Free EBook Samples: Free ebook sample of "The Palmetto Connection" by M.J. Macie

Anne climbed out of bed and headed into the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face then took a moment to gaze at her reflection in the mirror, examining the dark circles beneath her eyes. She considered her petite facial features that included an oval shaped face and a delicately upturned nose. Her straight, reddish brown hair fell around her shoulders and though her complexion had paled, it seemed to intensify the color in her deep-set hazel eyes.

Anne walked back into her room, snatched her pillow and blanket, then carried them downstairs to the sofa. She turned on the television set, pressed the mute button, and closed her eyes. Resting her head on the pillow, she tried to calm her pounding heart. Her voice barely a whisper, she tried to reassure herself. “That was six years ago. They won’t find me here. I’m safe now. Devon Stark won’t find me.”

Minutes later she’d begun to fall back to sleep. “It was just a dream,” she said, as her thoughts began to drift to the place of tranquil rest. “Only a bad dream. I did the right thing and now Allison Walker doesn’t exist anymore.”

Within an instant though, she again sat upright, the memory of the threatening poem she’d received that morning rushing to the surface of her mind. For years she’d known, even expected, trouble would come.

“I’m not Allison Walker,” she whispered. “I’m Anne Corey now.”

Repeating the words weren’t bringing her comfort. Anne understood she’d brought this albatross upon herself when she’d decided to do what they’d warned her never again to do. She knew better, yet she had chosen to ignore the danger and convince herself she’d be safe despite it. Now that the consequences of her decision had begun to catch up to her, they could prove deadly.

Anne shivered and pulled her blanket to her chest. The chill remained as the flesh rose on her arms and neck and her mind fought to deny the immediate sense of impending danger.

No, it wasn’t the dream that had awoken her, but her own intuition. The peculiar sensation people call an internal alarm or the body’s self-preservation mechanism. For Anne it was a definite warning, and like a screaming siren, it declared her enemies, namely Devon Stark, were near.

***

11:55 a.m.

Devon Stark stepped off a commercial airplane at the Charleston International Airport and cursed the southern heat. The temperature had already reached 87 degrees with the humidity at ninety-seven percent. He followed the other passengers off the runway area and into the airport facility, relieved by the sudden blast of cool air flowing from the central air-conditioning unit.

Devon knew he violated the terms of his parole, but he didn’t care. He did not intend to return to New York, or to prison. He’d just have to do his best to maintain a low profile.

He also knew he’d have to find a car and a motel before beginning his search for Allison and Charles Walker. The brief information he’d obtained while in prison led him to believe they lived in one of several small towns near Charleston, South Carolina. All he had to do now was figure out which one.

Devon smiled as he caught several woman starring at him, obviously drawn to his stunning appearance and intense, piercing cobalt eyes. He looked away as he reached in his pocket for the map of South Carolina and scanned the names of several towns he’d circled earlier. One of these was where he felt he would most likely find them, and he planned to check out each one.

They wouldn’t consider hiding in any of the large cities. Not Allison and Charles. While most people on the run would choose a booming metropolitan area where they’d feel they could lose themselves in the crowd, Devon knew Charles and Allison’s dream. They yearned for a simple life in a small town. Confident they’d try to lose themselves in the depths of a rural expanse, Devon knew they believed, as he did, that no one would consider searching for them there. No one but himself.

Devon fought his way through the crowd and toward the main doors of the facility. His adrenaline surged with the excitement of tracking down the people responsible for destroying his life and his future with the organization, and causing him to spend the last six years in prison. Each night he imagined the outcome of his plan for them. Now, the day had come to render his threat to Allison.

He’d hoped, and had been relieved to learn, Valedari’s boys hadn’t found them yet. Of course, it didn’t say much for the organization, but that was fine with him. He now had the opportunity to get to the Walkers first.

This also meant Valedari never took the time to figure out what he’d done to keep from testifying against the organization. His intention had been for Allison and Charles to take full responsibility for the testimony against Valedari, and it had worked.

Now, while he was free from prison and Valedari, he felt certain the two of them had regretted the choice they’d made.

Devon shifted the weight of his backpack until it rested securely over his shoulder. What did they think would happen to them after they’d exposed Valedari? He’d tried to warn them of the consequences, but they wouldn’t listen. Of course, he knew all along that they’d reveal what they discovered about the organization. He just never expected they would turn against him as well.

Devon bumped into several people hauling their baggage as he stepped outside the building and signaled for a cab. What were their new identities? How were they earning a living?

Whatever they did for a paycheck, Devon knew one thing for certain. Charles would never again be involved in restaurant management.

Allison, however, was another story. It’d be easier, he decided, to figure out where she worked. He knew her well enough to know she’d have something to say about her career and was confident he’d find her teaching at a local college.

