Unforgivable (27 page)

“You hear about the fire?” she asked Ben, pointedly ignoring Katie. “Started last night at the north edge of the Oconee Forest. Already burned a hundred acres.”

“Heard it on the radio. Damn shame,” Ben said, shaking his head. “I’m glad it’s not where I’m taking my farm calls this weekend.” He turned to Katie. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” He nodded his thanks to Dinah and led the way out. Several people nearby waved to Ben as he walked past.

“I…” She wanted to draw out the answer until they got outside, but he paused at the glass door and waited for her to finish. Very polite of him. Two weeks ago she would have given in. This time she said, “I’m sure.”

Thelma Johnson had been canning since Grover disappeared night before last. The cousins had helped as much as they could, what with having their own farms to tend to. Her own son couldn’t be bothered to come back from college and help his mother. He had some important job for the summer, more important than farming or his family apparently. He was sure Grover had just run off for a few days. 

She hauled the bucket of peelings to the pig pit, keeping her eye on the sky above. It wasn’t quite as dark as it had been when Grover had taken this same path. The sun was barely up. She was going to be careful, anyway. The aliens wouldn’t get her, too.

She’d seen the lights over the last few years, just like Grover had. Folks made fun of them when they talked about aliens flying overhead. Not a one believed them. The durned police wouldn’t hear of it, either, but how else could one explain a whole person disappearing without a trace?

Some folks said it might be the killer who was taking the women in the area. Even the sheriff who came to take her statement thought that was unlikely. He had asked about the state of their marriage, with apologies. Thelma had wondered about that too, but only for a moment. Grover wasn’t the sort of man who’d stage something like this. Why, he knew where the door was. Besides, this farm had been in his family for three generations. No way would he walk away from it. Even the sheriff had agreed. She’d even heard someone say it was the pigs that got him.

Thelma laughed aloud as she neared the pit. Aliens it could be. But pigs? That was silly.

She switched on the lights and hauled the bucket to the troughs. Their big, beautiful pigs converged on her. She lost her balance for a moment and grabbed onto the side of the trough. The pigs dumped over the bucket she’d dropped and snorted through the peelings.

Something shiny caught her eye on the ground between the troughs. She angled her hand down into the muck to reach it. Maybe the aliens left it behind. Maybe it was proof-positive that Grover was way up there in the skies above.

It was long and hard and covered in mud. She left the pigs to ravage the bucket and walked over to the spigot. In the dim light she saw that it was pale, and that the glitter that had caught her eye only adorned one part of it. She walked over to the light—and screamed.

The finger dropped back to the ground and sunk into the muck.

   Ben said little as Katie got up early, fixed his breakfast, and sent him off to the country. Not even a thank you. Then again, fixing breakfast, keeping the house clean, all of the household tasks fell within her responsibility. Even though she worked as many hours as he did at the hospital, she felt obligated to handle the house, too.

As resentment rushed to the surface, she realized it had been there for a long time, carefully covered in a layer of gratitude. She’d long assumed that since she wasn’t attractive or lovable, she had to make up for it by being complacent. Earning her keep. 

She’d been brutally honest two nights ago with Silas when she’d admitted she hadn’t been good and pure for a long time. That’s when he’d kissed her. Whenever she thought about that kiss, she involuntarily pressed her fingertips to her mouth.

Silas hadn’t asked for anything. He hadn’t offered much, either. Today he was going to give her something—the truth. All of it.

She pulled out the dress Ben had bought for her in Atlanta. It was as ugly as anything else he’d ever bought her. Still, she’d have to wear it once in a while or he’d mention it in his hurt way. She hung it in the back of the closet, where she found the other outfit Bertrice had brought over: purple jeans and a top with peace signs emblazoned in a colorful print.

She felt the same way she had when she’d put the other outfit on: liberated and a touch sexy. She stood in front of the dresser mirror and tried to see herself through Silas’s eyes. That was impossible, of course. She wasn’t beautiful, but when Silas looked at her, she felt beautiful.

