Beverly Barton - Silent Killer

Five minutes into their meal, with Hannah seated at the booth alongside Mike and M.J. beside Jack, Mike’s gaze fixed on something or someone behind Jack.

“Did you know Cathy would be here tonight?” Mike asked.

“Who’s Cathy?” Hannah looked up at her father.

“Yeah, she mentioned it when we had a business lunch today,” Jack replied.

Looking squarely at Jack, Mike answered his daughter. “Cathy is Mrs. Cantrell. She’s an old friend of Jack’s and mine.”

“Oh, like Miss Lorie,” Hannah said.

“Sort of,” Mike mumbled.

“Hey, it’s a free country,” Jack said. “Why should I have missed the chance to spend a fun evening with you, Hannah and M.J. just because my path might cross with Cathy and her date?”

Mike’s eyes widened. “She’s dating the preacher who took over her husband’s congregation?”

“They’re just friends.”

“Hmm…Apparently.” Mike chuckled. “Most people don’t take their teenage kids along with them on a date.” Suddenly an odd expression crossed Mike’s face. He lowered his voice. “Don’t look now, but here they come.”

“Huh?” Jack turned around at the exact same moment Cathy walked by with her date and their kids.

Cathy paused, a startled look in her eyes. “Good evening.” She glanced from Jack, who rose to his feet immediately, straight to Mike. “This is a popular place tonight.” She smiled. “How’s the food?”

“Not half bad,” Mike said as he stood.

“Evening, Deputy.” Donnie Hovater extended his hand. “Good to see you again.”

Jack nodded, shook the preacher’s hand and sat back down.

He didn’t like this guy. Yeah, sure, he resented Cathy spending time with a man who had to remind her of her dead husband. But it was more than that. Jack’s gut instincts picked up some weird vibes from the preacher man.

“Enjoy your evening,” Cathy said, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Jack.

“Yeah, you, too,” Mike said when Jack remained silent.

As soon as the foursome was out of earshot, Mike sat down, his face crunched in a disapproving frown. “That went well, don’t you think?” he said sarcastically. “Why didn’t you just sock the guy in the jaw instead of shaking his hand?”

“Why should Jack have hit Brother Hovater?” Hannah asked.

“Yeah, you told us to never start a fight,” M.J. added.

“Jeez,” Mike grumbled under his breath. He pulled out a ten from his wallet and handed it to his son. “Take Hannah with you and y’all go get ice cream for dessert.”

As soon as his children headed off toward the nearby concession stand, Mike leaned forward and said, “What’s going on between you and Cathy?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. The vibes between you two were so intense, I’m surprised-”

“I want her. She wants me. But she’s not ready for anything more than friendship.” Jack slid out of the booth and stood. “I think I’ll pass on the bowling. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Running away won’t solve your problem.”

“A smart soldier knows when to retreat and work on new battle plans.”

Mike shook his head. “Is that how you think of your relationship with Cathy, as a battle? You think Donnie Hovater is your enemy?”

“I think he wants Cathy,” Jack said. “And I damn well don’t intend to let him have her.”

Jack didn’t wait around to hear what else Mike had to say. He walked out of the bowling alley and went directly to his car. After sliding behind the wheel, he sat there and stared through the windshield into the dark night sky.

What the hell was the matter with him? Hadn’t he decided, just this morning, that what he needed was to get laid? Cathy Nelson Cantrell was not the only woman in the world, not even the only woman in Dunmore, Alabama. If all he wanted was a one-night stand, he could go to any bar in Dunmore or nearby Decatur, Athens or Huntsville and probably have his pick.

As for Donnie Hovater, if Cathy preferred his type-Mark Cantrell’s type-then who the hell cared? He’d never fought for the rights to a woman, had never known one worth fighting for, except maybe his mother and definitely his sister. So why did he want to beat the living daylights out of the preacher, stomp him to the ground, walk over him and claim his prize?

Jack slammed both fists down against the steering wheel. Cathy would sure as hell love being thought of as a prize, wouldn’t she?

That woman has turned you inside out and tied you into knots.

But he couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault. Some people just had an undeniable chemistry that made it difficult for them to keep their hands off each other. It had been that way for Cathy and him seventeen years ago. It was still like that for the two of them.

Jack inserted the key into the ignition, started his Corvette and headed toward Huntsville. It was Friday night, and the bars would be open well into the morning.

The house was deadly quiet as she slipped out of her bedroom at eleven-thirty. No one would miss her. Even if her bed was empty, it would be assumed that she was outside in the gazebo where she often went at night when she couldn’t sleep. No one bothered her there while she sat alone in the darkness. It was her only refuge on earth.

The doctors had given her a prescription for non-habit-forming sleeping pills, and for a while she had pretended to take them. Finally, she had admitted that she didn’t want to take drugs. Her body was a temple, not to be abused or defiled.

“Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own. For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s.”

She knew her Scriptures, had learned chapter and verse from her earliest childhood. God’s holy words about the sanctity of the body were found in I Corinthians 6:19-20.

Drugs were of the devil.

The devil lived in and worked through human beings, even those who professed to be His prophets and teachers of His divine word. God despised wickedness. He punished those who sinned against Him. But blasphemers were the most despised of all sinners, those who set themselves up as pure and holy, pretended to be doers of good deeds when in truth their hearts were black with sin.

She clutched the car keys in her hand. Since the houses were relatively close together, the sound of a car starting would go unnoticed. Cars came and went at all hours, especially on weekend nights. If anyone did discover that she was not at home in bed asleep, she would have no trouble convincing them that she had been restless and hoped taking a drive would relax her. Even if there were consequences, she would deal with them. All that mattered tonight was for her to accomplish her goal.

She was on a mission for God.

The drive to Decatur, to the Kelley house, would take approximately thirty minutes. She shouldn’t be there longer than ten minutes, fifteen at the very most. And then the return drive would take another thirty minutes. She should be back home and in bed again by one o’clock.

As she eased the car out of the driveway and onto the street, she prayed for guidance and protection. If the Lord wanted her to continue her work, to destroy more of the world’s most vile sinners, then He would keep her safe. He would watch over her and never deliver her into the hands of His enemies.

As the miles passed by, she alternated between planning and praying. The gasoline can was in the car trunk, and the Pocket Torch lighter was in the glove compartment.

“Help me, merciful God, my loving heavenly Father. Guide my hand in Thy service. I will do Thy will.”

If Reverend Kelley came to the back door tonight, it would be a sign from on high. If someone else answered her knock, she would stay hidden in the shadows and know that tonight was not the night.