Devon had his plan all figured out. He knew that if he spent enough time on every university and technical college campus in Charleston and the surrounding area, he’d be sure to find her teaching at one of them. Then he’d show her in great detail what happens to anyone foolish enough to betray him.

***

10:00p.m.

The couple stood alone beneath the canopy of White Point Garden’s gazebo. Across the street from them, the Charleston Battery seawall remained abandoned. Usually crowded with tourists snapping shots of the Charleston harbor or Fort Sumter with their high tech cameras and camcorders, the sightseers had left for the night.

The man struggled to maintain self-control. “You leave Anne Corey out of this. She has nothing to do with it.”

With her hands on her hips, Shelby Jackson glared at the man in front of her. She wanted to be certain her intense stare got the message across. “She has everything to do with this and you know it! And I don’t care if you need to leave. This is important and you’re not moving from this spot until we settle the matter for good.”

He raised his hand to stop her from saying anything more. “Oh, it’s settled, all right. I’ve had all I’m going to take from you.”

“Is that what you think?” she snapped, shoving him with all her might and forcing his back against one of the gazebo’s columns. She waited for a reaction, but instead he gave her a fixed look of contempt.

“That’s not going to work anymore,” he said, turning away from her gaze. “You’re insufferable and I can’t stand the sight of you.”

She felt the heat rush to her face. The blow from his insult stung, but not as much as his rejection and brutal indifference. Something about him had changed. Her threats no longer intimidated him. She had lost control of the situation.

She stared at the back of his head in bewilderment. Could his sudden arrogance be a bluff? Was that why he’d turned away from her? To keep his expression from giving him away?

She took a step toward him. If she didn’t regain control now, she could lose her objective. No way would she allow that to happen.

Shelby grabbed his arm and yanked him back around to face her. “Don’t you dare look away from me! This conversation isn’t finished yet.”

“You’re obsessed,” he said, jerking his arm free of her grip. “Why don’t you go back to Jason Black? He seems like a decent young man with a bright future ahead of him.”

“You don’t know anything about Jason.”

“I know he’s crazy about you.”

“He’s crazy, no doubt. But not about me.”

“He can offer you more than I ever could. He can take care of you financially as well.”

“Stop it! I don’t want to discuss Jason Black.”

“Well, I’m through talking to you.”

“Oh, no you’re —”

“When are you going to get it into your head? I do not intend to let you continue this blackmail. I will not allow you to manipulate and badger me one minute longer. We’re finished.”

“Well you’d better get it into your head that I’ll do whatever is necessary to get what I want?”

He shook his head. “You and I will not be seeing each other again.”

“So you think.”

“Listen to me, you antagonistic, insufferable wretch. Why won’t you just let go and admit defeat? I’m a frustrated man who’s been provoked beyond his limit. You’re game of torment is over.”

“Oh, no, baby. I’ve just gotten started.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? We all have our breaking points, Shelby. And when it comes to you, I’ve reached mine.”

“Think again.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing. Thinking of ways to free myself from the controlling grasp of your talons. Look. I’ve given you everything I can. You’ve wiped me out, girl. There’s nothing left.”

“Liar!”

“It’s over, Shelby!”

“No!”

“I’ve tried every way I can to make you understand. You can’t possibly want to continue this. Not when I haven’t —”

“You have no idea how much I do,” she said. “You’re not fooling me. You have plenty left to give. You know it, and so do I.”

He turned from her again and shook his head. “Do you know what your problem is? You don’t just want what you want. You want what you can’t have. What’s no longer there. As far as our involvement with each other goes, it’s done. Settled. Period. I’m not giving you another thing.”

Shelby took a step closer to ensure she had his attention. “I’m not ready to let this go. I swear, if you stop giving me exactly what I —”

“Don’t you dare threaten me!”

“I mean it! I’ll make sure you’re sorry you did this to me. You know me well enough to realize —”

“What are you saying?”

Shelby smirked at the sudden quiver in his voice and his confused expression. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ll let it all come out. Every dirty little secret. All the details. Your worst fear exposed to the world. I’ll tell everyone the truth about what you did. You’ll pay for it, all right. Then, the entire town will see you for what you really are. Now that’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”

She watched his jaw tighten and saw the hatred in his eyes as he glared at her.

Shelby shot him a sarcastic grin in response. She’d not let him turn things around on her. No way would she let him intimidate her. “Of course,” she said. “We both know who’s going to be hurt the most by this, don’t we? Poor Professor Anne Corey. How devastating it would be for her to learn the truth about you.”

“So help me, if you even try to —”

Shelby laughed. “Spare me. I have the power to ruin your life, and don’t think for a minute I’ll hesitate. Then try getting what you want after that.”

She gasped as he snatched her arms. “Quit it! Let go of me!”

“You push and push,” he said as he shook her. “You make demands of people without the least regard for what you’re doing to their lives. Well, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Stop it!”

“You’re a selfish vixen, driven by greed and jealousy. I’m tired of your threats. Do you hear me?”

