The Dying Game (37 page)
After searching for the portable phone, she found it by the fifth ring, on top of the magazine rack beside the recliner. She picked it up, hit the On button and said, “Hello” without glancing at the caller ID.
“Mrs. Ford?” a male voice asked.
“Yes, this is she.”
“I’m Donald Holloway. My wife and I moved here from Tallulah, just last month, and Missy heard about your dance classes. Our girls were taking ballet and tap back in Tallulah and sure do miss it.”
“Welcome to Parsons, Mr. Holloway.” Two new students? Yes, yes, yes! “Are you and your wife interested in enrolling your daughters at my studio?”
“Yes, ma’am, we sure are, but we’re both working and the only time we might get by downtown to see you would be at night. Is that a problem?”
“Why, no, I teach private lessons from six until seven three nights a week.”
“Then would tomorrow night be all right? We could stop by between seven and seven-thirty. And after you see how talented our older girl, Melissa Lee, is, you might want to give her some private lessons. We don’t spare any expense when it comes to our children.”
Two more students, and one might take additional private lessons. This was great. Just when Sandi thought she had tapped all the potential students to be found in Parsons, new residents appeared like magic. How lucky was that?
Although she had planned to come home right after the last class at six tomorrow—Wednesday evening—so she wouldn’t miss church services again this week, she knew the Lord would understand.
“I’ll see you and your wife and daughters tomorrow even ing,” Sandi said. “My studio is downtown, on Main Street. You can’t miss it. The building is pink, with a lavender front door and a ballerina painted on the display window, and there are costumes in the window.”
“Yes, ma’am, my wife knows just where the place is. So, we’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
After Sandi hung up the phone, she whirled around and around. Earl Ray caught her and pulled her into his arms. “I thought you weren’t going to work late tomorrow. We promised the kids we’d go to the Wednesday night service with them. We’ve missed the past three weeks.”
“I know.” Sandi stroked her husband’s cheek. “But these are two potential new students and one might take private lessons. Do you know how much more money that could mean for us?”
Earl Ray frowned.
She ran her hand over his chest and down to his belt. “You can take the kids to church tomorrow evening, can’t you? And I promise, I’ll make sure I’m free next Wednesday night.” She lowered her hand until it covered the zipper of his jeans.
Grinning, he laid his hand over hers and pressed it against his crotch. “Well, since you put it that way.”
Pudge laid the prepaid cell phone on the bedside table, smiling to himself as he thought about his Oscar™-worthy performance as mild-mannered husband and father, Donald Holloway. Once again, the pretty flower he’d chosen was making things easy for him. He and Ruddy had occasionally discussed how trusting these women were, how easily fooled and manipulated. Apparently none of them were very bright. All were beautiful, but stupid.
He had driven through downtown Parsons this evening and noticed how desolate the place was after six o’clock. The old saying about the streets being rolled up certainly applied to this place. The only business other than the dance studio that stayed open after six was a mom & pop restaurant a block over from Main Street on Tipton Avenue. All the traffic lights in town went to caution yellow after six, except for the ones on Main. By seven o’clock, the town was dead. Tomorrow night nothing on the street where Sandi’s Dance Studio was located would be open. A good eighty percent of the traffic would be near the three downtown churches, none of them located on Main.
Cutting off Sandi’s feet would be so much easier if he could simply use a small chain saw, but they were such noisy tools. A sharp axe or meat cleaver should work just as well. Sandi was petite, with slender ankles. One good chop on each foot should do the trick.
He wanted to hear her scream. But could he risk someone else hearing her? It would all depend on where he could isolate her inside the studio. A backroom would be perfect. Doors closed and locked, lights dimmed, the mood set.
This would be one of his last kills. He needed to make every moment count before this game ended.
After feasting on thick ham sandwiches and potato soup, Lindsay and Judd sat at the kitchen table drinking milk and eating shortbread cookies. They had talked a bit during food preparation, sharing memories of childhood meals with their families.
“My mom was a great cook,” Lindsay had said. “Every day when I came home from school, she’d have homemade cookies and a glass of cold milk waiting for me.”
