Silent Killer (13 page)

“You mean unless I have a date?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have a date,” he told her. “And I’d like to stop by and discuss my plans with you. But I’ll tell you right now that although I have some basic ideas about restoring the old place, I’d like for you to help me decide just what to do. Like, what do you think of adding a gazebo on the porch? And you can design the master bathroom for me. I thought I could convert one of the bedrooms. Then there’s the kitchen—you’ve already mentioned some ideas on how to modernize it and yet at the same time retain its Victorian heritage.”

“You—you want me to make all these decisions? Are you sure? I mean, this is your home. It should reflect your tastes.”

“It’s a home meant for a family,” he said. “That’s what I want it to reflect. I want it to have a similar feel to the way it was when Maleah and I were kids, and my father…” He paused and huffed quietly. “I want to erase Nolan Reaves from every inch of the house and grounds.”

She reached across the table and clasped his tight fist. He stared at her small, delicate hand lying on top of his tense knuckles, and then he looked up at her. “I understand. You told me some of the things that horrible man did, the way he treated you and Maleah and your mother.” She squeezed his hand. “I promise you that I’ll help you make your house a home again.”

After a surprisingly pleasant dinner with her in-laws, her mother, Seth, Brother Donnie Hovater and his daughter Missy, Cathy pulled her son aside and told him she needed to speak to him alone.

“That would be kind of rude, wouldn’t it?” he said.

“I need five minutes of your time. Surely that’s not too much to ask.”

Seth nodded, then walked across the living room and spoke quietly to his grandfather. J.B. glanced across the room at her, a questioning glint in his eyes.

“I told Granddad that I wanted to show you my room,” Seth said.

“Thank you for thinking of an excuse so that we can have a few minutes alone.”

As they headed for the hallway, Seth said loud enough for the others to hear, “It’s my dad’s old room. Nana got some of Dad’s stuff out of the attic, stuff like his baseball glove and bat. We hung them on the wall over my bed. And we put together a photo album of pictures of Dad from the time he was a baby to when I was born.”

Seth opened the door to his bedroom and flipped the wall switch. The overhead light, with its two sixty-watt bulbs, illuminated the twelve-by-twelve space. This room didn’t resemble Seth’s old room in the parsonage; instead it looked, in an almost eerie way, like a shrine to Mark Cantrell.

Cathy swallowed and held her thoughts at bay, determined not to say or do anything that would upset her son. But seeing this room only reinforced her determination to regain custody of Seth. She didn’t want him to forget Mark, but holding Mark up as some saintly figure that Seth had to live up to was wrong. Had filling this room with all of Mark’s boyhood things been Mona’s idea or had it been J.B.’s? Or perhaps it had been a joint endeavor. After all, Mark had been their only child. His younger brother, for whom Seth was named, had died as an infant. What was it like for J.B. and Mona to have lost both of their children? Her heart ached for them, but she was not willing to give them her son as a replacement for his father.

“Why didn’t you and Dad ever tell me that he’d been married before?” Seth asked, the question coming from out of the blue.

“What?”

“When Nana and I were going through the old photograph albums, I saw Dad’s wedding pictures from his first marriage,” Seth told her. “Nana said that Dad’s first wife died. Her name was Joy.”

“Yes, I know.” Cathy hadn’t thought about Mark’s first wife in a long time. “She died when she was quite young.”

“Nana said she had cancer.”

“An inoperable brain tumor.”

“Why didn’t y’all tell me about her?”

“There was no reason to,” Cathy explained. “Mark’s first wife died several years before we married. She had nothing to do with our life, nothing to do with you. And, well, it made Mark unhappy to talk about Joy.”

“Did you mind that he’d been married before?” Seth asked. “Were you jealous of her? Did you think Dad might have still loved her?”

“My goodness, what strange questions for a fifteen-year-old boy to ask.”

“I asked Granddad about her.”

“Did you?” She could only imagine what J.B. had had to say about Saint Joy. During the first few years of her marriage to Mark, she had been forced to listen to her father-in-law sing the woman’s praises.

