Fatal Mercy by Dan Padavona (freenovel24 .TXT) 📗

pastries and coffee and walked back to his truck. The sunlight spread fiery streaks through Naomi’s hair, and the woman wore the satisfied smile of a major accomplishment.

“That went better than I expected,” she said, climbing into the truck.

He closed her door and circled to the driver’s side.

“You should be proud, Naomi. Your ideas saved her business.”

“Let’s not put the cart before the horse. She has a long road ahead.”

“I have a good feeling about the Broken Yolk.”

As Thomas pulled into the road, Naomi yelled. He slammed his brakes before a 4x4 whistled past, almost tearing off his side mirrors.

“Who was that driving like a maniac?”

Thomas drummed his fingers against the wheel.

“That was Carl Middleton.”

Wherever Middleton was going, he was furious and in a hurry.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Friday, July 17th

4:55 p.m.

 

“No, Ambrose. I don’t want you to come over.”

Kay Ramsey brushed the unkempt hair out of her eyes and shuffled to the kitchen. Sauce-stained dishes filled the sink, and a bowl of half-eaten oatmeal congealed on the granite.

“You shouldn’t be alone, Mom. Especially after what happened last night.”

“Father Fowler exaggerates, dear. Yes, I was upset. But I don’t need twenty-four-hour monitoring. Besides, you have your family to tend to.”

“You’re our family.”

“Let me be. Give me time to clear my head.”

“I’m uncomfortable with this.”

“If I need someone to talk to, I’ll call. I promise.”

A glass shattered in the background.

“Shit.”

“What happened?”

“I dropped a glass. Sorry, Mom.”

“I’ll let you go, Ambrose. If I need anything, I’ll call.”

Ambrose was in mid-sentence when Kay ended the call. With the curtains drawn, the downstairs drowned in shadow. If Kay opened the drapes and let the sun inside, it would make her feel better. But she preferred the darkness now, waited for night to fall. The pain and loneliness lessened while she slept.

She scanned the mess in the sink and sighed. Turning on the faucet, she retrieved a rag from the drawer while the water warmed. She shoved aside dishes until she located the drain stopper, then she squeezed dishwashing liquid into the stream and filled the sink. Halfway through the stack, Kay’s back stiffened when someone pounded on her door.

She turned the water off and listened. The pounding started again, irate and unrelenting. Kay eyed the phone and considered phoning Ambrose. But her daughter had her hands full, and the person couldn’t get inside the house with the storm door locked.

A fist struck the door hard enough to shake the floor and jiggle the glassware. Kay crept to the curtain and peeked through the slit.

“I know you’re in there, Mrs. Ramsey. Open the damn door!”

She touched her mouth and backed away from the window. Carl Middleton. What was he doing at her house? The audacity of the man to stand upon her stoop after he’d made Lincoln’s final years miserable. Kay wanted to rip the door open and scream in his face. But the unhinged shouting pushed her deeper into the shadows, away from his ferocity.

And still the man bashed the door. The force of the blows squeezed sunlight between the door and jamb.

“You went to the sheriff’s department and told them I threw a brick through your window! Open the door and face me, you old bitch!”

Kay didn’t know what Middleton was talking about. She hadn’t told the sheriff Middleton broke her window.

“Go away, Carl, or I’ll call the police.”

It became quiet outside the door. Kay’s body trembled as she rubbed the goosebumps off her arms. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, praying she’d scared him off. That’s when she heard footsteps moving along the house, arrowing toward the backyard.

She rushed to the kitchen and snatched her phone off the granite. The backyard was empty. Kay peered through the kitchen curtains and searched her neighbor’s driveway. No vehicles. Nobody to help if the madman punched a hole in the glass and broke into the house. If Middleton was brazen enough to harass her in the light of day, how could she sleep at night, knowing he was out there, seeking his twisted revenge?

The window in the downstairs bathroom jostled. Someone was trying to open the screen.

Kay dialed 9-1-1 and ran down the hallway, her breaths coming quick as she stood outside the door.

“9-1-1 operator,” the man said. “What’s your emergency?”

“Someone is breaking into my house.”

“What’s happening?”

“A man is trying to climb through the bathroom window.”

“I’m sending a patrol car to your location now.”

“Thank God.”

“Do you recognize the man?”

“I believe it’s Carl Middleton. He owns Middleton Construction.” A truck motor fired outside. Kay rushed to the living room and threw the curtains back. “Hold on. Something is happening.”

Middleton’s 4x4 squealed down the street.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Friday, July 17th

5:35 p.m.

 

The moment Thomas set Jack’s food dish below the table, the big dog devoured his meal. He scratched behind the dog’s neck and sipped his ginger beer. Outside the window, Naomi wheeled Scout toward the lake, his neighbor moving with a bounce to her step that hadn’t existed before she helped Ruth Sims. While Jack ate, Thomas paged through the Cecilia Bond and Lincoln Ramsey case files, searching for something he’d missed. Scout’s warning about an angel of mercy killer kept ringing inside his head. It was a long shot. But if another serial killer was loose in Wolf Lake, he needed an expert opinion.

Thomas snapped his fingers and scrolled through his contacts. When he located the phone number for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he called the FBI.

“Please put me through to Agent Neil Gardy,” he said.

The receptionist told him to hold, and the phone began ringing. Thomas had worked with Agent Gardy in Los Angeles after a series of child abductions convinced the LAPD to call the FBI.

“Agent Gardy,” the familiar voice said.

“Neil, it’s Thomas Shepherd.”

“Detective, how is life in Los Angeles?”

“It’s Deputy Shepherd now, and I work for the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department in New York State.”

“Talk about a career change. Nightshade County. That’s close to Syracuse, correct?”

“That’s right. We’re on the edge of the Finger Lakes.” Thomas glanced through the window. LeVar returned