The Lover. BEVERLY BARTONЧитать онлайн книгу.
Kelley was that true artist. He was her secret admirer. But why was he courting her in such an old-fashioned, secretive manner? Why didn’t he just come right out and ask her for a date?
Because Brandon isn’t like other men, she told herself. He’s older, more experienced, worldly wise and undoubtedly one of the last of a dying breed—a romantic gentleman.
She reached over, lifted the pearls from the box and fingered them lovingly. She would wear them to school on Monday to show him that she liked his gift.
Bubbling with excitement and giddy with expectations, Thomasina attached her seatbelt, shifted into reverse and began humming to herself as she backed up and headed out to the street.
* * *
Bernie handled the items very carefully, taking her time to study the details as Charlie Patterson gave the pieces to her, one at a time. First were notes written in heavy black ink on white note cards, the kind you could buy just about any place that sold stationery. Each note was succinct, flattering to the receiver and eerily romantic.
“Kyle Preston told me that one of Stephanie’s old boyfriends sent her some notes and gifts. These must be the notes.” But something wasn’t quite right about these things. The notes were unsigned, and the wording didn’t seem to be something a former lover would write. No, her guess would be the messages were sent from a would-be lover.
“Why didn’t he mention these notes before?” Jim asked.
“He’d forgotten about them, didn’t think they were important.”
“I can’t believe a husband could have forgotten about these things,” Charlie said. “Especially not the sketches.”
“What sketches?” Bernie asked. “Kyle didn’t say anything about sketches.”
“Then either he’s lying or Stephanie didn’t share all her little gifts with her husband.” Jim pointed to the thin stack of papers Charlie held in his glove-covered hand.
“Let me see those.” Bernie held out her hand and accepted the items Charlie gave her.
The first item was a sketch of Stephanie, done in charcoal. Just her face, with a hint of naked shoulder. It was a remarkably accurate sketch; the artist clearly was talented. Bernie shuffled through several photographs of Stephanie, obviously taken at a distance, and it was apparent that she had not been aware she was being caught on film. One photo was of her on her front porch. Another was of her coming out of the grocery store wheeling a cart filled with sacks. There were six photos in all, each taken at a different location and apparently on different days.
“He was stalking her,” Bernie said.
“Yeah,” Jim replied. “Keep going. It gets worse.”
She handed the first sketch and the photos back to Charlie and took a look at the remaining sketches, probably a dozen or so. Bernie did a double take after looking at the first rendering. This was an ink sketch of Stephanie, partially undressed, with one naked breast showing, the nipple tightly puckered. She had one hand slipped suggestively between her upper thighs and her right index finger was stuck in her mouth, pressing her lips apart.
Dear God, had Stephanie posed for this or had the artist drawn it from memory? “We definitely need to question the old boyfriend.”
Bernie flipped that sketch and went on to the next. In this one, Stephanie was completely nude, except for a strand of pearls around her neck, and the expression on her face was downright unnerving. She looked like a woman in the throes of an orgasm.
“Lord.”
“Amen,” Charlie said.
Until Charlie spoke, she hadn’t realized she’d uttered the word aloud.
Each successive sketch was more graphic than the one before, and the final four depicted Stephanie in S&M poses. Bound. Gagged. Chained. Her body marred with small, round marks and teeth prints.
Sour bile rose from Bernie’s stomach and burned her esophagus on its ascent to her throat. She gagged, then swallowed. Don’t you dare vomit. Neither one of these big strong men is sick to his stomach.
“Pretty rough stuff,” Jim said.
“Disgusting.” Bernie managed to get the one word out before she had to clear her throat several times.
“The question is, did the artist use his imagination to draw these, or at some time either in the past or recently, did Stephanie Preston pose for them?” Charlie looked from Bernie to Jim.
“If you’re asking for my opinion, I’d say he used his sick imagination,” Jim said.
Bernie nodded. “Unless there was a side to Stephanie that no one knew about, I agree with Jim.”
“There are a few other things.” Charlie pointed to the open box atop the closed cedar chest. “Little gifts. A string of pearls. A bottle of perfume. A gold ankle bracelet. A tube of pink lipstick and matching nail polish.”
“Gifts a guy would give his girlfriend?” Bernie thought about the presents, two pieces of jewelry and three toiletry items. “Why these things?”
“Good question.” Jim’s gaze met hers. “Were they things he knew she liked? Or were they items he wanted to see her use?”
“Look, you two, I’ll get these items to our Crime Scene Unit today,” Charlie told them. “While I’m taking care of that, why don’t y’all follow up on the old boyfriend? And while you’re at it, get a list from her family of every man in Stephanie’s life, other than her father and husband.”
“That could be a long list,” Bernie said. “She worked at McDonald’s during the day and went to school at night. Plus, she attended church regularly. The list of men in her life could add up to a hundred or more.”
“We’ll start with the old boyfriend and then go on to any guy who’s shown a particular interest in Stephanie recently,” Jim said.
Charlie nodded. “I’ll try to get a preliminary report for us and we can go over it tonight. Unless tonight’s out for some reason.”
“Tonight’s fine,” Jim said.
Bernie nodded. “Good thing I don’t have an active social life.”
“Hey, you’ll get to spend the evening with two good-looking guys.” Charlie chuckled.
“What more could a girl ask for on a Saturday night—two handsome lawmen, takeout from the King Kone and a stack of crime scene photographs?” Bernie rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed dramatically.
Thomasina had skipped Sunday school this morning, so she’d driven her own car to eleven o’clock church services. When she’d dragged in five minutes late, her mother had given her one of those disapproving glares that only parents can give. She had sat through the sermon, doing her best to relate to what Reverend Donaldson had to say, but the honest truth of the matter was that she’d spent those forty minutes looking at the new minister, actually drooling over him the way every other woman in the congregation was. The man was gorgeous. Black hair, blue-gray eyes that were such a contrast to his darkly tanned face, and a body that would put sinful thoughts into a woman’s mind.
Her sister Amanda, who’d been sitting on her right, had nudged her in the ribs and whispered, “He’s single, you know.”
Thomasina hadn’t reacted in any way except to smile. Matthew Donaldson was drop-dead gorgeous and single, facts that under different circumstances would have interested her greatly. But not now. Not when Brandon Kelley was on a mission to woo and win her with a very old-fashioned and utterly romantic courtship. She had hoped to catch a glimpse of her secret admirer this morning, but Brandon wasn’t overly religious