“Then cooperate with me. If you do, I promise your secret will be safe.”

“Our secret. Don’t forget your part in all this.”

“I’ve got less at stake than you, and a whole lot less to lose.”

“Don’t be too sure about that,” he said, releasing his grip and pushing her away.

She fell back and onto the bench and tried to suppress the sudden fear surging through her. Maybe she’d gone too far this time.

Still, she held her head up and ignored the stabbing pain in her back and shoulders, determined not to let him read her emotions.

“You’ve pushed me for the last time,” he said, then stepped out of the gazebo and walked away.

“You can’t do this to me!” she called after him. “This isn’t over.”

Shelby plopped back down on the bench, suddenly feeling isolated and frightened. She grabbed her sweater and wrapped it around her shoulders as the cool harbor breeze rushed over her. He’ll do as she said. He wouldn’t dare risk her exposing him and his secret.

The night breeze picked up and blew strands of her hair across her face. She leaned back and her body went limp. Their argument had exhausted her.

Shelby remained still for what seemed like hours, alone in the gazebo and engulfed by the darkness. Finally, she stood and with her head lowered walked toward her car.

She could no longer deny the overwhelming feeling of defeat, as though she was suffocating under the pressure of all her lies and schemes. She didn’t want to hurt Anne Corey. That was never her intention. The professor was her friend. She thought the world of her and didn’t want to lose her friendship.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. How could she have let things get so out of hand? Now her life was in even more turmoil than before, and it was too late to do anything about it.

She’d done what she’d done by setting things in motion and now she didn’t have the power to control the outcome. All she could do was try to ignore the sudden sense of foreboding, ride out the oncoming storm, and try to survive the consequences.

A sudden chill rushed down her back and arms as another thought occurred to her. Consumed with her anger, she hadn’t fully comprehended his words until now.

Shelby shuddered, then pulled her sweater securely around her body. Had she pushed him too hard by demanding more from him than he could give her?

Was it possible she’d left him with no other alternative than to do the unthinkable?

April 30; 11:20 p.m.

TWO

His eyes glanced down at his wrist to check the time again. He let out an exasperated breath and leaned his weight against the coarse bark of the enormous age-old oak tree in an area known in downtown Charleston as ‘hospital row’. Four other hospitals lined the other side of the road, however she’d walked into St. Sebastian’s and so it became the only one with which he was concerned.

An impending figure, he quickly drew back and concealed himself in the darkness. He then remained perfectly still as a young couple walked past his hiding place. They hadn’t seen him. Good. Then she won’t spot him either.

He looked at his watch again and thought about how he’d spent the last four and a half hours standing across the street from the institution, slapping the mosquitoes that clung to his arms and face, and jabbing the tip of his blade into the tree. The waiting had been the hardest part, but soon it would be over.

He glanced up to see the full moon had added a hint of light to his hiding place. Nothing for him to worry about. No one would witness what he had planned for her, and if he were lucky, no one would hear a sound either.

He’d heard that once the sun went down, people deserted the streets around this side of Charleston. All the action was a few miles away on the peninsula.

He looked at his watch again and considered the time. At 9:00 p.m., he’d already been waiting two hours for her. The other visitors had begun shuffling out the door and he noted that as each of them left, making sure none saw him. He watched for her, but she wasn’t among them.

The thought had occurred to him he may have missed her leaving earlier, but then he assured himself he hadn’t taken his eyes off the entrance doors since she stepped through them. No. She was still in there. She had to be. He’d waited far too long to let her slip away from him.

Yet, by eleven that evening, he’d become concerned and needed to know what was taking her so long to leave.

He wiped an arm across his forehead. “Come on, come on,” he said pulling his damp shirt from his chest and using it to wipe the sweat from his face and neck as he cursed the humidity. Then, he leaned his back against the tree and let out another impatient breath. He’d continue to wait. What other choice did he have? He’d regarded his situation for some time and knew this was his best and only opportunity to take care of the problem for good.

Twenty minutes later, his heart began to race as he watched the slender form walk through the double doors of the hospital.

The adrenaline rushed through his arteries and overpowered his senses.

She crossed the street and unknowingly approached him.

In a matter of seconds, she would be his, and the festering issue resolved.

“This is it,” he said, pulling himself upright and drawing in his breath. “This is what you’ve waited for.”

He crouched behind the tree, his heart pounding hard enough to hear it throbbing in his ears.

She was almost to his hiding place.

Six feet away . . .

Three feet . . .

One foot . . .

The moment had come.

In an instant, he had an arm wrapped around her waist and covered her face with his other hand.

He snatched her up with such force and speed that her feet lifted off the ground as he swung her behind the tree.

She resisted as he continued to pull, then drag, her body through the woods, oblivious to the branches and thick foliage clawing at her arms and legs, and ripping her hair.

