Colleen Thompson Touch of Evil (epub)

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.Late or not, he meant to track down Laney.He started out by driving to Aunt Ava’s, where Laney had been living, the last he’d heard.Though not nearly as grand as Ross’s mother’s home, the handsome Craftsman bungalow belonging to her twin sister was located in the historic area near downtown’s antique and gift shops.When he pulled up at the curb, Ross found the gray-and-white house dark.The gas lamppost was unlit, too, though it normally burned all night.With both his aunt and mother out of town, Ross made a mental note to check the lamp on his day off.Hitting one of the speed-dial numbers on his cell phone, he climbed out of the old convertible.“Come on, Laney,” he muttered as he opened the painted iron gate and let himself into the yard.But the phone in his aunt’s house went unanswered.Surely, in a town as small as Dogwood, the news of Caleb LeJeune’s death had quickly reached her.But the question was, had Laney barricaded herself inside to weep over the loss of the band she’d referred to as “her life” or gone to one of her sisters’, cousins’, or friends’ houses so as not to be alone?Ross puffed out a breath, frustrated by the thought of a long night spent tracking her down—not to mention the anthill he’d be kicking by alarming his drama-prone relations.Please be inside, Laney, he thought as he climbed the porch’s stairs and knocked at the front door.No one answered, but through the lace sheer covering the sidelight window, he spotted a sight that made his heart jerk painfully in his chest…Silhouetted by a dim light shining from the rear of the house, a rope dangled in the kitchen doorway.Suspended above one of his aunt’s dining chairs, the hangman’s noose gaped like an empty socket, waiting for its neck.Chapter ThreeSouthern trees bear a strange fruit, Blood on the leaves and blood at the root…—From “Strange Fruit,” Abel Meeropol,in a poem later set to music andperformed by Billie Holliday“Laney,” Ross shouted, praying he could stop her as he fumbled for the key Aunt Ava had given him.It took him three tries to fit it into the lock and turn it, an interval he measured in the wild gallop of his own pulse, the shallow burn of his breath.The front door swung open and he rushed inside, his hand flipping on a light switch as he repeated his cousin’s name.Sound came at him from two opposite directions: an incongruously raucous burst of song—accordion and fiddle with a washboard scrape of rhythm—tumbling down the hallway, along with the quieter but unmistakable creeeeak-click of the back screen door closing.Ross charged past the dangling noose, knocking the chair onto its side as he raced into the kitchen.With his mind on the string of suicides, he thought of nothing but catching Laney before she had the chance to do herself harm, most likely after listening to recordings of her late band.His gut dropped like a stone when he heard her voice behind him.“What are you doing, Ross?”He wheeled around to see his cousin, who stood trembling as she stared wide-eyed at the noose.With her wavy, dark brown hair sliding out of a long ponytail, her face splotchy, and her lashes clumped with tears, she wore sweatpants with a T-shirt—and clutched a wooden bat in her hands.“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Always a small woman, barely topping five feet, she sounded shaken-up, bewildered.“Someone was in here,” he said, gesturing toward the laundry room.“I saw that rope through the front window.When I came in, I heard the door shut.”He hurried to the laundry room as Laney flipped on lights.Though the screen door had closed, the inner door, normally left locked, stood ajar.As he started through it, his cousin gripped his arm.“Don’t go out there.”Taking the bat from her hands, he stepped out onto the back steps, where he scanned the yard for any movement.But without the aid of streetlights, it was even darker out here than in the front yard.And thick bushes, his aunt’s prized crape myrtles and oleanders, offered far too many hiding places for anyone who might be lurking.“I’m calling nine-one-one.” Laney spoke to him through the screen door, a cordless phone in her hand.“Please, Ross.Come inside.Anyone who would do this…” She glanced back toward the kitchen, her gaze fixed on the noose.“They wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you.And I couldn’t…I couldn’t stand to see you murdered.Like all the rest of them.”Tuesday, October 20“This is garbage, bullshit.” Justine’s chief deputy, Roger Savoy, stalked the hospital room as he spoke, walking back and forth through a shaft of morning sunlight and gripping a Styrofoam cup of coffee so hard, Justine half expected it to explode at any moment.“You wait.It’s going to turn out this is nothing but a hoax.”She had seen Roger this agitated on only one prior occasion, when the recount she’d demanded swung the election in her favor.“Stand still and explain.Please [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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