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“This is about judging and condemning other people when the one doing the judging and condemning is just as bad. The hypocrites say to condemn the wicked, but they should be condemned too because they’re doing the same wicked things. We’re looking at someone who may have been, or felt, condemned by these women, but they were equally as wicked. And God in His justice will punish them. He could be assuming the instrumental role in punishing them. Think about it. They are dark but lovely. Sinful. Pretty faces condemning, inside rotten and wicked. Verse five says they’re storing up terrible punishment for themselves by doing this. I mean, let’s be honest. What he’s doing to them is pretty terrible.”
This could be it. The information they needed to build a solid profile.
Violet placed her finger in her cleft. “They don’t see that they’re hypocritical and judging and condemning...because they can’t see, he literally blinds them. They’re in the dark to their sin therefore he literally puts them in the dark.”
“Verse six says God will judge each one according to their works.”
“He’s bringing the pain. The punishment of God.”
“What type of man are we looking for?” John asked.
Ty rubbed the scruff on his chin. “Religious. Devout to the rules.”
“Legalistic, not someone who has a genuine relationship with God.” John rolled it around. “Could be anyone.”
His phone rang.
Greg.
Saturday, October 21
4:35 p.m.
Violet sat across from Ty at the Meat and Three Veg for an early dinner. Greg had called and wanted to meet with John again. Alone. He’d been gone for about an hour, and even though it was only a little past four thirty, Ty wasn’t waiting on him for dinner. While he could be infantile most often, he was brilliant in his field of work. Romans 2:1–6 made sense to her, even if Ty wouldn’t concretely say that was what the numbers meant. He wanted more time.
But if it was spot on, what were Tillie, Darla, Atta and Nadine condemning the killer for? Or condemning others for? He might be exacting punishment, but not in direct relation to him. Which would make it more difficult to find him.
“Nadine was a Whiskey Girl, and I’m starting to think that the other women were too.” She speared a cherry tomato from her house salad, and Ty peppered his country-fried heart attack and mashed potatoes.
After a heaping bite, gravy dotting the corners of his mouth, he held up his fork and chewed. “We know they all cleaned houses, except Nadine, but we know for a fact she was a Whiskey Girl. We can’t find a single person who knows whose houses they cleaned. No addresses. Customer list. I don’t think they cleaned houses at all.”
“You think they ran drugs and that’s a front to hide what they were actually doing?”
“And maybe prostitution. Not all of them have been referred to as Whiskey Girls—who we know run drugs. But holler girls, which could be a term used for a hooker. Or maybe the terms are interchangeable depending on who you talk to.”
“I wondered that myself, but we have no proof,” Violet said.
“They did all have intercourse before they died. Not concrete proof.” Ty dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Still something to consider. Whiskey running drugs with one set of women and pimping another set. That would make him a lot of money and even more powerful.”
“Mother mentioned the women giving money to the Lord. Charitable work in the name of Christianity. Could they have done that with drug or prostitution money or both? Could that be what’s set off our killer?”
“Maybe.”
She sipped her water and almost swallowed a lemon seed. “I asked for no lemon.”
“Well, they do what they want up here. That much is clear,” Ty said. “Most everyone goes to the church in the holler. That’s Atta’s brother’s church. He’s religious.”
“He has access to the women. They wouldn’t struggle or expect him. Speaking of access...” Might as well come clean. “I think the killer has access to the B and B.” She told him about her missing undergarment. “I don’t know that I’m actually being watched. It feels like it. This entire place...it feels like something invisible is hovering and slithering, staking its claim and having its way.”
Ty paused midbite. “You’re freaking me out.”
“You don’t feel it? Sense it?” How could anyone not? It was dark and heavy like breath releasing from a vile place. “I don’t mean the people—not all of them. The place. Especially the house. It’s the same sensation I felt in that cabin on our first day here. The one where we found that photo of the little girl. Have you heard anything from Selah on that or figured out who the place belonged to?”
Ty shook his head. “We found who the land belongs to, but we don’t know, yet, if the cabin had been rented or if he lived there. Trying to locate him.” A prankish gleam formed in his eyes. “Name is Cotton Joseph Wilkes.”
“Don’t,” Violet warned, knowing this was heading down a musical pipeline. She was not up for Ty’s rendition of “Cotton-Eyed Joe.”
“Well, we don’t know where he came from or where he goes.” Ty ran a roll through his thick white country gravy. “I could eat this every day.”
