Dead by Midnight Part 33

"For being you. For being the kind of man who would risk his life for an old friend."

He maneuvered their hands until hers was nestled inside his. They stared at each other for an endless moment, and then she pulled her hand away and got up to dump her cold coffee and pour herself a fresh cupful.

Oh dear G.o.d, this was going to be hard, d.a.m.n hard. But she had to keep things on a platonic basis with Mike, for his sake as well as for hers.

Lila Newton had just come on duty at Green Willows Rehabilitation and Convalescence Center when Ransom Owens arrived at 8:05 A.M A.M. His name was not on the list of acceptable visitors, a list that had been provided by his son, Tyler. As a general rule, Lila was a stickler for rules and regulations, but she also had a soft spot in her heart for Ransom. Actually, she'd had a secret crush on him when they were kids. Her father had been the Owens family's gardener and Ransom had always treated her kindly, always like the young gentleman he'd been. So, what did it hurt to allow him a few minutes alone with his former wife a couple of mornings each week? After all, it was obvious that the poor man still loved her. And he timed his arrival so that he could feed her breakfast, a ch.o.r.e that would have otherwise fallen to one of the aides. Of course, if his visits upset Ms. Owens, she'd have put a stop to them, but when Lila checked on her after each visit, her patient seemed quite serene.

"Morning, Lila," Ransom said as he approached the nurses' station.

"Morning, Mr. Ransom."

"How is she today?" he asked.

"I was just going to check on her," Lila said. "Would you care to walk with me? If they haven't brought Ms. Owens's breakfast, I'll see to it right away."

"Thank you, Lila. You've been a good friend to me and to Terri." He fell into step beside her as they made their way down the corridor.

One of the aides walked out of room 107, smiled at Lila, glanced at Ransom, and hurried to the delivery cart parked in the hallway. Lila entered the room first and checked on her patient, who sat semi-upright in the bed, two pillows beneath her head. Theresa Lenore Tyler Owens, known to one and all as Terri, had once been a beautiful woman. Remnants of that youthful beauty remained, in the blue eyes, the golden hair, the slender curves of her shapely body. But her once peaches-and-cream complexion was mottled and splotchy, her arms and legs an unhealthy white. And her former full, pouting lips were now thin and drawn, the right side of her mouth drooping. She held her stiff right arm close to her stomach.

Terri had been a resident here at Green Willows for several months, her rehabilitation slow and emotionally frustrating. She suffered from aphasia, which affects the ability to talk, listen, read and write. The stroke had occurred on the left side of the brain, the side containing the speech and language center, and had created a severe weakness in the right side of her body. Unfortunately, Terri also suffered from a mild form of dysarthria, where the muscles used for talking were affected by the stroke, causing slowed, slurred and distorted speech.

"Good morning, Ms. Owens. You've got a visitor," Lila said as she spoke directly into Terri's face. "It's Mr. Ransom. He's going to feed you your breakfast."

Terri Owens's large blue eyes moved side to side and up and down as if searching for her ex-husband, but finally she gazed up and looked directly at him. He pulled a straight-back chair over to the edge of the bed and sat beside her.

"You'll have the usual twenty minutes," Lila told him before quietly leaving the room.

She stood in the doorway and watched while Mr. Ransom removed the plastic lid from his ex-wife's breakfast plate.

"You've got eggs and grits and a biscuit." Mr. Ransom picked up the single-serving size jelly. "And there's grape jelly."

Lila continued watching while he went about the task with the tenderness and patience of a mother feeding her infant. And all the while, he talked to Terri, telling her what a fine April morning it was and how the spring flowers were in full bloom. Lila shook her head sadly as she walked away and returned to the nurses' station.

I wonder if Terri Owens has any idea just how lucky she is. Mr. Ransom is one in a million, that's what he is. After the way she up and left him and their little boy and brought such shame on his family and hers, you'd think he would hate her, that he wouldn't want to ever see her again.

But love is a strange and wondrous thing. And Sweet Jesus, it can certainly make fools of us all.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Mike said.

"I want to," Lorie told him. "It's the least I can do for Sh.e.l.ley."

"You've already answered all our questions, mine and Wainwright's. You've signed an official statement. That should be enough. Let Griffin Powell read your statement and-"

The doorbell rang. Mike and Lorie looked at each other and then at the door.

"They're here," she said.

Mike crossed the room and opened the front door. Jack Perdue and Buddy Pounders had escorted their guests from their car to the porch. Mike had asked Jack to join them that afternoon, and Buddy was the deputy on guard duty.

