Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

Jim told him the dates.

“I was at work the night she was kidnapped. Swear to God. I work swing shift at the poultry plant and I was on evening shift then. I didn’t get off until midnight. And that’s a good thirty-five-minute drive from the college.”

“What about the day she was murdered?” Charlie asked.

“Same thing. I was at work. Day shift. You can check with my boss and with the people I work with. They can vouch for me. I was at work. Honest to God.”

Bernie noticed Jim and Charlie exchange knowing looks and realized they were agreeing on something—probably the fact that it didn’t appear that Richie Lowery was their killer.

“Mr. Lowery, we appreciate your coming in to answer our questions,” Jim said. “We’ll check out your alibis and if we find you’ve been straight with us, then that’s that. But if you’ve lied to us—”

“I haven’t lied. Everything I’ve told you is the gospel truth.”

Jim nodded.

“Can I go now?” Richie asked, almost pleadingly.

“Yeah, you can go,” Jim told him. Richie scooted back his chair. “But first, I’ve got one more question: Do you know of anybody who might have had a reason to harm Stephanie? Somebody with a grudge against her or her husband or her father?”

Richie thought for several minutes, then said, “Nah, nothing like that, but … what about guys who were interested in her? You know, guys she fooled around with.”

“Was there someone else?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, there was this one guy who kind of had a thing for her and when we broke up, I think she might have seen him a couple of times before she hooked up with Kyle.”

“This guy got a name?”

“Yeah, yeah. Kelley. Brandon Kelley. He’s a professor or something over at the junior college where she took night classes.”

“Thanks, Mr. Lowery.”

“Can I go now?”

“Yes, you can go.”

As soon as Richie closed the door behind himself, Charlie stood and stretched. “Think he’s telling us the truth?”

“Yeah, I think he is,” Jim replied.

“I know Dr. Brandon Kelley,” Bernie said. “He’s got quite a reputation with the ladies. Word is that he’s dated more than one of his students.”

“Interesting.”

“You know what’s even more interesting? Brandon Kelley is the art director at Adams County Junior College.” She glanced at the charcoal and ink sketches lying on the table. “The man’s an artist and from what I hear, a damn good one.”

Chapter 8 (#uf0f29a13-839e-557e-a55f-f4749208704f)

The bottles of pink nail polish and tubes of matching lipstick peeked at him through the sheer plastic gift bag he’d bought at Wal-Mart. He’d placed the bag on the desk, directly in front of his sketch pad. His first gift to a new lover was always the pearls, perhaps because that was the one item above all others that he associated with—

His hand holding the ink pen quivered ever so slightly.

Cursing himself for allowing her memory to still have such a hold on him, he laid down the pen and grabbed his hand to steady it. She was the past. She was insignificant. Unimportant. She could never hurt him again. Never laugh at him. Never ridicule him in front of her friends.

Unwanted memories flooded his mind. He pressed his fingers against either side of his head, at the temples, and closed his eyes. Don’t remember that afternoon. Don’t think about it. Don’t, damn you, don’t.

Vivid images of her appeared inside his head. Her long dark hair. Her big, expressive brown eyes. Her beautiful face. And her incredible body. He had dreamed of her, worshipped her from afar, wanted her as he had never wanted anything before or since.

He beat the sides and top of his head with his open palms. “Get out of my head, damn you, you vicious little bitch!”

Darkness appeared behind his closed eyelids, then swirls of deep red and flashes of white.

There, that’s better. She’s gone now. You don’t have tothink about her. Concentrate on your new love. Think aboutThomasina. Move forward with your courtship. You have tofinish the drawing so you can put it in the bag with the lipstickand nail polish for her next gift.

Before picking up his pen, he looked at the unfinished sketch and smiled. He hadn’t had the privilege of seeing Thomasina naked. Not yet. But he knew her body, every lush curve. Her slender neck; her long, shapely legs; her full, high breasts.

His semierect penis twitched with anticipation.

He wished they were already lovers, wished she was lying beneath him, telling him she loved him, begging him to make love to her.

Soon, my beautiful Thomasina. Soon.

He lifted the pen and added the subtle nuances to the drawing that brought it to life. Just the right shading to make the nipples appear puckered. And then he moved on, completing the fingers on her right hand that demurely tried to cover her pubic hair.

Brandon Kelley lived outside Adams Landing, in a rock and cedar house built on the banks of the Tennessee River sometime back in the fifties. Brandon had paid five hundred thousand for the place, a fact Bernie knew because her sister, Robyn, had dated the man and he’d bragged to her about how much the house had cost, as well as what his antique Aston Martin was worth. Actually, Bernie knew more about the man and his house than she’d ever wanted to know because her sister was the type who did kiss and tell. Robyn had a penchant for regaling Bernie with stories about her exciting love life. She knew Brandon Kelley liked to give and receive oral sex, that he was a talker during the act and that Robyn, who’d bedded more than her fair share of men, had been impressed with the size of his cock.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jim said as he drove along the bumpy dirt road leading to Brandon’s house.

“Just thinking.”

“About the case? About whether or not Kelley might be our man?”

“Mmm …”

“What are your gut instincts telling you?”

“Nothing really,” she replied. “I’d never consider Brandon as a suspect if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s a talented artist, which our guy apparently is.”

“You referred to him by his given name. How well do you know him?”

“Not well. Robyn’s the one who knows him.”

“Oh.” Jim tightened his hands on the steering wheel, a fact that Bernie noted and took as a sign of aggravation.

“They dated for a while. Nothing serious.”

“Who broke things off: him or her?”

“What difference does it make? It has no bearing on our case.” Bernie mentally counted to ten, then said, “Unless you’re asking for personal reasons, because you want to make sure she’s not carrying a torch for another guy before you ask her out.”