Still Lake - Anne Stuart [85]
He hadn’t killed her. He knew it now, with a deep, certain sureness. Someone else had, someone who’d been watching them. Someone who was still watching him.
It wasn’t over.
He’d shown weakness, when he could ill afford to. He’d remained firm and true to his calling for so many years, and now, in the very twilight of his mission, his will had failed him. He’d seen her tears and felt her sorrow and foolishly thought she should have a chance to repent on her own.
He was older and wiser than that. It was a momentary failing on his part, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. And there was no harm done. She was only enmeshed further still in her sinfulness, and it would be easier to get away with it once more. If that’s what he chose to do.
Two sisters would be likely to raise suspicions in even the most trusting of the local police. But he counted on God to shield him from their eyes. He would do what he had to do, no more shirking, no more questioning the mantle God had placed upon him.
He would kill Sophie Davis and her sister. And release their souls to paradise.
At least Marty was in a good mood tonight, Sophie thought, trying to count her blessings. The bad moods had been fewer and fewer, and tonight her sister had actually been pleasant. And very pretty. She’d come down to the kitchen, wearing a skimpy dress and subdued makeup, and even her fuchsia-tinted hair looked relatively normal.
“I won’t be here for dinner. I’m going on a date,” she announced.
Sophie merely raised an eyebrow. “It’s a little late to be telling me, isn’t it? Who are you going out with?”
“Patrick.” There was just a trace of defiance in her voice, which surprised Sophie. But then, everything about the situation was a surprise. Patrick Laflamme was supposed to be immune to Marty’s jungle charms. And he was hardly the type Marty usually went for—he was steady, responsible and very polite.
But Sophie knew when to keep her mouth shut. “Sounds nice. Any idea when you’ll be back?” She half expected a rude response, but Marty merely shrugged.
“Probably early,” she said. “He’s a hard-working little Boy Scout.”
Sophie turned her face to hide her smile. “How depressing,” she said.
“Not really.” Marty was being almost chatty. “Have you taken a good look at him? He’s worth the trouble.”
“I hadn’t noticed. Are you intending to corrupt him?” she asked lightly.
“I’m doing my best.” Again that mournful tone. “And he’s trying to reform me.”
Sophie turned at that, no longer able to hide her curiosity. “Who do you think is going to win the battle?”
“I don’t think I have a snowball’s chance in hell,” she said. “He’ll probably have me going to church and singing in the choir before long.”
“You’re not usually that persuadable.”
“Patrick’s different.”
Thank you, God, Sophie said inwardly.
The front doorbell rang. “That’ll be him. I’ll be back early,” Marty said, running out of the kitchen.
Sophie dried her hands on her apron and followed her sister into the hallway. Patrick was standing in the doorway, freshly shaved, wearing a coat and tie. He had a bouquet of bright yellow flowers in his hand. “We won’t be back late, Miss Davis,” he said politely.
It always depressed her when the meticulously polite Patrick called her miss. At least it was marginally better than ma’am. “I have complete faith in you, Patrick,” she replied.
Marty turned and stuck her tongue out at her sister with surreptitious malice.
“I won’t let you down, ma’am.”
Oh, God, there it was. The dreaded ma’am. “Call me Sophie,” she said cheerfully.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maybe there was something to be said for bad boys and losers, she thought morosely, watching them as they drove up the driveway in Patrick’s meticulously well-kept pickup truck. At least they never made her feel like an aging spinster.
Another car was coming down the driveway, passing Patrick’s on a wider stretch. That was something else she needed to find the money for, she thought, depressed. The driveway needed work.
Doc pulled up by the kitchen