Copycat Killing

28

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel as my stomach lurched and my heart thudded in my chest. Instinct took over.

By some miracle, there was nothing coming down the hill in the opposite lane. I hit the horn and at the same time yanked the steering wheel hard to the left. The truck lurched across the road and onto the grass between the curb and the sidewalk, just missing a telephone pole. I floored the brakes with one foot and hit the clutch with the other, knocking the gearshift into neutral.

Then I sucked in a breath, stretching my right arm across the seat in front of Owen, my left hand clutching the seat belt, and braced for the impact of the other vehicle colliding with the end of the truck bed. I didn’t see how it could miss us, and then somehow it did, speeding past, still with no lights, with what seemed like just inches to spare.

I slumped against the back of the seat, heart pounding in stereo in my ears, a hand pressed against my mouth and the sound of my ragged breathing filling the truck. Beside me Owen was crouched wide-eyed and very, very angry, fur standing on end, claws dug into the seat.

There was some kind of noise behind the truck and I looked in the rearview mirror. A vehicle had pulled behind me, which meant I couldn’t back up. Had the other driver stopped? I didn’t care if it was a couple of joyriding teenagers or someone who’d been stupid enough to drive after drinking, whoever it was had almost gotten all of us killed. I didn’t really want to hear an apology. I was angry enough that what I really wanted to do was yell at someone.

Still operating on autopilot I tossed my sweatshirt, which was lying on the seat, over the cat, I guess mostly to protect him. Owen yowled his annoyance but he didn’t move. There was a wrench under my seat along with a couple of other tools in case I had a flat tire. I locked the truck door with one hand and grabbed the wrench with the other. Mayville Heights might be a very safe place but I was suddenly aware that I was a woman alone, except for a small gray cat.

I looked in the rearview mirror again. Someone was walking toward my truck, head down, hands in his—his, judging by the build of the person—pockets. I felt the acid burn of anger in my throat. Owen gave a couple of sharply angry meows from under my hoodie. It would have been better if whoever that was just turned and walked away. We were a mightily pissed off woman and small cat.

I tightened my grip on the wrench, ready for what, I wasn’t sure.

Then Marcus appeared by the driver’s door of the truck. I literally sagged with relief. I leaned over, unlocked the door and opened it.

“Are you all right?” he asked. There were tight lines of worry etched between his eyes.

I nodded.

“Can you get out?”

“I’m fine,” I said, but I slid down off the seat onto the grass, glancing behind me to make sure Owen was still undercover. “Did you see the other driver?”

“Just his or her taillights,” Marcus said. “I called it in, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.” He noticed the wrench that I was still clutching in my right hand. “Wait a minute. You thought I was…” He hung his head for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I held up the wrench and maybe it was relief or the last bit of adrenaline zipping through my body, but I started to laugh. “It’s okay, Marcus,” I said. “I wasn’t scared. I was mad. Very, very mad.”

He smiled. “I’m suddenly glad you’ve never been very, very mad at me,” he said.

We both turned at the sound of a police cruiser pulling to the curb behind us. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

I leaned back against the seat and pushed the wrench back underneath it. “Are you all right?” I asked the lump under my shirt. I got a soft murp as an answer. “Hold tight. We’ll be home in a couple of minutes.”

After a minute or so the police car pulled into the street again and Marcus walked back across the grass to me. “They didn’t catch whoever it was, did they?” I said.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He leaned forward and looked closely at the driver’s side tire, which had gone up over the curb. “This tire looks okay. I’m just going to check the other one and the front end.”

I waited while he walked around the front of the truck, examining the bumper and crouching down to take a closer look at the passenger side tire.

“Everything looks okay,” he said when he came back to me. “It wouldn’t hurt to have it put up on the hoist and get the undercarriage checked, just in case.”

“I will.”

He jerked his head back toward his SUV. “I’m going to follow you the rest of the way up the hill.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand.

“I know,” he said.

He pulled into the street and I backed carefully off the curb. Everything seemed to work the way it was supposed to and there were no new rattles or mysterious sounds in reverse or in drive.

I started up Mountain Road again. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my shirt moving, kind of like there was an alligator wrestling match going on underneath. Finally Owen poked his head out. “Two minutes,” I said, “and we’ll be home.”

The look he shot me was decidedly sour.