“He said Dad never got over losing her, that, well, that she was the love of his life.”

Damn, J.B. Why on earth would he say such a thing to Seth? “I was never jealous of Joy. Your father loved me. He was happy in our marriage, and he adored you.”

Apparently remembering the good life the three of them had shared, Seth smiled. “I sure do miss Dad.”

“I miss him, too.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do. And I miss you, Seth.” He had given her the opening she needed. “You know how much I want you to come and live with me. I’ll be moving our furniture into the rental house tomorrow morning.”

Seth stared down at the floor. “Granddad doesn’t believe—”

“I don’t care what J.B. believes. I need to know what you want. Do you want to come and live with me?”

“Granddad would never agree. You know what he thinks.”

“Yes, I know what he thinks. What do you think?”

“I guess I’d like to be two people.” He glanced at her quickly and then looked back down at the floor. “One of me could stay here with Granddad and Nana and the other me could go live with you.”

God, she hated doing this, hated making her son choose between her and his grandparents. But it wasn’t her fault that he was being put in this position. It was J.B.’s fault.

“But there’s only one you—only one Seth Nelson Cantrell. As much as your grandparents love you and you love them, you’re my son, not theirs.”

“Maybe, if we give Granddad time, he’ll come around.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Cathy knew that waiting for J.B. to change his mind would be like waiting for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east.

“I don’t know. What do you want me to say?” Seth curved his right hand into a fist and punched it into the open palm of his left hand.

Cathy curled her hand over his shoulder. He looked right at her. “I’ve hired a lawyer, Elliott Floyd. I want you to talk to Mr. Floyd and tell him how you feel about living with your grandparents and about the possibility of coming to live with me.”

Seth’s eyes widened. “Why did you hire a lawyer?”

“That’s a very good question.” Elaine stood outside in the hallway, her hard gaze directed at Cathy.

“This is none of your business, Mother. This is between my son and me.”

“If you’re thinking of suing for custody, I think you should know that I will side with J.B. and Mona, and I’ll testify that I do not believe you’re stable enough to—”

“You do whatever the hell you have to do.” Cathy barely managed to control the anger inside her. “And I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Don’t argue, please,” Seth said. “Grandmother, don’t say anything to Granddad and Nana about this.”

“I think they should know what your mother has planned,” Elaine told him.

“Please don’t tell them.” When Elaine hesitated, Seth added, “If I promise not to go and talk to Mr. Floyd, will you promise not to tell Granddad?”

Elaine smiled triumphantly. “I promise. Now go on back to the living room and tell everyone that your mother and I will be along shortly.” Seth hesitated; then, without a backward glance, he left the room.

Elaine turned to Cathy. “Think about what Seth needs, not about what you need. You’ve become quite a selfish person, haven’t you? The daughter I raised never would have—”

“I’m still the daughter you raised, Mother. I’m the end product of all your years of tender, loving care. You can’t imagine how much I learned from your example. You taught me exactly what kind of mother I don’t want to be.”

Elaine gasped. “I had hoped they could help you at Haven Home, but apparently they taught you that it’s acceptable to be disrespectful to your mother. You have no idea how you disgraced me and J.B. and Mona when you pulled that stunt last year—going stark raving mad the way you did. That was bad enough, but then you had to check yourself into that place in Birmingham when you knew everyone in town would be aware of where you were. When I look at you right now, I don’t know who you are, but you are not my daughter.”

“If that’s the way you feel, I’m sorry. But I’m not going to let you and J.B. or even Mona keep Seth from me and try to turn him into a carbon copy of Mark. He’s my son, and he is his own person. I’ll fight all of you to see that he has a chance to spread his wings and soar with the eagles.”

“Soar with eagles. What are you jabbering about? You’re talking nonsense again.”

“No, Mother, I’m telling you like it is.”

Cathy turned around and walked away, leaving her mother with her mouth gaping wide open.

