Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [75]
“I’m going in to see Ms. Hammonds,” Mike told the deputy. “I’ll be back out in a few minutes and make a statement. Until then, do your best to keep things under control. But under no circumstances is anyone to get any closer. If anyone tries to get on the porch, pull out your pistol to show them you mean business. That should be enough of a deterrent.”
The deputy said, “Yes, sir.”
Mike rang the doorbell and called, “It’s Mike Birkett.”
The door eased open. The crowd went wild, yelling questions and accusations that quickly blended together into an unintelligible roar.
Mike slipped inside quickly and closed the door behind him. Shelley faced him with a grim expression.
“Where’s Lorie?”
“I’m here.” She walked out of the shadowed corner of the dim hallway.
It broke his heart to see the hurt in her eyes. He couldn’t comfort her, couldn’t gently pull her into his arms and hold her. He didn’t dare.
“This is all Ryan Bonner’s doing,” Mike said. “That little shithead might as well have shouted your name at Wainwright’s press conference.”
“He called,” Shelley said. “Special Agent Wainwright. He got in touch right after the press conference to check on Lorie.”
“Yeah, I spoke to him a few minutes ago and filled him in on the situation,” Mike told them. “He’s on his way to Dunmore right now.”
“The phone has been ringing off the hook,” Lorie said. “Shelley finally disconnected every line in the house.”
“I’m sorry about this.” Mike walked over to Lorie.
She stared up at him, her chin tilted defiantly, her expression one of steely determination. “I am not going to grovel and beg forgiveness for past sins. Not again. I’ve spent nine years paying penance. That’s more than enough. From here on out, I don’t give a damn what anyone in this town thinks of me.” She looked him right in the eye. “And that includes you.”
Sex Addicts Anonymous Arkansas Pioneer Saturday Group met every week at 10:00 A.M. at the Alano Club. Since the sessions were closed meetings, Maleah and Derek arrived at 568 West Sycamore shortly before 11:00. Armed with arrest photos of Casey Lloyd from four years ago when he had been picked up for possession of an illegal substance, Maleah and Derek waited outside the building. At five after, a mixed group of men and women straggled out, a few at a time, some talking and laughing, others scurrying away alone.
“There he is,” Derek said.
“Casey Lloyd,” Maleah called out to him.
A Pillsbury Doughboy–round man with puppy-dog brown eyes and fat, rosy cheeks threw up his hand and waved at Derek and Maleah.
“You missed the meeting,” he said as he approached them. “The New Hope group meets on Wednesday nights or you can come back next Saturday. But I’d be happy to talk to you now, if you need immediate help.”
“We’re here to speak to you, Mr. Lloyd,” Maleah told him. “We’re not interested in your SAA group.”
He glanced from one to the other, eyeing them speculatively. “What’s this about?”
“If you would prefer to talk in private—” Derek said.
“I’m good here.”
“Okay. That’s fine with us,” Maleah said. “I’m Maleah Perdue and this is Derek Lawrence.” She explained they worked for the Powell Agency and told him the bare facts about the recent murders. “By any chance you haven’t received any threatening letters, have you?”
“No, I haven’t, but I don’t actually have an address either. I…uh…don’t have a place of my own. I sleep most nights at one of the local church shelters, and during the week, I pick up whatever odd jobs I can find.”
“When was the last time you left Fayetteville?” Derek asked.
“Christmas,” he replied immediately. “My parents sent me a bus ticket and I went up to Bella Vista for the holidays with my family. And before you ask, yes, they’ve offered for me to come home and live with them, but…I’ve broken their hearts and disappointed them too often to risk it again. I take things one day at a time now, but I can’t promise my parents or my sisters that