Angel Fire - Lisa Unger [100]
It wasn’t far and he could certainly walk. He had done so a million times as a child. He was sure he remembered the way. He had his cane with him. Mrs. Turvey had told him when she’d leaned it against the doorjamb. He would need to wait until she went to bed. Otherwise he would only worry her, or she would try to stop him somehow. So he would lie and wait until the house was silent. And then he would go home.
chapter twenty-five
As they pulled up to the house, two uniformed police officers greeted their car.
“The repairman for the alarm system was here today, Ms. Strong,” said one of the baby-faced officers. “He put a new breaker box inside the garage and says it should be fine now.”
“Perfect,” said Jeffrey, “but a little late.”
“Yes sir,” answered the officer.
“Come up for coffee if you get cold, guys,” said Lydia, pulling her cream suede jacket around her against the chill.
“Thank you, Ms. Strong.”
It felt strange to her, as she turned the brushed-chrome knob and entered through the front door, that Bernard Hugo had been in her house. The hand that had murdered and removed the hearts of innocent people had been on the same doorknob that hers rested on now. She had felt invaded last night but now that she knew who he was and what he had done, it bothered her even more.
“I wonder why he didn’t wait for us to come home last night.”
“Who?”
“Bernard Hugo.”
“Well, we’re armed, for one.”
“How would he know that we’re armed?”
“It’s a reasonable assumption.”
“Still, if he was really motivated to kill me …”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to kill you.”
“What else could he want?”
“I don’t know, Lyd,” he said, moving close to her and leaning in to kiss her.
In the melee, Lydia had barely had a chance to acknowledge the way their relationship had changed, what had happened between them last night. But it felt so natural, far more natural than pushing him away for years had felt. It was as if they had slipped into the relationship they were meant to have all along and the only difference was an overwhelming sense of release.
“What’s the plan?” asked Lydia.
“I’m going to take a shower. You make some coffee and then we’ll head out. It’ll be a romantic first date—we’ll look for the Dodge minivan, horn in on a few stakeouts, check out some possible serial-killer hiding spots.”
“You sure know how to treat a woman, Mr. Mark. And then we’ll go park in front of where Juno is staying?”
“Sure.”
As he turned to walk away, Lydia slapped him on the ass. He spun around and looked at her, totally floored by the playful gesture.
She smiled. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
He laughed and walked up the stairs to the shower, feeling light with love for her.
As she stood in the pink glow of the kitchen lights, placing ground coffee beans in the filter, she actually felt a little giddy. Then she immediately felt guilty. You have no business acting like a schoolgirl with five people dead and a serial killer on the loose.
The phone rang as she turned the coffeepot on. “Hello?”
“So what are you going to call the book?”
“Excuse me? Who is this?”
“You know who this is.”
The room swirled around her as she realized it was Hugo. She internally kicked herself for not having the line tapped. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it.
“What do you want, Bernard?” she asked, forcing herself to be calm and rational, hoping that Jeffrey would emerge from the shower so he could pick up the other line.
“I want to know what you are going to call the book you write about me.”
“What makes you think I would write a book about you?” she asked, thinking fast.
“Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it?”
“What’s that?”
“Write books about killers. I really should thank you.”
“Thank me for what?”
“I have read everything you have ever written and you have taught me everything I needed to know to become God’s warrior.”
“Is that what you think