Still Lake - Anne Stuart [81]
“That was very kind of Mr. King,” she added. “I’ve seen him at Audley’s a few times. He’s the one who looks like Abraham Lincoln without his Prozac. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be bothered. He doesn’t seem to have much use for people in general and newcomers in particular. I pity his poor wife.”
“He’s a good man,” Doc said. “He’s just got old-fashioned values.”
“Old-fashioned as in Old Testament? He makes me uncomfortable. He always looks like he’s wanting to paste a scarlet A to my chest.”
“Do you deserve one?” Doc asked gently.
“No.”
Doc nodded, though he still looked doubtful. “I’m glad to hear it. I worry sometimes. And I’m glad to know that no one was involved last night. That no one tried to hurt you.”
“Why would anyone? I don’t have any enemies.”
“Some people don’t need to have enemies to be hurt. I’m being an old fussbudget, I know. Ever since that awful time I keep worrying, thinking it’s going to happen again. That it’s not over, that the man who killed those girls will come back again.”
“Why would he?” Sophie asked, the coffee suddenly turning to lead in the pit of her stomach.
“Don’t they say the murderer always returns to the scene of his crime? Maybe he can’t help it. Maybe the killer wants to atone for his sins. Or maybe he wants to kill some more. Psychiatry was never my specialty—I don’t understand homicidal maniacs, and I really don’t want to. I just want to make sure that no one else gets hurt.”
Sophie leaned forward and put her hand on his rough, gnarled one. “Doc, it was twenty years ago.”
“It’s not over,” Doc said, his eyes haunted. “Something tells me it’s not over yet. I want you to be extra careful, Sophie. Don’t go trusting any strangers, no matter how nice they seem to be. And don’t let Marty go wandering off alone. That girl is ripe for trouble, and it would break my heart to see history repeat itself.”
Sophie squashed down her immediate panic. “Nothing’s going to happen to Marty!” she said firmly. “She’s surprisingly good at taking care of herself. It’s Grace who worries me.”
“She’s the least of your worries. He kills young girls, remember? Not older women. All three victims were slightly wayward young women, not much older than your sister. I don’t want to see it happen again.”
Sophie set her empty coffee mug down on the porch. “Doc, the killer’s probably dead himself. He’s not going to come back twenty years later and kill again.”
Doc just looked at her. “Can you be certain?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Maybe he never left. Be careful, Sophie. Both you and Marty.”
“What are you talking about?” Marty appeared in the doorway, looking suspicious.
“You’re up early,” Sophie said, trying to change the subject.
“I told Patrick I’d help him stack wood,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “I need a little exercise.”
Sophie resisted the temptation to point out that there was plenty of exercise to be had clearing out the rooms in the old hospital annex, but she resisted. Ever since Patrick had appeared on the scene Marty’s mood had improved dramatically, and Sophie wasn’t about to jeopardize it.
“I think he’s around back. You can take him some coffee and muffins if you want,” she said instead.
Marty was staring at her through the screen door. “Okay,” she said absently, squinting at her. “What the hell happened to you last night?”
Sophie touched her forehead nervously. “Just a bump on the head,” she said dismissively.
“I don’t mean that. I mean the monster hickey on your neck. What have you been doing, big sis? You’ve gone from straight-laced to wanton in sixty seconds flat.”
“Marty…” Sophie glanced at Doc, but he was merely shaking his head, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Don’t worry about me, Sophie,” he said. “I understand human nature better than most, and I know what temptation’s like for healthy young people. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still worried.