She pulled the gold cross out of the jewelry box and put it on. It looked right there, a symbol of her mother. She wouldn’t hide it from Ben any longer.

Her hair, washed that morning, hung limply over her shoulders. When she’d lived with the Emersons, they’d kept her hair short for easy maintenance. Since marrying Ben, he’d insisted she keep it past her shoulders. She wanted something different. Her heart thrummed as she took the scissors from the sewing kit and held them poised over a hank of hair. Ben would be disappointed. She could well imagine the look on his face.

Four inches of brown hair rained into the sink. She trimmed the rest as evenly as she could and finger-curled the ends under. Although only a few ounces of hair were gone, it felt as though a hundred pounds had lifted off her. She picked up the picture of her and her mother and compared her laughing image there to the one in the mirror. She was getting closer to that Katie. All she needed was a reason to laugh so unabashedly.

Only after she’d curled her hair did she discover her birthmark now showed clearly. Ben would hate that. She traced her finger around the edge of the fist-sized stain and wondered if Silas would hate it, too. She had no make up, not even foundation. Something else Ben hated.

“You’re not going to kiss him again, Katie,” she told her reflection. “It’s not right. You have to decide what you’re going to do with your life.” Her throat went tight at the prospect of doing anything. What could she do? Leave Ben? And go where? The same vicious cycle.

What about Silas
? 

“He’s just trying to protect me. Doesn’t that sound familiar? Maybe that’s all he wants, is to be my hero. Look what that got me last time.”

Something in Silas’s eyes said he wanted to possess her , too. The thought of him possessing her stirred her in a way Ben had never stirred her.

She slung an old backpack over her shoulder. The gun was inside; she was beginning to feel like a gun-toting individual, though it still wasn’t loaded. As she headed out the door, she wished she still had Goldie to keep her company on the walk. It saddened her that Ben wouldn’t even share her with a pet.

Her hand stilled on the doorknob. He didn’t want to share her. Is that what it was about? He often told her she belonged to him, words that had once been endearing and were now cloying. In every way she could think of, he kept her to himself. Not intentionally. He’d already lived out here when she married him, already had the veterinary hospital that wasn’t close to much. The first time she’d mentioned having a baby, though, his first response was
I
’
m not ready to share you yet.

Which meant his offer to try to have a baby with her was out of sheer desperation. 

She locked the door behind her. As she descended the steps, she heard a vehicle coming down the drive. Her whole body reacted when Harold’s old truck came into view. The back was crammed with junk as usual.

Her instinct was to run inside the house, but he was already out of the truck before she could react. Her fingers tightened around the square post in front as he approached with an amiable expression on his face.

“Katie, how are you doing this morning?”

“Fine. Thank you,” she had to add. “What can I do for you?”

He glanced toward the house. “Is Ben around? He asked me awhile back if I ever run across paintings. Says you have a couple of blank walls he’d like to do something with. I got a couple I picked up yesterday that might fit the bill.” He walked back to the truck and pulled out two large oil paintings. Both were nature scenes done in garish colors.

“He’s…not here right now. Why don’t you come back later? Or better yet, I’ll have him stop by your place and take a look at them.”

He was already at the bottom step with a painting in each large hand. “Well, since I’m here, why don’t we go inside and see if they look good? That’s the best way to tell, don’t you think?” He started up the steps.

“Look, I was on my way out, so if this can wait…”

He glanced around at the absence of the van. “Need a ride somewhere?”

“No, I’m walking, but thank you anyway. I’ve got to get going—”

Harold took the remaining step toward the front door. “Look, I brought these out here for you, so let’s see how they look, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

No way was she going in that house with him. “I’m late—”

He tried the doorknob, finding it locked. When he took in her surprised look, he said, “What the hell is wrong with you, anyway? Ain’t I good enough to be inside your house? Is that it?” He walked closer.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that—”

He threw the paintings down. “That sure is it, isn’t it? You’re a regular snob is what you are. Don’t have a nice word to say to me ever, don’t thank me for giving you rides, and don’t show any appreciation at all for driving all the way out here to show you my paintings. You think you’re too good to talk to me. Well let me tell you something: you aren’t.”