The house on Madison was half the size of the parsonage where Cathy had lived with Mark and Seth. The church had provided them with a modern twenty-five-hundred-square-foot home that she had decorated in a simple, traditional style. Due to Mark’s thriftiness, they had purchased inexpensive furniture, and only Cathy’s flair for decorating had kept their home from looking like an assortment of yard-sale finds. Over the years, she had used her owner’s discount at Treasures to buy a few antique items that had added a certain elegance to their home. She liked the idea of starting fresh now and being able to decorate this rental house without any input from other people, including her mother and mother-in-law. The movers had brought only the pieces of furniture she had chosen. She intended to sell the other items that were still in storage and gradually replace them with better pieces.

Ruth Ann had agreed to work at Treasures today, which she seldom did on Saturday mornings, so that Lorie could help Cathy instruct the movers and begin the grueling job of unpacking a slew of boxes. At one o’clock, Lorie had left to relieve Ruth Ann, and Cathy had taken a short lunch break, eating a pack of cheese and crackers and downing a diet cola.

After unpacking a box filled with bed linens, she carried an armload down the hall and into the kitchen, where the compact washer and dryer were stored in a small closet behind louvered doors. She put the sheets and pillowcases in the washer and laid the folded blankets and quilts on the floor to be washed later. Leaving the washer chugging away, Cathy strolled through the house, taking her time to explore each room. The twelve-hundred-square-foot house had been built in the early fifties and added on to in the mid-sixties. The exterior was a combination of dark red brick and wooden shingles that had recently been painted a muted moss green. One of the three bedrooms was tiny, only eight by nine. It would make a perfect studio/workroom for her. She could set up her drafting table and her sewing machine and add some bookcases along the back wall.

She intended to save the larger, twelve-by-twelve bedroom for Seth. The sturdy oak furniture that Lorie had helped her find through their connections with statewide antique malls and furniture outlets looked really good in there. Seth’s old bedroom furniture, a gift from J.B. and Mona, had been some of the cheapest on the market because it was made from pressed wood. She’d sell the set for little to nothing or give it away.

The other bedroom, the one at the back of the house, was ten by twelve, and the only furniture in the room was an antique four-poster bed, a walnut chifforobe and a lady’s writing table. All of the items had once graced the parsonage’s small guest room, each item purchased with the money she had earned at Treasures. This was her bedroom. She intended to paint it a pale, creamy yellow. Mark had disliked yellow, which was her favorite color, so she’d never been able to use it in her home or even wear a yellow blouse.

Just as she headed toward the kitchen, intending to unpack the pots and pans and dishes and glassware, the doorbell rang. When she entered the living room, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror she and Lorie had hung over the sofa. A few stray tendrils of hair had loosened from her ponytail, and perspiration had erased most of her makeup. But she’d been too busy to worry about her appearance.

She peered through the viewfinder in the front door, smiled, opened the door and greeted her visitor.

“Hi there,” Jack said.

“Hi,” Cathy replied. “Please come in.”

“Are you sure? I know you’re moving in today, but when I drove by, I didn’t see any other cars here, so I thought I’d stop and offer to help out.”

“In that case, most definitely come on in.” Cathy held open the door for him. As he eased past her, her breath caught in her throat.

He glanced around at the living room, which held a sofa and one chair and more than a dozen unopened boxes.

“Didn’t the Wilsons used to live here?” Jack asked.

“The Wilsons? I don’t remember them. I’m renting the house from a lady who lives in Chattanooga. Leslie McCaf-ferty.”

“She used to be Leslie Wilson,” Jack said. “I dated her a couple of times back in high school. Nice girl.”

“As I recall, you dated a lot of girls.” Cathy grinned. “I knew who you were a long time before you knew I existed.”

“I was a few years ahead of you in school and not into young, innocent girls.” Jack reached out and tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. “In case no one has told you recently, you’re even prettier now than you were at seventeen.”

A flush of warmth spread through Cathy, a direct result of the compliment he’d paid her. Odd. She didn’t remember Jack being the type to flatter a girl. He had been a moody, dark soul back then, and she suspected that in many ways he still was. But she liked seeing this side of him.

“So, did you really stop by to help me?” she asked.

“Absolutely. Point me in the right direction and issue orders.”

