Dead by Midnight Part 20

The deputy said, "Yes, sir."

Mike rang the doorbell and called, "It's Mike Birkett."

The door eased open. The crowd went wild, yelling questions and accusations that quickly blended together into an unintelligible roar.

Mike slipped inside quickly and closed the door behind him. Sh.e.l.ley faced him with a grim expression.

"Where's Lorie?"

"I'm here." She walked out of the shadowed corner of the dim hallway.

It broke his heart to see the hurt in her eyes. He couldn't comfort her, couldn't gently pull her into his arms and hold her. He didn't dare.

"This is all Ryan Bonner's doing," Mike said. "That little s.h.i.thead might as well have shouted your name at Wainwright's press conference."

"He called," Sh.e.l.ley said. "Special Agent Wainwright. He got in touch right after the press conference to check on Lorie."

"Yeah, I spoke to him a few minutes ago and filled him in on the situation," Mike told them. "He's on his way to Dunmore right now."

"The phone has been ringing off the hook," Lorie said. "Sh.e.l.ley finally disconnected every line in the house."

"I'm sorry about this." Mike walked over to Lorie.

She stared up at him, her chin tilted defiantly, her expression one of steely determination. "I am not going to grovel and beg forgiveness for past sins. Not again. I've spent nine years paying penance. That's more than enough. From here on out, I don't give a d.a.m.n what anyone in this town thinks of me." She looked him right in the eye. "And that includes you."

s.e.x Addicts Anonymous Arkansas Pioneer Sat.u.r.day Group met every week at 10:00 A.M A.M. at the Alano Club. Since the sessions were closed meetings, Maleah and Derek arrived at 568 West Sycamore shortly before 11:00. Armed with arrest photos of Casey Lloyd from four years ago when he had been picked up for possession of an illegal substance, Maleah and Derek waited outside the building. At five after, a mixed group of men and women straggled out, a few at a time, some talking and laughing, others scurrying away alone.

"There he is," Derek said.

"Casey Lloyd," Maleah called out to him.

A Pillsbury Doughboyround man with puppy-dog brown eyes and fat, rosy cheeks threw up his hand and waved at Derek and Maleah.

"You missed the meeting," he said as he approached them. "The New Hope group meets on Wednesday nights or you can come back next Sat.u.r.day. But I'd be happy to talk to you now, if you need immediate help."

"We're here to speak to you, Mr. Lloyd," Maleah told him. "We're not interested in your SAA group."

He glanced from one to the other, eyeing them speculatively. "What's this about?"

"If you would prefer to talk in private-" Derek said.

"I'm good here."

"Okay. That's fine with us," Maleah said. "I'm Maleah Perdue and this is Derek Lawrence." She explained they worked for the Powell Agency and told him the bare facts about the recent murders. "By any chance you haven't received any threatening letters, have you?"

"No, I haven't, but I don't actually have an address either. I...uh...don't have a place of my own. I sleep most nights at one of the local church shelters, and during the week, I pick up whatever odd jobs I can find."

"When was the last time you left Fayetteville?" Derek asked.

"Christmas," he replied immediately. "My parents sent me a bus ticket and I went up to Bella Vista for the holidays with my family. And before you ask, yes, they've offered for me to come home and live with them, but...I've broken their hearts and disappointed them too often to risk it again. I take things one day at a time now, but I can't promise my parents or my sisters that I'll stay clean and sober and walk the straight and narrow from here on out."

Apparently Casey Lloyd, like Duane Hines, didn't have the financial means that would have enabled him to buy plane tickets and elaborate masquerade masks.

"Is there anyone you can think of from when Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade was filmed who would have a reason to want to see the actors in that movie dead?" Maleah asked. was filmed who would have a reason to want to see the actors in that movie dead?" Maleah asked.

"I have no idea. I really didn't get to know the actors all that well. When I coauth.o.r.ed that piece-of-trash script, I was high half the time."