He kept his hand against her mouth, almost covering her entire face. Could she breathe? What did it matter? As long as she couldn’t speak. That mouth was what got her in trouble in the first place.

He pulled her into a small clearing within the woods.

She bit his hand and in his pain, he loosened his hold on her.

She wrestled herself free from his grip and turned to face him, but before she could make anything out in the dark, he swung the back of his hand across the side of her face.

He wasn’t ready for her to see him yet.

He pulled back against the shrubs, blocking the moonlight and watching her strain her eyes to see in the dark. Was she trying to catch a glimpse of him while attempting to escape?

He smiled. Did she think she’d live to identify him?

Her head turned from side to side. In her confusion, she didn’t know where she was or which way to run.

He let out a muffled laugh.

She began to scream.

All the pent up rage he’d managed to restrain for so long, now rushed through him and to his fist as he smashed it against her mouth. With one swift movement, he then swept his leg behind her knees causing her to fall to the ground and land on her back.

He dropped his body on hers and sat on her torso.

She moaned, but he stifled her cry by pressing his hand firmly against her mouth. The other, he used to cover her eyes again.

She began to kick her feet and swing her arms at him. In their struggle, his moist hand slid beneath her eyes, this time allowing the moonlight to give her a glimpse of her assailant.

Again, he laughed as she looked into his eyes and gasped.

He found it easy to mock the terrified creature. Trapped beneath the weight of his body, he enjoyed watching as she strained for a breath of air.

He wanted her to be frightened.

It was part of his plan.

His eyes leered at her as she watched his arm reach behind his back.

She must’ve heard the click or saw the raised blade gleaming in the moonlight, because her sudden rush of energy made it hard for him to hold her down.

He panicked as he realized he almost lost control of her. Surprised by her strength, he fought to keep her on the ground.

She twisted and wiggled her body until he felt forced to lift himself enough to reposition his weight.

He’d almost had a better grasp on her when she slipped her legs beneath his chest and managed to push him backward and off her.

She rolled over and lifted herself onto her hands and knees then began crawling away from him.

He had to do something fast. He did not intend to let her escape.

She climbed to her feet, about to leap and run.

He was faster.

He grabbed a fist full of her hair and yanked her body to the ground, turning her over and onto her stomach.

She squirmed, but he pressed his knee into her lower back.

“I’ve had enough of your game playing,” he said.

He then jerked her head back and, before she could utter a sound, slid the blade across her throat.

May 4, 7:10 a.m.

THREE

Panting and clutching his ribs, nine-year-old Jimbo Bonibaker was the last to arrive at the bus stop that morning. Ten minutes earlier, he was halfway there when he’d realized he had forgotten his lunch and had to turn around and get it, or starve. He dashed toward his house.

He made it back to the bus stop just in time to see it swamped with kids. Good. He hadn’t missed the bus again.

As public school bus 47 pulled up and opened its doors, six of the nine kids boarded. Left to wait for bus 31, the elementary school bus, was Jimbo and his friends, Bobby Ray Bradford and Clevis Redbacker.

Jimbo dropped his book bag next to Bobby Ray and Clevis’s, and watched the downtown Charleston traffic race past him.

Moments later, he heard the screaming siren of an ambulance then saw its flashing lights as it sped onto the hospital grounds across the street. His momma had told him he was born at St. Sebastian’s. Jimbo was glad. It was a nice looking place to be born.

He turned back toward his friends then gazed at the wooded area behind them. They used to go into the woods to play, but each time they ended up missing the bus. After several whippings and a stern warning never to go in there again, the boys obediently remained at the stop each morning until their bus arrived.

Jimbo knew he was the smartest of the three boys but he still didn’t like school. And he hated waiting for the bus even more. It was always late. That meant less time in the playground before those teachers dragged them inside and forced them to sit on hard seats and learn math and writing for long hours until recess.

“You forgot your lunch again, didn’t you?” Bobby Ray asked.

Jimbo nodded. “Yep.”

Bobby Ray Bradford was the toughest kid in the class. He was street smart and his daddy let him grow his black hair long. It was down to his shoulders already, and it made him look even tougher. That and his dark brown eyes. When Bobby Ray stared another kid down, they always backed away.

“That’s funny,” Clevis said. “You keep forgettin’ your lunch. Me. I forget everything else, but never my lunch.”

Clevis Redbacker was the youngest of the three and slow in the head. At eight and a half, he was behind most seven year olds. To add to his troubles, he spoke with a lisp through buckteeth. Bony and frail, his red hair almost looked brown from a lack of washing it. Even his freckles looked dirty.

“My momma would knock me upside the head so as I don’t forget again,” Clevis continued.

“Clevis,” Bobby Ray said, pinching his arm. “Your momma’s been knocked in the head one too many times herself and thinks it’s her duty to do the same to you.”

“Yes siree,” he lisped. “That she has.”

Bobby Ray shook his head and stepped back. “Man alive, something sure does stink around here. Clevis, is that you?”

