever shared a gut feeling with him. Bryan was a physician, very left-brained and analytical, so hearing from him that he had no facts to back it up but thought something was off at the Lucas house, Cam paid attention. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it when he was still in Indianapolis conducting suspect interviews. He put in a call to Gail and told her to keep watch over the Lucas place until he returned, which meant checking the house as she drove assigned routes and went out on calls. It wasn’t much, but with staff and budget constraints, it was his only option he had.

He was parked outside a small, gray-shingled home with white trim, and a white picket fence surrounding the front yard. Charity Cassity promised she’d meet him at her house around five-thirty, but it was six before she pulled her white Honda Civic into the drive. Unlike the others, she was not a fan of Detective Wayne Griffin. In fact, she told Cameron if he was bringing Griffin with him for the interview, he could just stay at home. Charity Cassity was not a woman to keep her anger at the police and bitterness about her daughter’s murder a secret. In fact, she was quite vocal, which made Cameron curious about whether or not that anger extended to Bradley and Tisha Lucas.