Standing six-four, Griffin Powell towered over most guys, even men such as he and Jack, who both stood over six feet. The former UT quarterback filled out his fas.h.i.+onable suit with ma.s.sive shoulders and thickly muscled arms. The man's size alone was intimidating. Add the fact that he was a billionaire into the mix and it was no wonder he had a reputation for always getting what he wanted, one way or the other.

Nicole Powell stood at her husband's side, a tall, attractive brunette, exuding an air of self-confidence. She held out her hand. "It's nice to see you again, Sheriff Birkett, despite the circ.u.mstances."

"Yes, ma'am." Mike held open the door. "Y'all come on in. Lorie's waiting for us in the living room."

"We appreciate Ms. Hammonds agreeing to this meeting," Nic said.

"She and Ms. Gilbert hit it off right from the start," Mike said. "They were well on their way to becoming friends."

Nic Powell entered the living room first. She marched straight over to Lorie and spoke to her quietly. The two women shook hands.

"Won't you sit down, please," Lorie said.

When Lorie sat in her favorite easy chair, Mike took his place behind her, his hands loosely gripping the back of the chair.

Once everyone was seated, Griff Powell said, "Whenever you're ready, Ms. Hammonds, please tell us everything you remember about the day before Sh.e.l.ley was killed."

"The entire day?" Lorie asked.

"Yes, the entire day, from when the two of you got up until you went to bed that night."

"All right. I...uh...let's see. Sh.e.l.ley was already up when I awoke. We drank coffee, ate breakfast, talked, and-"

"What did you talk about?" Griff asked.

"I'm not sure. Nothing really. How I hated being a prisoner in my own home. How maybe we should both take up knitting." Lorie smiled. "Sh.e.l.ley was a nice person, you know. I liked her." Tears misted her eyes. "She told me that her parents were dead, but she had a sister who lived in Phoenix and a couple of little nephews. She was going out there for a visit when her a.s.signment with me ended."

"Her sister is flying in to Knoxville tomorrow," Nic said. "She'll make all the arrangements, pack away Sh.e.l.ley's things and close up her apartment."

"Please continue with what you remember about the day before Sh.e.l.ley died." Griff steered her back to what he felt was important.

Mike reached down and gripped Lorie's shoulders and gave them a rea.s.suring squeeze before releasing her. She tilted her head and gazed up at him, her fragile smile conveying her appreciation for his presence.

Lorie talked. The others listened. Occasionally either Griff or Nic would ask her a question and if she got off track, Griff would nudge her back onto the subject. An hour later, after she had shared every detail that she could recall with the Powells, Lorie rose from her chair.

"I'd like some iced tea. Would anyone else care for something to drink?"

"Iced tea would be nice," Nic replied. "May I help you?"

"That's not necessary, but thank you."

Without saying a word, Mike followed Lorie when she left the room. He exchanged an entertain-these-people glance with Jack and headed for the kitchen. The moment he opened the door, he stopped. Lorie stood with her back to him, her shoulders trembling as she m.u.f.fled her sobs by placing her hands over her mouth. Acting purely on instinct, he went over and draped his arms around her. She leaned back, allowing him to partially support her as she cried. After taking a deep, calming breath, she turned, looked at him with teary eyes, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

He held her close, embracing her as she laid her head on his chest. "I'm here. I've got you, honey. Everything is going to be all right. I promise."

Chapter 25.

Casey used his friend Jason's cell phone to make the call. He had met Jason at one of their AA meetings and the two had hit it off immediately. It had been a long time since he'd actually had a friend-a real friend-so he did his best to never impose on Jason's kindness. From time to time, Jason gave him a few bucks, occasionally took him out for a decent meal, and had even offered to let Casey stay with him and his family. As much as he would have liked taking Jason up on the offer, he knew Jason's wife Heather had been relieved when he had declined. And who could blame her? Although the few times he'd seen Heather, she'd been nice to him, he realized she had genuine doubts about exposing her children to a guy such as he.

Sometimes he felt guilty for not telling Jason the truth-that he was not penniless. He had chosen a low-key, under-the-radar homeless person's lifestyle. It suited his purposes, at least for the time being.

Finding an out-of-the-way park bench, Casey sat down, dialed the number, and waited. The warm afternoon sun warred with the cool April breeze. Summer was just around the corner, but a hint of winter lingered in the wind. Springtime birds chattered in nearby trees and squirrels scurried from branch to branch.

As always, the maid answered the telephone. "Laura Lou Roberts's residence."

