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I blow out a breath and then shake my head. “Okay. What’s next?”
Chapter Four
“For all of these things, I am not the least bit sorry.”
-Carl Panzram
He’s been watching his girls through the mirrors in their homes. They thought they could hide from him. That their pathetic spells could keep him away.
It’s almost laughable. But they’ve underestimated him at every turn for as long as he can remember. They have to be punished for that.
Yes. There’s no other way. But the punishments will be so sweet. And the girls will appreciate him. Love him for showing them where they went wrong.
He’s almost embarrassed by their lack of gratitude. His mother would have given him thirty lashes and sent him into the cellar for a week if he’d been even half as disrespectful as those girls.
He blames Ruth for that. She needs to be punished, as well.
But for now, he’s shifted his focus to Daphne. Ah, his sweet Daphne. She’s the gentlest of the three. The softest—with a heart of gold. He’s not supposed to have a favorite, but in his heart of hearts, Daphne is the one who brings him the most joy.
He’s excited to get started on this phase of the game. Daphne will be so thrilled by his work. So grateful.
He’s been drifting in spirit form for a long while, and he likes this better than trying to inhabit another stupid mortal. The last one was such a disappointment. This time, he plans to do things another way.
It won’t be as satisfying as holding the knife, but he’ll make do.
He watches her. Not Daphne, not yet, but another woman with hair the color of fire and big, blue eyes.
A new toy.
She stands in front of the mirror in her bathroom, looking right at him as she pins her hair on the top of her head, getting ready for a bath.
“Oh, aren’t you beautiful?” he croons. The toy’s eyes glaze over as the trance settles in. “That’s right, pin that hair up. You don’t want to get it wet in the bath, do you? Such pretty hair.”
He wishes he could reach through the mirror and touch her. Feel that hair in his fingers, the smooth skin. But he’s not that strong.
Not yet.
“Take off your clothes now.” He watches as the woman steps out of her pants and pulls her sweatshirt over her head. “Oh, yes. You’re just lovely with all that white skin. Those pink nipples. Yes, a bath is just the thing, isn’t it? Is the water hot enough?”
She moves to the side of the tub and tests the temperature, then turns off the tap since the tub is almost full.
“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t forget the blow-dryer. That’s it.” She plugs the blow-dryer into the outlet, and he smiles with delight when she steps into the tub, sits, and electrocutes herself to death.
Chapter Five
Daphne
“I have an idea,” Jack says after I turn the lock in Reflections’ door after a long day of rearranging my merchandise and waiting on customers.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“I don’t know if you heard, but I sold my parents’ house a few years back.”
“I heard,” I confirm and remember how my stomach had twisted at the news. I’d spent many hours in that house with Jack’s parents. I’d loved them very much.
“Well, I kept all of the furniture. Especially the antiques that my mama collected over the years.”
I feel my eyes light in interest. “Did you keep that gorgeous folding writing desk she had in the corner of the living room?”
“I kept everything,” he confirms, and my heart gives a little leap. “It’s all in a garage on Oliver’s property. Would you be interested in any of it for the shop?”
I nod and know exactly where I would put that desk.
In my living room.
“Absolutely. I could consign it for you here. Or even buy the pieces outright from you to sell. Either way.”
“Let’s go look at it,” he suggests.
“Now?”
He nods and tucks his hands into his pockets. “No time like the present.”
I could use the distraction, and I remember that Jack’s mom had some beautiful pieces. “I’d love to see it.”
“Let’s go, then.”
I gather my purse, make sure everything is locked up tight, and the next thing I know, I’m in the front seat of Jack’s car, headed out of the city.
Oliver doesn’t live as far out as the bayou, but he’s on the edge of the city where there’s more space—where the homes are spread out a bit. He’s owned his property for many years. At least, for as long as I can remember.
When Jack pulls into Oliver’s driveway, nostalgia hits me. We used to come here for dinner every Sunday afternoon—mudbugs or a fish fry. It was the best food. And some of the best company.
When Jack turned his back on me all those years ago, I didn’t just lose him. I lost his family, too. Oliver, and his wife, Annabelle, who were always nothing but wonderful to me.