“My mother didn’t know how to cook,” Judd had said. “Of course, she didn’t need to know how. She grew up with a live-in cook and so had my father. But my grandmother Walker knew how to cook, at least I recall when I was a small boy her preparing breakfast for me: Scones and orange marmalade. And she cooked quite a bit when we came here to the lodge. God, how I adored her.”
“What did you call her, Grandmother?”
“I called her Mimi.”
“How sweet. I don’t remember either of my grandmothers, but I had a Pops. My father’s father. He died when I was ten.”
“Mimi died when I was sixteen. I didn’t shed a tear. Not until almost a month later, then I broke down and cried for days.”
Lindsay had known Judd for nearly four years, but tonight was their first “getting acquainted” conversation in all that time.
During supper, they’d talked very little, both enjoying sharing the meal. Lindsay had the oddest feeling that she was dreaming and would wake up at any minute. How often had she longed for an evening such as this?
When they finished off their cookies and milk, Judd stood, then stacked their dirty dishes. “I’ll wash,” he said, “if you’ll dry.”
“Okay.” She picked up the silverware and followed him over to the old farmhouse sink.
“This kitchen needs overhauling. New stove, refrigerator, and definitely a dishwasher,” Judd said. “Maybe one of these days, I’ll remodel the whole place.”
“It would make a wonderful home, out here in the country with all the woods and meadows and animals everywhere. You could get a couple of dogs—collies or golden retrievers. And you should put a swing on the porch.”
Judd grinned at her. “The last woman who loved this old lodge was my mimi. She came out here with my grandfather on weekends, and believe it or not, she liked to hunt wild turkey.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. She wouldn’t have anything to do with deer hunting, but she was an expert shot. She’s the one who had the flower garden put in out back. And in her day, there was also a herb garden and a vegetable garden. She loved flowers and fresh herbs and homegrown vegetables.”
“So do I. Sanders and I have a herb garden at Griffin’s Rest. And every spring we plant tomatoes in big pots on the deck.”
Judd put a rubber stopper in the old sink, turned on the faucets and picked up the newly purchased bottle of dish detergent. “Mimi had a greenhouse built on the family property on Lookout Mountain. It’s still there, but I believe it’s empty now. When I lived there, Cook kept a herb garden in it.”
Lindsay ran her hand across the lip of the oversized farmhouse sink. “If you ever redo the kitchen, you should leave this sink. It’s in great condition and this type of sink is back in style.”
Judd poured detergent into the running water, then set the bottle aside, and placed the dishes and silverware into the warm suds. “You grew up in Chattanooga, didn’t you?”
“Sure did. Out in Lookout Valley. But both of my parents were originally from Sand Mountain, down in northeast Alabama.”
“My family has been in Chattanooga for generations.” He washed the first dish, rinsed it, and handed it to Lindsay.
They talked about this and that, the way friends would idly chitchat while doing a chore, and before long, the dishes, silverware, soup pot, and glasses were washed, dried, and put away.
“Did you bring a suitcase?” Judd asked as he took the dish towel from her and hung it over the edge of the sink to dry.
“An overnight bag,” she told him.
“I’ll have to put some linens on one of the beds downstairs. You can take your pick.” He clenched his jaw. “I don’t figure you’ll want your usual room, the room where we …” Closing his eyes, a pained expression crossed his face. “You should have let Griff horsewhip me for what I did.”
Lindsay grasped his arm just above his elbow. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I think maybe you’ve suffered as much from what happened between us that night as I have. If we’re going to be friends, we both have to get past what happened.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes, I think I can.” She released his arm.
“You might be able to forgive me, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.”
“All either of us can do is take things one day at a time,” Lindsay said. “You’re taking the first steps toward recovering from a horrible tragedy. I don’t expect miracles overnight and neither should you.”
He huffed. “Thank God, because I’m still a mess and I may always be screwed-up. I’ll never be the same person I was before Jennifer was murdered, and I’m still the revenge-hungry, crazy guy I was last week. It’s just …” He took Lindsay’s hand in his. “You make me want to work my way back to being a decent human being again.”