"Please tell Ms. Roberts that it's Casey."

"Yes, Mr. Lloyd, I'll tell her."

Casey nervously tapped his index finger against the edge of the phone as he waited. A couple of minutes later, he heard that familiar throaty voice. A dozen years ago, he had found that husky tone s.e.xy. One of his many deadly mistakes.

"h.e.l.lo, sweet boy," Laura Lou said.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Doing okay for an old woman."

"You'll never be old. And you'll always be vibrant and s.e.xy." He told her what he knew she wanted to hear. He had learned years ago how to please her in order to get what he wanted. "I miss you. Life isn't the same without you."

Her gravelly laughter grated on his nerves, the sound bringing back too many unpleasant memories from a time when he'd been little more than her lapdog.

And what are you now? You're practically licking her b.u.t.t, albeit via a long-distance phone call. Whispering sweet nothings in her ear, giving the old heifer a thrill.

But it wasn't the same as in the past. This time, he was in control, even though she didn't know it. To get what he wanted, what he needed, he would have bedded the devil. And it wouldn't be the first time.

Her laughter quickly altered and changed to heavy coughing. When she managed to control the coughs, she told him, "One of these days, I'm going to come see you and collect on all your promises and IOUs."

He doubted seriously that the day would ever come when she would visit him. Her vanity would keep her away. She preferred for him to remember her as she had been in the past, not as she was now. He had heard through mutual "friends" in LA that Laura Lou had not gone under the knife for any recent nips and tucks, that she had lost so much weight she looked like a skeleton, and that her four-packs-a-day cigarette habit had resulted in emphysema that required her to haul around a portable oxygen tank wherever she went.

"I'd love to see you," he lied. "We had some good times, didn't we?"

She'd had good times. He'd been in h.e.l.l. But it had been a h.e.l.l of his own making. Laura Lou had simply been the particular devil he had chosen to oversee his torment.

"Yeah, we had some good times," she said, a wistful quality softening her lifetime smoker's voice. "But your girlfriend wouldn't want me showing up, now would she?"

"I don't have a girlfriend at the moment," he a.s.sured her. That much, at least, was the truth. Until he got all his addictions under control, a committed relations.h.i.+p was out of the question.

"What's wrong with the girls in Arkansas?" Once again her laughter turned into uncontrollable coughing.

"Are you taking care of yourself? That cough sounds bad." He didn't give a d.a.m.n how sick she was or if she lived or died. Correct that. He needed her to stay alive a while longer, long enough for him to accomplish his goals. He needed the old bat's money. Smiling to himself, he wondered how Laura Lou would react if she had any idea how he was using the cash she sent him.

"I've got bad sinus problems," she told him. "Apparently, they're chronic and I just have to live with them." She coughed a couple more times and then got straight to the point. "So, how much do you need this time?"

"What makes you think I'm calling to ask for more money?" They played this same game every time he called her. He understood two things about Laura Lou. One: She needed the attention he paid her during these long-distance conversations. Two: She would send him the money he needed.

"Sweet boy, I know you."

"Inside and out," he agreed.

"So, how much this time?"

"A thousand should be enough."

"Want me to wire it to the same account there in Fayetteville?"

"Yes, please. Under the name of William Geisman."

"I hope you're using the money wisely," she said. "But if not...if you're doing anything illegal, be careful not to get caught."

"Good advice. But you always were the smart one, weren't you? Don't worry about me. I learned from the master how to get away with murder."

Lorie hung up the phone and turned to Mike.

"You already know what Maleah told me, don't you?"

He nodded. "Derek called Jack this morning and Jack relayed the information to me when he called a little while ago. He told me that Maleah planned to phone you and tell you herself."

"Sonny Deguzman's dead and the Midnight Killer didn't murder him."

"Yeah, it seems he was stabbed in a bar fight in Madrid about six months ago. He'd been living under an a.s.sumed name and that's the reason Powell's had so much trouble finding him."

"That narrows down the targets for our killer, doesn't it? The only actors from Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade left alive are Jean, Terri, and me." left alive are Jean, Terri, and me."

"And all three of you have around-the-clock protection. Jean Misner's husband is keeping two bodyguards on duty at all times. Terri Owens is recuperating in a private facility, in a restricted section of the rehab center that screens all of her visitors. And you have me and backup from my deputies."

"Why haven't they caught him?" Lorie asked, simply voicing her thoughts and not expecting Mike to have an answer.

He put his arm around her shoulders.

She tensed.