“Nope,” he answered, lowering his head and walking toward the woods.

Jimbo walked beside him. He could see Bobby Ray had hurt Clevis’s feelings.

“He was just kidding with you,” Jimbo said.

Clevis smiled. “I know.”

Jimbo always came to Clevis’s rescue. Watching Clevis get picked on every day was hard for him, and he took to defending him against the other kids.

Except Bobby Ray. He always made excuses for Bobby Ray. After all, they were all best friends. Bobby Ray just didn’t understand, was all.

“Where you two think you’re going?” Bobby Ray asked.

“Just over here,” Jimbo answered. “Why? You see the bus coming?”

“Nope.”

“Hey,” Clevis said. “Look over here. Someone carved in our tree.”

“Where?” Bobby Ray asked, rushing over and pushing Clevis out of the way to get a better look. “Sure enough. Some nerve.”

“Hey. You hear that?” Jimbo asked. “Sounds like a swarm of flies. It’s coming from the woods so I imagine they’re going to town on something.”

Bobby Ray and Clevis nodded in agreement. Bobby Ray then stepped closer to the edge of the woods. “Some animal musta died, because it stinks like —”

“Don’t say it!” Clevis moaned, grasping his stomach. “Just the thought of it makes me want to barf.”

Bobby Ray laughed as he gave him a shove and tousled his hair. “Okay, sissy boy. Come on, Jimbo. Let’s go check it out. I wanna know what died.”

“What about the bus? If I miss it again, my —”

Bobby Ray shook his head. “Great. Another baby. What’s the matter with you?”

He then looked at the other boy. “Clevis, since you’re too sickly, Jimbo and me will go. You can be our lookout for the bus. You see it coming you call us. Got it?”

Clevis nodded then went to sit on his book bag. “Sure guys,” he lisped as he reached into his lunch box and pulled out a sandwich bag full of oatmeal cookies.

Bobby Ray led the way as he and Jimbo thrashed through the thicket toward the small clearing in the woods. Jimbo pulled his shirt over his nose to help block the smell.

Before their parents had forbidden them to go back there, it had been their favorite spot. They’d made it into a secret fort and met every morning before school to swap lunch snacks and tell stories.

“Man alive,” Bobby Ray said. “Listen to all them flies. They’re really tearing something up back there. You think it’s a dog, or a cat?”

“Could be a rabbit. More than likely, it’s a rabbit.”

“You know everything, don’t you, smart ass?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Bobby Ray stepped into the clearing and stopped, causing Jimbo to plow into his backside. Both boys stared ahead at the source of the noise and stood motionless as hundreds of flies working in a frenzy swarmed around the neck, face, and torso of a dead woman.

Jimbo sucked in his breath. The woman lay on her stomach, her head twisted back and upward. Her face was as white as paste, except for the thin stream of blood that had flowed from the corner of her mouth. A puddle of it hardened beneath her neck and chest, too much to soak into the thick red clay beneath her body. All the blood, now dried and stiff caused the swarm of flies and mosquitoes to fight each other in an effort to break the crust for a taste of the sticky substance.

Jimbo wanted to turn away but the dead woman’s eyes seemed to fix on his, wide-open and staring right at him. He shuddered and tried to pretend he didn’t see the gaping hole in her neck where someone had split it apart and pulled it away from the rest of her body.

His heart pounded in his chest and his body began to shake. He saw in his mind what had happened and could hear the woman’s screams echoing in his head, her frightened and desperate cries for help that wouldn’t come.

Unable to turn his eyes from her, he began inhaling and exhaling rapidly, yet he was unable to catch his breath.

Jimbo swallowed hard as his breakfast cereal began churning in his stomach and climbing toward his throat. He didn’t want to throw up, he just wasn’t sure he could do anything to stop it.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard Clevis yelling for them to hurry because the bus was coming.

He knew Bobby Ray had already turned around and ran, but Jimbo couldn’t force himself to move.

Dribble trickled from the side of his mouth as his fear and breathing increased. He tried to tell himself to hurry and catch up to Bobby Ray, but it didn’t work.

Bobby Ray’s voice suddenly echoed in the distance, but it brought Jimbo no comfort. Bobby Ray had run away.

To Jimbo, it sounded like Bobby Ray was miles away. How could he have left him alone with the dead woman?

Jimbo’s body began to tremble even more. He tried to call out for his momma to come help him but found his voice didn’t work either.

He struggled with all his might, but couldn’t move from the spot or stop himself from starring at the dead woman’s eyes. They had hypnotized him and silently called him to her, pleading for help.

Tears streamed down his cheeks and somewhere deep in the pit of his gut he felt a wave of relief ripple through him as he listened to Bobby Ray screaming for the bus driver to call for help. Then, something wet and warm trickled down his legs just before they gave out on him.

***

1:00 p.m.