"Were you sleeping with any of the actresses?"

"Laura Lou kept me on a pretty tight leash," Casey said. "The lady was my coauthor, my keeper, my lover, and my drug supplier. She'd have cut off my b.a.l.l.s if I'd slept with another woman."

"Was Ms. Roberts a violent person?" Derek asked. "Would she be capable of cold-blooded murder?"

"That b.i.t.c.h?" Casey laughed. "She'd be capable, but she's a little long in the tooth to do the job herself. She'd hire a hit man if she wanted anybody killed. But I can't think of any reason she'd want to kill Dean or Hilary or Charlie. Travis Dillard is another matter. She'd love to see that old son of a b.i.t.c.h six feet under."

"There was bad blood between Mr. Dillard and Ms. Roberts?" Maleah asked.

"They had a business deal-she wrote the scripts for his movies for a little of nothing and she got a percentage of the take. Then Dillard and his lawyers screwed Laura Lou out of G.o.d knows how much, but she kept writing for him because n.o.body else would hire her until a few years ago."

"If Dillard was the victim, then Ms. Roberts might be our prime suspect," Derek said. "But he's very much alive, at least for now."

"What do you mean at least for now?"

"Travis Dillard has terminal cancer," Derek explained.

Casey grinned. "Maybe there is a little bit of justice in this old world after all."

By late afternoon, the crowd outside Lorie's house had dispersed, leaving behind cigarette b.u.t.ts, drink cans, and a variety of debris littering her yard and the road in front of her house. The flower beds on either side of her walkway had been trampled and the antique white wrought-iron settee in her backyard garden had been moved directly under a window, used by two peeping Tom reporters trying to see inside her house.

Mike had persuaded most of the townsfolk to leave, but it had taken a warning from Special Agent Wainwright to get rid of the press. At least temporarily.

"They'll be back," Wainwright had told her. "One at a time or in small groups. Your story is big-time news now that they know you're one of the Midnight Killer's potential victims."

"The Midnight Killer?"

"That's what the press is calling him, and it seems appropriate."

"Then y'all are sure it's a man?"

"Reasonably sure. Most serial killers are male."

Most but not all, Lorie thought. What if they were wrong? And what if, no matter what the FBI and the Powell Agency did, they couldn't keep the killer from getting to her? Lorie thought. What if they were wrong? And what if, no matter what the FBI and the Powell Agency did, they couldn't keep the killer from getting to her?

"Lorie? Lorie..." Mike called her name several times before she snapped out of her thoughts and looked at him.

"Sorry, I was...It doesn't matter."

"Are you certain that you want to go to Jack and Cathy's homecoming party?" Mike asked. "It's only a small gathering, but-"

"I am not going to allow the media or the good citizens of Dunmore to make me a prisoner in my own home. My best friend is returning from her honeymoon this evening and nothing is going to keep me from being there to welcome her and her husband home."

"Then you'll go with me," Mike told her. "Ms. Gilbert, too, of course."

"That's not necessary," Lorie said. "If you show up with me, people will talk."

"Let them talk. If you're escorted by the sheriff, you'll be safer from the press and from anyone thinking about stalking you when you leave the house." He grinned. "Remember, I have the authority to arrest people, and for most folks that alone is a deterrent."

"Aren't you planning to take your girlfriend to the party?" Lorie asked.

Mike hesitated, and then cleared his throat. "Abby can pick up the kids and meet us there."

"What's she like?"

"Abby?"

"Yes, Abby." Not for the world would she tell Mike that his children had practically come out and told her that they didn't like Abby Sherman, the woman he had been dating on a fairly regular basis for several months.

"She's a really nice person. In many ways, she reminds me of Molly."

Molly, the woman who had taken her place in his heart and in his life. Molly, who had given him two beautiful children. Molly, who, in death, had been elevated to sainthood, at least in Mike's eyes. If Abby Sherman reminded him of his late wife, then she had to be d.a.m.n near perfect.