“How about helping me unpack the kitchen stuff,” she said. “I can’t reach some of the upper cabinets without a step stool.”

“Lead the way.”

Three hours later, with the kitchen boxes unpacked and the items neatly stored, the bed linens washed, dried and put in place on the four-poster, Cathy led Jack into the small bedroom at the front of the house.

“I’m going to use this as my workroom,” she told him.

He eyed the two large boxes pushed against the wall near the closet. “Want me to start with those?”

She nodded. “My portable sewing machine is in the smaller one. If you’ll unpack it and set it on that desk”—she pointed to the rectangular pine desk painted white—“I’ll take the packing tape off the larger one. My drafting table is in there. I haven’t used it in years.”

“Why didn’t you go to college the way you’d planned and become an architect?” Jack asked.

Bent over the large box, her back to Jack, Cathy stiffened. She had known that it was only a matter of time before he started asking questions. Not that this question would be difficult to answer, but the reply would invariably lead to more questions. And the answer to those would require either several lies or a major confession.

She took the box cutter in her hand and ripped through the packing tape. Staying focused on the task at hand, she replied casually, “I got married instead. And I intended to eventually go back to school and get my degree, but Mark and I moved around quite a bit as he went from one church to another. And, of course, Seth kept me pretty busy.”

Holding her breath, she waited for more questions. When Jack didn’t say anything else, she glanced at him and found him busy removing her sewing machine from the box. She breathed a sigh of relief.

As he placed the sewing machine on the desk, he asked, “How about we order something for supper and I stay here and help you until I have to go to work?”

“What time do you have to go in?”

“Eleven,” he replied. “I’m filling in for Tony Bradley. He’s at the hospital with his wife, who went into labor at ten-thirty this morning.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind? I’d appreciate the help. Lorie mentioned coming back around six-thirty.”

“We’ll order dinner for three, my treat. Can you recommend a place that delivers?”

“Why don’t I call Lorie and have her pick up something on her way here? And dinner is on me,” she told him. “It’s the least I can do to pay you back for helping me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With a cocky, boyish grin on his face, he saluted her. “You call Lorie, and I’ll set up your drafting table.”

“Okay.” Feeling relaxed and happy, she returned his smile. “How about Italian? Frankie’s on Market Street has the best lasagna and a tomato pesto to die for.”

“Any Italian cream cake?” Jack asked.

“Oh my God, yes. You can gain five pounds just smelling it.”

He looked her over from head to toe and then leisurely made his way back up, stopping when their gazes met. “Why don’t you order cake for all three of us? A few extra pounds won’t hurt your figure.”

Cathy felt almost giddy and couldn’t hold back the laughter bubbling over inside her. After Seth was born and she’d been what some would have called pleasingly plump, Mark had helped her stick to a strict diet until she was at what he considered an acceptable weight. And over the years, he had kept a close eye on her eating habits. He had disapproved of her tendency to turn to food for comfort. And as J.B. had pointed out to her and Mona more than once, gluttony was a sin.

“I’ll order two pieces,” she said. “Lorie and I can split a piece and not feel too guilty for indulging.”

Jack shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He scanned the limited space in the small room. “Where do you want me to put the table?”

“There”—Cathy pointed to the area—“near the windows so that I can get a lot of natural sunlight during the day.”

He nodded. “Sure thing.”

She hurried out of the room, down the hall and into the bedroom, where she retrieved her phone from her purse. She hit the preprogrammed number for Treasures.

“Hey there. How’s the unpacking going?” Lorie asked.

“Quite well,” Cathy replied. “Especially since Jack showed up several hours ago and has been helping me.”

“He can’t seem to stay away from you, can he?”

“I don’t know, but if that’s the case, then I’m glad, because the feeling is mutual.” She lowered her voice. “Just being around him makes me happy. I don’t know exactly what it is about him, about us being together, but…I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to. Whenever I’m within twenty feet of Mike, all I want to do is reach out and grab him.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to get all soft and gooey on you. I’m actually calling to ask for a favor.”