“I–I make you …?” Lindsay nervously bit down on her lower lip.
He reached up and cupped her face with his open palms. “I have fought you tooth and nail, haven’t I? I’ve done nothing to deserve your friendship or your love. I know that. But our good friend Griff made me realize that I’ve depended on you, needed you, wanted you, expected you to take all my shit, and keep coming back for more.”
Blinking her eyes to dissolve the teardrops, Lindsay offered him a trembling smile. “Griff’s good at giving come-to-Jesus talks, isn’t he?”
“I can’t promise you anything and I can’t offer you anything. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
She placed her hands over his where he held her face with gentle force. “You have to know that when it comes to you, I don’t have any pride. I’d do anything for you. I’d—”
He lowered his head and kissed her, all the while clasping her face with tender strength. She responded, opening her mouth for his invasion, savoring the moment. When they were both breathless, they broke apart and stared at each other. Judd let his hands drop away from her face.
“If I asked you to come to bed with me—”
“Ask me,” she said.
“No. Not tonight.”
“Oh.” She felt as if he’d slapped her.
“It’s not that I don’t want you,” he told her. “I do. God, sweetheart, I want you so bad it hurts.”
“Then why—?”
“I don’t deserve you.” He stuffed his shaky hands into his jeans pockets. “I’m a crazy hermit, a vengeance-crazed renegade, and an alcoholic, too. I’m no prize for any woman and certainly not for you.”
Lindsay released a long, deep sigh. Judd had just admitted not one horrible truth, but three. She didn’t realize he knew, let alone would admit, that he had gradually become an alcoholic. Talk about major progress!
“You don’t love someone because he’s perfect. You love him in spite of his flaws,” she told Judd. “Please, let me help you. Let me love you.”
“And if I can’t give you anything in return?”
You can. You will. Someday
. “I’m not asking for anything, only that you open yourself up enough to let me in. As a friend, as a lover. Whatever you want or need.”
“I want to do it right this time. Slow and easy. And wait until you don’t have any doubts, when you won’t be thinking about the last time. I want you to be able to trust me.” He held out his hand.
She took his hand and went with him back into the front parlor. He restarted the CD player, and the moment the soft, melodic strands of a tenor sax and a guitar spread through the room, like warm molasses over hot bread, Judd pulled Lindsay into his arms.
“I used to be a pretty good dancer,” he said.
She closed her eyes, laid her head on his chest, curved one arm around his waist, and lifted the other up to his shoulder.
If this was a dream, she hoped she never woke up.
After looking at two of the three downstairs’ bedrooms, deliberately avoiding the one where Judd had emotionally brutalized her, she chose the second room, knowing the minute she saw it that this had been his grandmother’s room. A sturdy mahogany four-poster dominated the large space, the bed placed at an angle in one corner, taking full advantage of the long windows on the side and back walls. A ten-foot-high armoire, with massive doors and intricately carved trim, hugged the opposite wall, and a marble-topped dresser boasted a huge, beveled mirror.
“I’ll take this one,” Lindsay said.
Judd grinned. “This was Mimi’s room.”
“I thought maybe it was.” She walked into the room, inspecting everything from the wool rug on the wooden floor to the twelve foot ceiling crowned with dark walnut molding that matched the mopboard, the windows, and the doors.
“She had the furniture moved here from the house on Lookout Mountain,” Judd said. “It had belonged to my grandfather’s parents and had been stored in the attic.”
“Your house on the mountain must be incredible. Someday, you’ll have to give me a tour.”
“You might not like the house. Jennifer didn’t like it any more than she liked this place.” His smile disappeared. “Sorry. I keep—”
Lindsay whirled around and tapped his lips with her index finger. “Never apologize for talking about her.”
Judd clasped Lindsay’s hand and kissed her knuckles several times before releasing her. “I’ll get some sheets and blankets and a couple of pillows. And if you’ll give me your car keys, I’ll bring in your overnight bag.”
“You get the bed linens. I can get my bag.”
He glanced at the dark, unused fireplace. “If you’d like, I can build a fire for you. As you well know, there’s no central heat and air, and it can get downright cold here at night this time of year.”