Sheriff Cotton Newberry had just returned to his office from lunch when his deputy handed him the message. Charleston County Detective Clay Peterson, a good friend and hunting buddy, was on his way to see him.

“Any idea what it’s about?” he asked.

Deputy Warren Farley shook his head. “No, sir. Just said he’d be here shortly.”

The sheriff looked at the message again and grunted. Was it official business? Must be. He knew a visit from Clay to the office had to mean something serious.

Cotton groaned as he looked back at Farley. “You should’ve asked.”

A tall, large framed man with a crew cut, thick moustache and intimidating countenance, Cotton had the authoritative disposition necessary to govern the town of Patriot and the rest of the county. However, anyone who took time to get to know him soon realized he was an enormous teddy bear with a warm smile and a heart as soft as his name implied.

Well into his fifties, he still possessed the rugged strength of a thirty-five-year-old, thanks to a strict regimen of exercise and his wife’s healthy cooking.

He watched as his deputy went back to rapping his fingers on the thick wooden counter top. The lobby desk extended from one end of the room to the other and remained cluttered with, among other things, a new computer system, phone, numerous sticky notes, and a calendar scribbled with work schedules and requests for vacation time.

The counter also served as a partition. No one could walk into any of the back offices without opening the electronic gate and passing him first.

Cotton looked around at the tiny foyer area and the dove gray walls, filthy from years of neglect. “When are the painters coming?”

“Next week.”

“Not soon enough for me,” he said.

Both turned as the door opened, but instead of Detective Clay Peterson, Daryl Lee Cross came strolling inside.

A lanky man with short greasy hair and the remnants of severe acne from his youth, Daryl Lee was one of Palmetto State University’s security officers, a volunteer constable, and a deputy wannabe.

Cotton found Daryl Lee one of the strangest and most insecure men he’d ever come across. He didn’t care for Daryl Lee, but for the most part saw him as harmless. He couldn’t help but wonder when the man would grow up and get a life of his own. Maybe make a friend or two. For someone who had to be in his mid-forties, he’d have thought Daryl Lee would’ve caught on by now and realized hanging around the department wouldn’t magically turn him into an official officer of the law. For reasons Cotton could only guess at, Daryl Lee must have thought doing so would lend credibility to his facade.

The man didn’t have what it took to make it as a cop, and Cotton felt certain somewhere deep inside himself, Daryl Lee knew it. He must have figured sporting a security guard uniform was the closest he’d ever get to it. That the prestige the outfit carried would compensate for his lack of self-esteem and maybe even help him to get laid.

“Hey,” Daryl Lee said, nodding toward Cotton as he strolled over to the counter, tossed his hat and keys on it then leaned his gaunt frame against it.

Cotton turned from him and his deputy and began pacing the floor as he waited for his fellow officer and friend. As the minutes passed, he felt a knot forming in the pit of his gut and knew it meant trouble.

Ten minutes later, Detective Peterson walked through the door and Cotton ushered him into his office and handed him a cold can of cola.

“You know I’m always glad to see you, Clay,” Cotton said. “However, something tells me this isn’t a social visit.”

“Got that right. Seems a couple of young fellas found the body of a woman this morning.”

“What? Don’t tell me she’s from Patriot.”

“Yes, sir. Got a positive ID.”

“Murder?”

He nodded. “Had the assailant slit her throat a quarter of an inch more, he would’ve decapitated her.”

“Any sign of sexual assault?”

“No, Sir.”

Cotton shook his head. “And the kids who found her?”

“Two nine-year-old boys. There were three of them waiting for the bus. The eight-year-old was a look out.”

Cotton slammed his fist on his desk. “Far too young to comprehend, much less see, a sight like that. Makes me sick. They all right?”

“All but one. Poor thing is still in shock. The little guy is with his folks at St. Sebastian’s. The other young fella took it a little better. He gave us the details.”

“Who was she?”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his notepad and began flipping pages. “Shelby Jackson. Lived at 225 Hampton Street. Twenty-two years old and a student at Palmetto State.”

“Where’d they find her?”

“In a small clearing inside a patch of woods across from St. Sebastian’s.”

“Not far from the tourist section of downtown Charleston. Anyone see or hear anything?”

“So far no, but we’re still asking. It’s not far from the Charleston Battery. Usually crowded with tourists. Anyone leaving the seawall or White Point Gardens could’ve strolled that way and seen or heard something. Surprised the smell hadn’t stopped anyone. I tell you. It was nauseating, what with the heat out here and all.”

“If anyone did stop, they probably assumed it was a dead animal and moved on.”

“I suppose. Had just one person taken the time to investigate though, we’d be a bit further along with this by now.”

Cotton nodded. “You’re right. Every minute counts.”

“Anyway, I’m not too keen on the idea of questioning tourists. Hopefully, I’ll get somewhere with the locals first. If not, I won’t hesitate to ask anyone. No matter what kind of publicity it’ll bring the city.”