I pulled into the driveway and Marcus’s SUV slipped in behind me. I got out of the truck and walked back to him and all at once I realized how quickly he’d been on the scene after I was forced off the road.

He got out of the car.

“You were following me home, from the arts center, weren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes I was.”

“Why?”

He leaned one hand on the hood of the SUV. “When I first got there, I saw a vehicle drive by. It didn’t have any lights on.” He shrugged. “Sometimes that’s nothing more than someone who’s had a few and doesn’t want to get caught driving home.”

“But,” I said.

“Whoever it was, drove by more than once.” He made a face. “And I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure it mattered. I could have been wrong.”

“In other words you were acting on instinct. On a feeling.” It was hard not to smirk at him.

He shook his head, smiling. “See. I knew you were going to say that.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I know this is just a one-time aberration.” Then I remembered Maggie. “Marcus, what about Maggie?”

“It’s okay. I had a car follow her home as well.”

“Do you think this has something to do with Jaeger Merrill?”

He flexed his fingers up and down on the hood of the SUV, like a spider doing pushups. “I don’t know.”

Since for once he wasn’t evading my questions I decided to ask another. “Thomas Karlsson’s death—that was murder.” I crossed my arms over my chest. It was cool without my hoodie.

He nodded. “You saw the skull. There’s no way that was an accident.”

“I know you have to talk to Pearl tomorrow,” I said. “I get that. Just please be…” I hesitated.

“Nice?” he offered.

“Okay.” I held up my thumb and index finger, just a tiny space apart. “Just a little bit?” Another yawn slipped out.

“You’re tired,” he said. “I should get going.”

I took a couple of steps closer to him and he straightened up. “Thank you, for getting me home safely.”

He pulled in a deep breath and let it out and suddenly the air between us seemed somehow charged, electric, the way it did when Hercules walked through a wall or a door.

“You’re welcome,” Marcus said, his eyes locked on to my face. “I’m very glad you’re okay.”

I could feel myself moving toward him, imperceptibly, but I could feel it. Abruptly he cleared his throat and whatever the heck had come over me was gone. For the most part.

“Good night, Kathleen,” he said. “Stay safe.”

I stood there watching him drive away, hugging myself. Then I went back to get Owen out of the truck, shaking my head to chase away the last of the discombobulated feeling. I had not been going to trace the curve of Marcus’s unbelievably manly, chiseled, stubbled jawline with one finger. And I had most certainly not been thinking about kissing him. No I had not.

I scooped Owen off the seat along with my purse and my sweatshirt. Then I unlocked the back door and carried him all the way to the kitchen before I set him on the floor.

His fur was still sticking out in every direction. He walked around the room making grumbling noises, clearly in a major bad mood.

I washed my hands, put bread in the toaster and milk to warm in the microwave. Hercules appeared from somewhere. He watched Owen walking around and grumbling for a moment, then walked over to me and gave me a quizzical look, head cocked to one side.

“Long story,” I said. “Just wait until I get the toast made and I’ll fill you in.” He sat down.

Once the hot chocolate and toast with peanut butter were made I pulled out a chair and gave Hercules the Cliff’s Notes version of the evening, while Owen worked on a little pile of kitty treats and added a grumbling comment from time to time.

I didn’t tell the cats about the little “moment” between Marcus and me in the driveway. It was an adrenaline comedown. It was tiredness. And it hadn’t meant anything.

It hadn’t.

I had a bath, spending a long time soaking in the hot, lavender scented water. Then I did an inventory of my bruises to see what colors they were now. They went from greenish yellow, through various shades of red to deep purple. I put a layer of Rebecca’s salve on my ankle and used the last of the cotton strips to wrap it.

I was too wired to sleep. So, apparently, was Owen. He wandered in and out of the bedroom, too restless to stay for more than a minute. Hercules, on the other hand, jumped up onto my lap the minute I sat down in the big chair by the window.

“There’s nothing I can do to help Maggie,” I told him, stroking his fur. “I’m going to have to leave things in Peter’s hands for now. But maybe I can do something to help Roma. She needs answers and I think I know where to get them.”

I leaned my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes for a moment. “I’m going to have breakfast with Burtis Chapman.”

When I opened them again, Herc’s furry black-and-white face was just inches from mine. His way, I was guessing, of asking, “Have you lost your mind?”