Still Lake - Anne Stuart [28]
But there was one more nasty complication to John Smith’s presence at the edge of her property. Not the fact that her sister might be attracted to him—that was presumably only a minor worry.
No, the nasty complication was that Sophie couldn’t stop thinking about him. She was fascinated, drawn to him, when she was much too smart for that.
She wished to God that she hadn’t chosen that year to give up smoking.
He could feel it rising again. The deep, powerful need that started small and spread throughout his body like a holy fire. He thought his work was done here, but the Lord had other plans. It had been three years since he’d worked God’s vengeance. Three years since he’d crushed the life from that wicked child of Satan. He’d atoned, of course. He knew what he did was wrong—it was part of his punishment. To mete out God’s justice, and to repent for his part in it.
It was calling to him. Calling to him in the shape of that girl, that sinful child who painted her face and exposed her body and was just looking for a way to glorify Satan.
He would save her. He would cleanse her of the wickedness that threatened her. The wickedness would be burned from her sinful body.
And she would die at his hands, a pure soul.
6
The crash woke him up. It was pitch black outside, and the quiet sounds of the lake had lulled Griffin into a deep sleep, but something had broken through his dreams, jarring him awake. He squinted at his watch—one-thirty in the morning. He knew he was alone in the house, but he’d definitely heard a thump downstairs.
He sat up, reaching for his jeans. Whoever it was didn’t seem to be making much of an effort to cover their presence, but he still dressed as quietly as he could so as not to frighten off whoever was there.
Of course it might be something as simple as one of the mice he’d evicted. That, or a nosy raccoon, or even, God help him, a skunk.
He moved toward the door, trying to be as quiet as he could so he wouldn’t scare away his intruder, but the old house wasn’t made for stealth, and the floorboards creaked beneath his weight. He paused, half expecting his unexpected guest to go crashing out of the house, but the quiet thumps continued, undeterred by the sound of his approach.
Someone had turned on a couple of the lights. The living room was filled with shadows when he reached the bottom of the stairs, but he could see something moving in the kitchen. He switched on the bright overhead light, but whoever it was didn’t react.
It took him a moment to recognize her. The crazy old lady from next door had wandered into his house, into his kitchen, and she was rummaging around, singing beneath her breath, totally at home.
“Mrs….” Shit, he couldn’t remember her name. “Grace?”
She looked up at him with those disarmingly vague eyes. She was dressed in a bathrobe, and her feet were muddy and bare. “Hello there,” she said gaily. “I’m so glad you’ve come back. I’ve missed you.”
He felt a frisson of horror run down his spine, and then he remembered who he was talking to. “This is the first time I’ve been here, Grace,” he corrected her patiently.
She frowned. “Is it? I didn’t realize. Do you want some ice cream?”
“No, thanks,” he said. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have any ice cream in the house, not even Vermont’s own Ben & Jerry’s. “Were you looking for something in particular?”
“Oh, no. I just thought I’d come visit.” She let out a cry of triumph and emerged from the refrigerator with a can of Coke. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “But don’t you think your daughters will be worried about you?”
“Daughter,” Grace corrected him amiably, handing him a can of soda as she waltzed past him. “Marty’s mother is that wretched club woman Morris married after I left him. I don’t blame the girl for rebelling against Eloise, though in the end