AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Unlike the dolls, her lashes weren’t long and she didn’t paint her face. But he liked that about her. Liked seeing her naked face, nothing hidden or enhanced.
He shivered with anticipation as he approached the wall facing her bedroom. Placing his head against the raw wood, he listened. Heard a suitcase unzip and close. She was getting ready for bed. Holding his breath, his heart hammering inside his chest, he carefully peeled back the teensy eyehole cover and peeped into the room.
His breath caught at first sight of her. She was lovely out on the porch earlier with the detective. She’d sensed him. They were connected. Had to be. He felt it in his bones. Now, in the privacy of her room, he could feast his eyes on every inch. It was clear he had power to draw her to him. Or she wouldn’t have looked for him in the woods.
Wanting him.
Saying yes with her eyes.
The lamplight cast the room in a soft glow, giving her skin a sun-kissed look. He watched as she readied herself for bed. He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down then swallowed hard, his breath shallow and hot.
She untucked her hair from her thin tank and tossed back the covers then crawled into the crisp white sheets. He’d been in her bed today. Earlier. Smelling her scent, caressing her pillow.
Dreaming.
Preparing.
It was only a matter of time.
Soon. He wouldn’t be able to contain himself much longer.
Chapter Seven
Wednesday, October 18
9:20 a.m.
Mother lived near the head of the holler in a cabin with a protracted porch. Rockers teetered next to handmade wooden tables. Smoke plumed from the chimney on this cold Wednesday morning. Violet hadn’t slept well last night. Eerie dreams had kept her tossing and turning only to awake to the sense of being watched.
An hour ago, at breakfast, where they once again saw food but no Aunt Hossie, she’d asked Fiona if she’d felt watched or weird over the fact the lady of the house hadn’t made a single appearance. She’d admitted that a few times she had felt creeped on, but she chalked it up to the house being old. She couldn’t explain the no-show. Not even Detective Owsley had returned after their Monday night check-in.
Which was fine with Violet. She wasn’t a fan of people she didn’t trust. And she was pretty sure she didn’t trust Regis Owsley. Asa had briefed them and assigned duties. Ty and Owen were staying at the SO to work on the strange numbers and the location patterns, though Violet didn’t think a pattern would emerge. Selah was working from the Memphis field office to track down clubs or support groups that might link to the dark but lovely Scripture reference. John was with Asa this morning canvassing homes and talking to friends and the community about Atta, Darla and Tillie, and they planned to talk to Amy Miller about the purses since her phone had gone to voice mail the rest of yesterday evening. Asa said he was hoping John’s slight Appalachian drawl would play to his benefit and someone could give them names of people they cleaned homes for.
Now, Violet and Fiona were visiting Imogene Boyd, aka Mother. She might be one of the last people to have seen Atta Atwater alive when Atta picked up the casserole for the new mother, Betty Jane Dwyer.
“How have you and John been working together? Good?” Fiona asked as she stepped from the vehicle and adjusted her black blazer.
“I don’t do girl talk, and you know this.”
“I’m not doing girl talk. I’m asking how you are working—”
“I don’t do subtext.” Violet locked the car door with the fob, her shoes crunching on gravel as she approached the home. That same icy sensation pricked at her skin, and she paused, scanning the woods.
“What’s the matter?” Fiona asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you trying to get out of the John conversation?”
“No. But knock that off.” She moved toward the woods. Something or someone was out there.
“Where are you going?” Fiona followed behind.
“You don’t feel that? Sense it? Being spied on?” Violet asked as she proceeded to the edge of the tree line.
Fiona stopped cold. “No.” But she drew her weapon anyway.
They stood and listened. The cutting noise squirrels made echoed in the treetops. A flock of birds rustled the leaves as they took flight. As if something dangerous had disturbed them. The creek water bubbled and wended downstream, and something splashed in the water.