Katie backed up as he moved forward. His breath smelled like stale beer. “I don’t think I am. Really.”

“It’s time you showed me some respect. As an equal.” The muscle in his eyelid pulsed faster as he took a step closer.

The sound of a vehicle coming down the drive sent her scurrying down the steps.
Please let it be Silas.

It wasn’t.

The sheriff’s SUV rolled to a stop behind the truck. Tate took his time getting out of the vehicle and sauntering to the bottom step where she remained. In her unease she’d forgotten about her appearance until he stopped short and blinked in surprise.

“Wow, Katie, you’re looking something else.” Not a compliment, just a frank appraisal.

She’d worn a bra this time, but still covered her chest with her arms. She glanced back at Harold, who was coming down the steps with the paintings.

“Howdy, Tate. Stopped by to show Katie some paintings I got in. Guess she didn’t like them.” He tossed them into the back of the truck. 

“Didn’t know you did home deliveries.”

“For special customers, I do. Ben’s bought a lot of stuff from me over the years. Have a good day.” With a final challenging look at her, he climbed into his truck and left.

That challenge was whether she was going to mention their conversation to Tate. “Have you ever checked into Harold? I mean as being the one who’s taking the girls? You do think it’s someone local, don’t you?”

Tate laughed. “It’s someone local all right. But Harold? He’s a big guy, but he’s no devil. Katie, I think you have it in for everyone.”

Well, what had she expected? “What’s up, Sheriff?” 

“I know you’re here by yourself and wanted to check on you, is all.”

She was glad he did, even if he wouldn’t consider Harold a threat.

“How’d you know Ben’s out of town?”

“He calls, asking us to make sure you’re all right. I think what he’s really after is making sure you’re not with Silas. We’re getting closer to nailing him, you know. We finally got some evidence.” And he was going to enjoy telling her. She reevaluated her previous thought about him looking like Mel Gibson. He had the intense, almost over-the-edge blue eyes, but he wasn’t nearly as good looking.

Her throat tightened, and she involuntarily covered it with her hand. “What evidence?”

Those eyes narrowed in amusement. “See, even you’re not sure about him, are you?” He walked up to the steps where she leaned against the column. “We finally figured out how the clever son-of-a-bitch hides the bodies. You probably heard about Grover Thompson being missing the same night the girls disappeared. Went out to feed the pigs and
whoosh
, he was gone. Last night his wife found a finger.” 

He caught her wince. “But it wasn’t his finger, no siree. It was most likely Dana Westbury’s finger. The tests aren’t done yet, but her mama said she wore sparkly nail polish and the fingernail had the same kind. We cut open the pigs and guess what we found? Body parts, or at least what was left of them.” He took a step up. “He cuts them up with an axe. He cuts them up and feeds them to the pigs.” He ground in each word, and she couldn’t help recoiling. “That’s what your friend does.”

She didn’t want to think about that finger, or the other images that came to mind. “That’s…horrible.”

“Yes, it is. But he’s smart, you see. Gotta admire him for that. Knows pigs will eat anything flesh and bone. Now we just gotta figure out what he does with the clothes and jewelry.” He had closed the distance and now stood only a foot in front of her. She could smell male sweat and Old Spice. “Don’t you admire him for that?”

That steely gaze held her for a moment, but she finally broke free to ask, “You said Grover was missing. Maybe he’s the one doing this.” 

“When we searched the barn, we found him buried in muck way toward the back. He went out to feed the pigs and caught Silas in the act. Understandably, Silas had to kill him.”

Not Silas.
It was another image, more terrible than the rest in its implications: the cut on his arm.

“He probably stalked them the same way he stalks you. He does stalk you, Katie. He’s like your shadow, following you to work, peeking in your windows. He’s gone to the Baptist church a couple of times, too. I saw him go inside for a while the last time. Maybe trying to atone for his sins. Or maybe he’s challenging God to stop him.
‘
Stop me if You can. I’m the other side of You, the darkness to Your light. The evil to Your goodness’. You think that’s what he’s doing, Katie?”