"I look forward to meeting her," Lorie said.

Mike stared at her, a puzzled look in his dark blue eyes.

"If she makes you happy, I'm glad."

"What about you, Lorie, are you happy?" he asked, then quickly amended his question. "Were you happy before this mess with the threatening letters and-?"

"I was content," she told him. "It took me a long time to reach that point."

"I'd like to see you happy. I hate what happened today. I hate that people can be so cruel and unforgiving. In the past, I was one of those people. I wanted to hurt you the way you had hurt me."

"You did."

"I know."

"Mike?"

"Huh?"

"Don't ever settle for anything less than the real thing," she told him. "Don't convince yourself you should marry Abby Sherman or any other woman because she'd make a good wife and mother or because she reminds you of Molly. When you get married again be sure it's for the right reason."

"For love?" He grunted. "I've been in love twice in my life and I lost both of those women. I think the next time around, I'll gladly settle for something safer. Friendship, loyalty, fidelity, mutual respect."

The doorbell rang and a loud rapping on the front door followed immediately.

"Stay here," Mike told her.

Sh.e.l.ley came into the room from where she had been in the kitchen making a private phone call to Powell headquarters. While Mike headed for the front door, Sh.e.l.ley walked over and stood by Lorie.

Mike eased open the door. A uniformed deputy stood on the porch. Lorie sighed with relief. But her relief was short-lived.

"Sorry to bother you, Mike, but I knew you'd want to see this." He lifted his right hand and held up a single piece of paper. "Somebody has circulated these all over Dunmore. They're plastered to walls and telephone poles and even street signs."

Several choice profanities shot out of Mike's mouth in rapid succession.

"What is it?" Lorie asked, her pulse racing, her gut instinct telling her that whatever it was, it was bad news.

Mike turned and held up the paper so that she could see it. Oh, G.o.d, she'd been right. It was bad news. The single sheet was a printer copy of her Playboy Playboy centerfold. Lorie Hammonds, naked, smiling, posing seductively. centerfold. Lorie Hammonds, naked, smiling, posing seductively.

Chapter 16.

When he had phoned Abby and explained the situation, she had been far more understanding than he'd thought she would be.

"I'll be more than happy to pick up the children and bring them with me to Jack and Cathy's party," Abby had told him. "I think it's very brave of Ms. Hammonds to actually show up tonight. It's terrible the way people are talking about her, calling her all those awful names. Even though what they're saying about her is true."

He told himself that Abby's last comment hadn't been a catty remark about a woman she saw as a rival. If she were any other woman...But she wasn't. She was Abby. She didn't have a mean or hateful bone in her body; if anything she was too nice.

Mike knew he could have gotten one of his deputies to escort Lorie and Sh.e.l.ley to the party. Several of the deputies were Jack's buddies and would be there anyway. What had started out as a small get-together for a dozen or so people had wound up a big celebration with a guest list totaling more than forty.

Standing on Lorie's porch, showered, shaved, and wearing his best khaki pants and blue b.u.t.ton-down, Mike hesitated before ringing the doorbell. Although both he and Lorie knew the real reason he was here to pick her up this evening, the whole thing seemed too much like a date to suit him. Memories from their teen years played in his mind like an old newsreel. Images of Lorie at sixteen when he had taken her to the junior/senior prom. Flashes of other dates over the years, a smiling Lorie eagerly welcoming him.

Steeling his nerves, he rang the doorbell.

Sh.e.l.ley Gilbert opened the door. "Come on in, Sheriff Birkett."

"Call me Mike." He walked into the house and glanced around, looking for Lorie.

"She'll be out in a minute, Mike," Sh.e.l.ley told him.

He nodded. "Had any more trouble from the reporters?"

"Not so far. I've seen several cars slow down as they pa.s.sed the house, and somebody stuffed the mailbox with those Playboy Playboy centerfold flyers." centerfold flyers."