Cotton glanced past his desk and saw Daryl Lee watching them with intense interest. No doubt sucking up every word. Could be he knew the woman.

Cotton turned his gaze back to Clay but kept an eye on the lobby. His deputy and Daryl Lee continued to stare into his office. The news obviously intrigued both of them, but it seemed to him Daryl Lee was more curious than surprised. Had he already heard and come by for the details? If so, why hadn’t he mentioned it when he first walked in?

“Hey, Daryl Lee,” the sheriff called.

“Sir?”

“You know anything about this incident?”

“No sir. This the first I’m hearing of it.”

“You know the woman?”

He nodded. “I know who she was, but we wasn’t personally acquainted, if that’s what you mean.”

Cotton didn’t miss his smug grin or his voice as he then turned and whispered to Deputy Farley. “Or intimately, if you get what I’m saying.”

Cotton shot him a stern look.

“Anyway,” Daryl Lee continued, “I makes it a point to know the kids by face and name. Course, so many of them is running around the campus and all, it ain’t always possible to know each of them by name. But I knows the faces. Anyway, that’s about as far as it goes. Unless, of course, one of them is wanting to be a troublemaker. Then I —”

“We get the point,” the sheriff interrupted. “Maybe you’d better head on over to the university and see what you can find out.”

Daryl Lee’s face lit up. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’m on it.”

“If word isn’t out yet, don’t go spreading it. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open. Do we understand each other?”

“Sure thing, Sheriff,” he said, snatching his hat and keys from the counter and rushing out of the office.

***

Once outside, Daryl Lee closed the door behind him, leaned against it, then took a long deep breath. This opportunity could turn out to be more than he’d hoped for. He was on the case. Officially. Soon the news about Shelby Jackson was gonna be all over campus, and the sheriff would be needing his professional skills, his being an expert on security and all. Yeah, everything was gonna work out just as he’d hoped. He’d lead them where he wanted them to go, and he’d keep them from going where he didn’t want them nosing around.

Daryl Lee’s thoughts then turned to Anne Corey, English professor at the university and the woman he loved. Things was finally coming together for them. It was time to put the plan he’d thought up and mulled over in his head, into action. This was his chance to shine in her eyes. He’d tell her the news about Shelby and she’d depend on him to comfort her during this tragic time.

Daryl Lee strolled toward his jeep, nodding and smiling. Then, an image of Shelby Jackson came to mind and he scowled. He knew who Shelby was, all right. Better than anyone else in town, he did. Yes, sir. He knew all there was to know about that piece of trash. That Jezebel.

Course, wouldn’t have been wise to let on to the sheriff about that. Start spewing details and it ain’t long before the law goes to poking around into his affairs. He’d have all hell to pay then. After all, if Sheriff Cotton Newberry was to find out what he knew . . .

FOUR

Professor Anne Corey glanced around her classroom then placed the threatening poem back in her briefcase. She fought to retain her composure. It was the second one she’d received that week. Someone had put both in her box at Palmetto State University, and she’d spent the last few days looking over her shoulder, convincing herself the threats were no more than someone’s idea of a sick joke.

Anne glanced down at her watch. It was two forty-five in the afternoon and her students would finish writing their essays any time now.

She took a moment to gaze outside the classroom window and, as she watched the branches of the mimosa tree swaying in the warm breeze, could feel herself beginning to calm down. The final week of the spring semester, Anne anticipated the summer break and was as anxious as the university’s students were for the time off to begin.

While most of her students went home for the summer, some would come back after the break and attend classes during the summer term. Anne usually taught an American Literature class during the first five weeks of the ten-week term, but this summer the university would have to make do without her. Unlike her students who talked of spending their break from school at beach parties and picnics, Anne planned to spend her summer doing whatever she could to keep her husband alive.

She recalled the first time they’d come to Patriot, when she and John had been looking for a home. A quiet little town about an hour from the historical district of Charleston, Patriot was one of those storybook places where the entire life of the town centered around one main area, Highway 12, otherwise known as Patriot Boulevard. The neighborhood they chose consisted of fine old houses and well-worn streets. At one house, a group of children dashed past them screaming and laughing as they ran across front lawns and down the street.

“One day,” John had said, “our children will play on these streets.”

Anne had smiled and hugged her husband. She loved him for understanding how much she’d wanted to settle down and raise a family, and because he let her know he’d wanted the same thing himself.

They’d chosen a modest home on Cottonwood Lane. About a ten-minute drive from the business section of Patriot, it was a white, two-story split-level with lemon yellow shutters and a large wraparound porch. Enormous crape myrtle trees, their lavender blooms beginning to bud, landscaped the front yard, while next to the house an enormous live oak grew, its branches stretching across to shade the upper level of the house. In the center of the lawn, a large river birch shaded the front porch from the hot, Carolina sun.