“You don’t want me to show up tonight as planned.”

“Yes, I do want you to come over, just as we’d planned, but I’d like for you to stop by Frankie’s and pick up supper for three. Get the lasagna, Italian salad, bread sticks, tomato pesto and two slices of Italian cream cake.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be alone with Jack? I could have them deliver dinner for two.”

“No, I don’t think I’m ready for a romantic dinner, just the two of us alone here at the house.” Cathy simply couldn’t handle more than friendship from Jack or any other man. Not yet.

“Okay, then. I’ll see y’all around six-thirty. And I’ll bring supper.”

Although she had been expecting Griff’s call, Nic nearly jumped out of her skin when her phone rang. She needed to hear his voice, needed to hear him tell her that he loved her and missed her as much as she missed him.

She hated the fact that in recent months she had become a jealous, insecure wife. Priding herself on being a strong, independent woman, Nic detested any weakness in herself. It had taken her a long time to completely trust Griff and even longer to trust the way she felt about him. Loving him had been the greatest risk she’d ever taken. She had gambled with her very soul, and now she was wondering if she’d made a mistake.

“Hello.” Crap! Her voice sounded too soft, too vulnerable. “How’s the trip going?” She forced a light, cheerful note into the question.

“I miss you,” he told her and sounded damn sincere.

“I miss you, too.”

“The next time I have to be away this long, you’re going to have to come with me.”

“You really do miss me, don’t you?”

“More than you could ever know.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

“Everything all right there?” he asked.

“Things are pretty much the way you left them. Holt Keinan arrived today, and Ben Trahern went back to Knoxville.” The Powell agents rotated two-week stays at Griffin’s Rest and while there were in charge of security. “And Maleah’s here, too.”

“Any special reason she’s there?”

“No. I just wanted her here with me for a while. Any objections?”

“What’s wrong, Nic?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“I can hear it in your voice.” He paused, waiting for her to reply. When she didn’t, he added, “And your wanting Maleah to stay at Griffin’s Rest is a dead giveaway.”

“I need a friend sometimes. Someone who is just my friend. You have Sanders and Yvette and even Barbara Jean.”

“They’re your friends, too.”

She didn’t know how to respond. Yes, Barbara Jean was a friend, but her loyalty was to Sanders, the man she loved, and Sanders’s loyalty was always first and foremost to Griff and to her only because she was Griff’s wife. As far as Yvette was concerned, Nic accepted her share of the blame that they were not good friends. Early in her marriage, Yvette had reached out to her, and she had sensed that Yvette wanted them to be friends. She had to admit that it had been easier to consider Yvette a friend when she’d lived in London, half a world away from Tennessee.

“You’re worrying me, honey,” he said. “Do I need to fly home tonight?”

“No, of course not. I’m fine. Just missing you. But I’m glad you’ll be home day after tomorrow.”

He grunted. “That’s the thing. I’ve run into a few snags, and it looks like I may be here awhile longer.”

“How much longer?”

“Four or five days. A week at most.”

“A week? Why, what’s happened? I thought this was just a routine business trip.”

“It’s a business trip that’s run into some problems that I have to fix.”

She needed to tell him that there were a few problems here at home he needed to fix, but instead she said, “I may fly out to San Francisco and visit Charles David.”

“Why don’t you do that, honey, and take Maleah with you. I’m sure your brother would love to see you.”

“Are the business problems you’re trying to fix putting you in any danger?” Nic asked point-blank. She knew how he had acquired his vast wealth and the kinds of people he’d dealt with in his past.

“You shouldn’t be so intuitive. Yes, there is a certain risk, but I’m working on eliminating any future problems.”

“Who do you have there with you?”

“Luke Sentell. And a man from Cam Hendrix’s firm, too. He’s an expert in international law. I brought him along to work with the European lawyers I have to deal with on this project.”

If Griff had taken Luke Sentell with him to act as his bodyguard, that meant he had anticipated trouble—big trouble. Sentell was a former Delta Force commando. “If you go and get yourself killed, Griffin Powell, I’ll never forgive you.”