Kay Hooper - Stealing Shadows

She looked at his hand, then met his eyes. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not." Her voice was very steady.

He put his hand back on the wheel. "I'll try not to take it personally."

"Please don't. You noticed right away – I avoid touching people. All people. It's… simpler for me. Their mental voices don't slip through my walls so easily. Think of what it's like to be in the center of a huge room filled with people. All of them talking."

"The noise can be overwhelming," he agreed.

"Not just the noise of thought. The… jagged edges of emotions. The dark flashes of fantasy. The secrets they don't even tell themselves." She shrugged. "It's just much less painful and distracting if I shield myself as much as possible. That means doing my best to keep my walls up – and avoiding touch."

"It's all right, Cassie. I really didn't take it personally."

"Good."

A silence fell, and neither of them broke it until Ben turned the Jeep into the long driveway at the Melton place. "I'll have to start thinking of this as your place rather than the Melton place," he said absently.

"It doesn't feel like my place yet."

"You said you'd been here only a few months?"

"Since the end of August."

He glanced at her. "We had a lot of snow in December. It must have been lonely out here."

"There's lonely… and then there's lonely. Believe me, the peace and quiet was wonderful. Being alone was just what I needed." As he stopped the Jeep near the walkway, she added, "You don't have to get out."

He did anyway, and then opened the passenger door for her. "I was raised right. Always walk a lady to her front door."

Cassie didn't protest again. On the front porch, she dug in her jacket pocket for keys. "I guess I didn't have to lock the door, but habit dies hard."

Ben frowned. "Keep the door locked. And if you don't have a security system or a big dog around, get both. Soon. A week ago I would have said it hardly mattered, but after what happened to Becky, and what you said about her killer, this town doesn't feel safe anymore."

"That really bothers you."

"Of course it does."

"No – I mean that's something you do take personally. Why? Because your family founded the town?"

"Maybe. And I'm an elected official, very much concerned with the safety of the people of Salem County." He knew he was being deliberately offhand, that he did, in fact, take this threat very personally, but since he didn't have a ready answer and in any case wasn't given to explaining his emotions to anyone, it wasn't something he was willing to talk about.

Cassie unlocked her front door. "Understandable. I'll try the coin again in a day or two. In the meantime, if I pick up anything else about the killer, I'll give you or Sheriff Dunbar a call."

"Do that."

She stepped into the house and turned back to face him. "Thanks for the ride."

"You're welcome. Cassie…"

"Yes?"

Ben heard himself say, "Jill and I, we broke up last summer. A long time ago."

"I see." Neither her face nor her voice revealed anything other than polite interest.

"I just wanted you to know. It's been over for months."

"All right," Cassie said.

Since there was no graceful way out of it, Ben just said, "See you later," and went back to his Jeep.

He wished he could have believed that Cassie watched him leave, but he was reasonably sure she had not.

Putting the Jeep into gear, he muttered, "Jackass."

FEBRUARY 19, 1999

Matt Dunbar wanted to throw something across his office but contented himself with glaring at Cain Munro, who had the misfortune of being Salem County 's medical examiner.

"So, in other words," the sheriff said, "you can't tell me a fucking thing I didn't already know."

Dr. Munro wasn't about to take that attitude from somebody he'd delivered with his own hands. "Watch your language, Matthew. I did you the courtesy of coming down here to report instead of calling you to the hospital, and I'd appreciate a little respect in return."

Matt sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Right. Sorry, Doc. I'm just a little tense about this."

Somewhat mollified, the doctor said, "I can understand that. Murder is never pretty, but this one was especially bad. Especially cruel. He nicked the artery first, let her bleed for a while before he finished the job."

"Do you know what kind of knife he used?"

"A sharp one." Dr. Munro grimaced. "Fairly short blade. Could have been a pocket knife."

"Great. That's just great. I figure most of the male population over the age of twelve has at least one pocket knife."

"I figure you're right. Sorry, Matt, I wish I could be more help. If you want to get a forensics expert in from Charlotte, you won't put my nose out of joint. But the girl's family has already called twice asking when they can bury her."

The sheriff hesitated. "No ego here, Doc, I need the truth. Do you think a forensics expert could find something you might have missed?"

Munro pursed his lips for a moment in thought but finally shook his head. "I'd have to say no. We went over her body with a magnifying glass, Matt. Sent samples of her blood off for a toxicology report, but I'll be surprised if it comes back positive for anything. No alcohol, no drugs. Still, I'd say she never got a chance to struggle, or was too scared to. Sure as hell never fought him. No skin or tissue under her nails, no defensive wounds. She sat there with her hands bound behind her, probably with a belt, as I told you, and he cut her throat – and she died."

"But not in the woods."

"No, there wasn't enough blood there."

"Any idea where?"

"Nope. Have you checked her house?"

"Of course. Her parents never heard a sound, and the family dog, being old and deaf, never barked. We didn't find a sign of forced entry, but her folks say she usually slept with the window open even in winter."

"So you're thinking he just climbed in the window and persuaded her to get dressed and go with him?"

Matt scowled. "Maybe. But I don't really like that possibility. You say time of death was around two o'clock Thursday morning?"

"About that."

"Then, there's a chance he was waiting for her at her house when she came in late Wednesday night, and got her before she could unlock the front door. Her bed wasn't made, but her mother said she often didn't make it, so we have no way of knowing if she actually came in and went to bed."

"Who was she out with?"

"A group of friends. They all left that club out on the highway just after midnight and headed home in their individual cars. Becky was alone when she drove off in hers."

"I've kept her clothes as evidence, of course, in case you want her friends to take a look and say if it was what she was wearing when she was with them."

Matt grimaced. "Yeah, okay. But it wouldn't be conclusive, since she could have gotten up out of bed and put on the clothes she'd worn earlier."

Doc Munro got to his feet. "So what do I tell her folks?"

Matt pushed the warning of a psychic out of his mind. "Let them schedule the funeral."

"Okay. I'll send my report along tomorrow. Get one of your boys to come over and collect her clothes and the bits of grass and leaves we found on her."

Matt considered reminding the doctor that his deputy force was made up of roughly forty percent "girls," but in the end he just let it slide. "I'll send somebody over this afternoon."

"Good enough."

Matt was left alone in his office with his thoughts, and none of them were pleasant.

She shouldn't have done that. Bitch.

Why did she have to do that? My head hurts.

I'm still tired, and my head hurts. But I can't let her get away with it. She has to pay. They all have to pay. They'll never laugh at me again.