In the backyard, several more oak trees dominated the spacious area and about thirty feet from the back door of the house was a garage large enough to fit two automobiles.

A few feet from the garage stood the garage of their neighbor, Althea Ashton. Anne thought it odd someone had built them unusually close together, but she loved the house and never gave it another thought.

Hand in hand, she and John had walked through the front door and into the home of their dreams. Once inside the entranceway, they faced a stairway with a thick, dark pine banister leading upstairs, but decided to check out the downstairs first. The parlor, to the right of the stairway, had a red brick fireplace and hardwood floors.

Next, they checked out the spacious kitchen and peeked out the window at the backyard, then rushed upstairs where they found three modest sized bedrooms and a second bathroom. “Plenty of room for kids,” John had said. “How about if we get started right now?”

Chairs began sliding across the floor, and Anne turned her attention back to the classroom and her students.

“Before you leave, I want you to know what to expect on Monday’s final. It’ll be another essay exam covering the last four authors we discussed.

“Be prepared to explain thoroughly, for example, how Hawthorne’s Puritan ancestry influenced his writing and I’ll expect examples from his works. I may ask you to explain why Thoreau spent so much time at Walden Pond or how he and Whitman felt about the Reconstruction of America. Did they agree or disagree about the building of the railroad? How did Whitman feel about Lincoln and why? I may ask you to describe the character of Bartleby and whether or not you feel he is the main character of Melville’s story. Any questions?”

She heard a unanimous ‘no’ mumbled among the students as they placed their papers on her desk and scurried out of the room.

Anne’s smile faded as she watched them leave. After Monday, she wouldn’t see most of them again. Some would graduate, others would transfer to different colleges, and some may even drop out of school altogether.

Anne then thought of Shelby Jackson, her student and friend, who had missed the last three classes. While she was cautious about making friends in Patriot, Anne couldn’t help bonding with Shelby. She sensed a kinship with the young woman the moment they’d met.

She recalled that day and how it had felt as though they each had looked into a mirror. Their shock at discovering their uncanny resemblance to each other caused them first to stare, then to laugh, then to begin talking. Before long, they’d found they had a great deal in common.

Both were the same height with hazel eyes and shoulder length reddish brown hair, though Anne wore highlights in hers. Shelby also had the same petite upturned nose; hers more defined than Anne’s.

Because Anne looked young for her age, most people who’d seen them together said they’d assumed she, like Shelby, was also twenty-two and wondered how someone young enough to be a student could be the professor.

One of her brightest students, Shelby was serious about her studies, but her attendance had been poor. Anne’s concern that Shelby wouldn’t pass the final exam, knowing this would affect her total grade point average, worried her. Though catching up on all the assignments she’d missed had been difficult for her, she knew Shelby was doing the best she could.

Anne understood the personal hardship going on in the young woman’s life. Shelby’s situation was part of the reason they’d become friends. Her grandmother, like John, had suffered from a series of strokes, and Anne wanted to help as much as she could. On the days Shelby had missed class, Anne had taken the assignments to her home. That’s how she met and became friends with Lilian Jackson.

Shelby’s parents had died in an auto accident when she was twelve and her grandmother had raised her ever since. Ironically, now the elderly woman was in St. Sebastian’s Hospital, along with John, and Anne would stop in for brief visits before going to see him.

Anne had noticed the recent strain had been taking its toll on Shelby and her heart ached for her. Shelby worked part-time to help take care of herself and her grandmother, attended classes full-time to receive total financial aid, and somehow found the time to write. She’d had several of her short stories published, and had been currently working on another. Anne knew the money Shelby earned from writing wasn’t enough to help their financial situation. Shelby was desperate to get out of debt and have a better life.

A knock at the classroom door interrupted Anne’s thoughts. One of her colleagues, Ben Parker strolled into the classroom and sat on her desk. “Daydreaming Professor?”

Anne smiled. “You caught me.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I was thinking about one of my students.”

Ben laughed. “Give it a rest already.”

Ben was the newest English professor at the university and he and Anne had become friends right away. A handsome man, he caught the attention of every female on campus. His playful smile, wavy blond hair, and dewy brown eyes were hard to ignore, but Ben was a friend to Anne and would never be anything more. She wasn’t immune to Ben’s charm, but her heart belonged to John. No one could ever come to mean as much to her. The ordeal they’d been through, and the hardships they’d suffered over the last six years because of their predicament, had only strengthened their bond.

Unfortunately, it had also taken a toll on John’s heart, and this frightened Anne. She depended on her husband’s strength, and looking in John’s eyes had always given her the courage to endure. Now, she wondered how long before he’d . . .

“How’s the old boy doing?” he asked.

Anne lowered her head. “Not good. This last stroke left him partially paralyzed and weak, but it’s his spirit that worries me the most. He doesn’t have the willpower to keep fighting, and he’s convinced he doesn’t have long to live.”

Ben slid off the desk. “Anne, I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?”