The Lover. BEVERLY BARTONЧитать онлайн книгу.
he’d never called her for a second date. Maybe she simply wasn’t his type.
Thomasina picked up the TV Guide and the remote control as she sat down on the sofa in the den and contemplated another Friday night alone. As she curled up on the sofa, she turned on the television and laid the remote at her side, then flipped through the guide. She had her choice of cop shows, reality shows and sitcoms, but she decided on a cable channel that showed an attractive young woman undergoing breast enlargement surgery. Although she filled out a C cup, Thomasina had often wondered how she’d look with a set of D or double-D boobs.
Ten minutes into the show, the telephone rang. Thomasina groaned. It was probably one of those annoying telephone solicitors. She hit the MUTE button on the remote, then got up and walked across the room to where her mom had left the cordless phone earlier this evening when she’d made a call to Amanda. Thomasina checked the caller ID. pay phone. A pay telephone? How odd. She knew there were several of those old pay phone booths still around in various areas in Adams County, but she wasn’t personally acquainted with anyone who used them. Debating whether to answer or allow the answering machine to pick up, she let the phone ring four times, then quickly hit the ON button and said, “Hello.”
“Thomasina?” the unfamiliar voice said.
“Yes.”
“Did you get my note?”
It was then that Thomasina realized his voice sounded odd. A deep, throaty baritone.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“I’m your secret admirer.”
A cold chill raced up Thomasina’s spine. Don’t overreact. Don’t assume this guy is some nut job. It could be Brandon Kelley simply being romantic, choosing to woo you as a secret admirer first, before revealing his true identity.
“Why keep your identity a secret?”
“I will reveal my identity when the time is right,” he told her. “But for now… sleep well tonight, my beautiful Thomasina, and dream of your secret lover who longs to touch you, to whisper love sonnets in your ear, to fulfill your every fantasy.”
Thomasina gasped softly, undeniably aroused by the man’s words, by the image his comments painted in her mind. Images of Brandon and her together.
“Please, tell me—”
The dial tone alerted her to the fact that he had ended their conversation.
Thomasina closed her eyes and sighed. Her Friday night wasn’t turning out to be so dull and uneventful after all. Will he call back tonight? No, probably not. But maybe tomorrow or tomorrow night. In a way, she wished Brandon would just come right out and ask her for a date, but in another way, she thought it was romantic and rather sweet that he had thought of a unique way to begin an old-fashioned courtship.
But what if it’s not Brandon? Of course, it was Brandon. Who else could it be?
She carried the phone with her when she returned to the sofa. After sitting down, she laid the phone beside the remote. For several minutes she stared at the silent television screen and considered the possibilities. If her secret admirer wasn’t Brandon Kelley, then who could it be? She couldn’t think of another man she knew who would do something so unconventional and romantic.
It has to be Brandon.
She hit the mute button again to resume the sound on the TV and tried to renew her interest in the show she’d been watching. But her mind kept wandering, alternating between fantasizing about Brandon and wondering whether she should be flattered or concerned about this little game he was playing with her.
Jim wolfed down a bologna sandwich and swigged on a Dr. Pepper as he tried to decide whether he should shave before heading over to the Adams Landing Hotel to pick up Agent Patterson for a late-evening session with the sheriff. The ABI agent had shown up less than an hour after Bernie had placed her phone call. He came with the crime scene guys, although he’d driven his own vehicle since he’d be staying in town for several days. If they didn’t break the case within a few days, Patterson would probably drive back and forth from Huntsville after that, since it was only a forty-five-minute drive. Jim’s guess was that this case wouldn’t be solved easily, maybe not for weeks or months. Maybe never. He had his own theories, but before mouthing off his opinion, he’d decided to wait until this evening and hear what Patterson had to say and get Bernie’s input after she spoke to her father. He wondered how many on-the-job years it would take before she felt confident enough not to run things by her dad. It couldn’t be easy for her trying to live up to the old man, living and working in his shadow.
Stephanie Preston’s body was on its way to Huntsville. Her family had been notified. Jim suspected that Bernie’s call to Sheriff Ed Mays probably had been the most difficult call she’d ever made. Both the ABI and the DFS were now involved due to the type of crime that had been committed, with the two agencies working with the county sheriff’s department. Bernie had called a press conference and had faced not only local reporters, but Huntsville newspaper reporters and television crews. She had kept her comments brief and refused to take questions, which was standard procedure this early in the game. Although the statement to the press had been succinct—Stephanie Preston’s body had been discovered, the cause of death to be determined by an autopsy, and yes, the death was being handled as a murder—rumors no doubt already abounded. Any of the locals who’d been at the scene could spread the word that Stephanie’s throat had been slashed and that she was naked.
After finishing off the Dr. Pepper, Jim wiped his mouth, walked over to the garbage can in the kitchen and dumped the empty cola bottle and the paper towel he’d used as a napkin. He glanced at his watch and saw that he had just enough time to shave, if he hurried. He was supposed to pick up Patterson at six-thirty; then the two of them would go to his office at the county jail, where Bernie, Ron Hensley and John Downs would meet them.
Jim made it halfway to the bathroom before his cell phone rang. Answering the call as he opened the bathroom door, he said, “Yeah?”
“Jim Norton?” He didn’t recognize the man’s voice.
“Yeah, this is Norton.”
“Mr. Norton … Jim … this is Allen Clark.” He paused, apparently waiting for a reaction from Jim. “You know, Mary Lee’s husband.”
“Yeah, I know who you are. What do you want? Is it something about Kevin? I’m supposed to get him next weekend. Mary Lee hasn’t changed her mind, has she?”
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“Then what?” Jim flipped on the light and looked at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror.
“I was wondering… that is, we were wondering if you could take Kevin earlier than we’d planned, say next Thursday?”
“Yeah, sure, but I don’t understand what’s going on. Why would Mary Lee give me a couple of extra days with Kevin?” Since their divorce nearly seven years ago, his ex-wife had done everything she could to undermine his relationship with his son and never, ever allowed them extra time together.
“Actually, we need you to keep Kevin for several weeks, possibly until school starts in August.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Look, Mr. Norton … Jim … I don’t know any other way to explain than to just come right out and tell you. Mary Lee has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She’s having a mastectomy next Friday, here in Huntsville. Her treatment will probably include radiation and chemo. She needs complete rest.”
Mary Lee had breast cancer? The news hit him hard. But not because he still had any deep feelings for his ex. Nope, that wasn’t it. As much as he sometimes hated Mary Lee and had on more than one occasion damned her to hell, she was his son’s mother. Kevin loved her. Needed her.
“What’s the prognosis?” Jim asked, a tight knot in his throat. Okay, so maybe he did still care about