Up until that moment, Lorie had been so concerned about what had brought the children to her house this afternoon, both of them nearly in tears, that she hadn't thought about how they had gotten there.

"How did you two get here?" she asked. M.J. and Hannah exchanged guilty looks before M.J. answered. "We sort of told a fib."

"What sort of fib did you tell and who did you tell it to?"

"Grams plays bridge on Monday afternoons, so when Dad can't pick us up from school, we ride home with Mrs. Myers. She's got kids our age and...well, I told her that Grams wanted her to take us to Mrs. Shelby's house, because that's where they were playing bridge."

"My neighbor, Irene Shelby?"

"Yes, ma'am. I knew Mrs. Shelby lived down the road from you and that we could walk from her house to yours."

"Is your Grams playing bridge at Mrs. Shelby's house?"

"No, ma'am," M.J. admitted. "I told a fib. I guess I'll be in trouble for doing that, but we just had to see you."

Hannah cuddled up against Lorie. "We wanted you to know that no matter what anybody says, we don't believe you're a bad person. You're a nice person, Miss Lorie, and we like you. We like you a lot."

Lorie barely managed not to burst into tears. She put her arms around the children's shoulders and hugged them to her, then glanced across the room at Sh.e.l.ley, who shook her head and offered an understanding smile.

"Miss Sh.e.l.ley is going to call your daddy and let him know where y'all are. And I want you to tell us where your grandmother is so that she can call her, too. Nell is probably worried sick about you two."

"Yes, ma'am. We're sorry if we did something wrong."

"It'll be all right," Lorie a.s.sured him. "Your dad will understand."

Mike would understand, all right. And he would blame her. Well, better he take his anger out on her than on his kids.

He opened the briefcase that he had sent FedEx to himself from Atlanta and looked at Ebony O's b.l.o.o.d.y clothes. A slinky red dress that had accentuated her abundant curves. No bra, since she hadn't been wearing one. A pair of gold high heels. And a lacy red thong. He had not removed her ruby earrings and her gaudy three-carat diamond solitaire from her body. Jewelry was of no importance.

He fingered the red lace forming the V of the thong, lifted it carefully, and crushed it in his hand. Once a s.l.u.t, always a s.l.u.t. Shontee Thomas might have gotten out of the p.o.r.no business, but she remained a worthless piece of trash until she took her last breath.

The others were no different.

Wicked. Immoral. Perverts. Tempting good men to think and do evil.

He brought the thong up to his face and buried his nose in the alluring scent of the wh.o.r.e's sweet p.u.s.s.y. A shiver of s.e.xual excitement rippled through him. Even in death, a woman like that still held the power to entice a man.

He lifted his face and looked at the four windowless walls surrounding him. Photographs of each person who had performed in Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade had been centered on individual cork boards. And attached to the boards beside each nude photo was a single article of clothing. Underwear. Dean's boxer shorts. Charlie's white briefs. Hilary's bra. And now Shontee's thong. He had acquired quite a collection in the past four months. had been centered on individual cork boards. And attached to the boards beside each nude photo was a single article of clothing. Underwear. Dean's boxer shorts. Charlie's white briefs. Hilary's bra. And now Shontee's thong. He had acquired quite a collection in the past four months.

He took a small plastic box from his pocket, opened the box, and removed a couple of tacks. After he mounted the thong beneath Ebony O's picture, he stood back and smiled at his handiwork.

Four of the nine were now in G.o.d's hands and five were left, five who were yet to meet their rightful judgment. There was no doubt in his mind that all of them would be condemned to h.e.l.l, a fitting end to lives not only lived in sin but lived in a way that catered to the most basic, animalistic nature in others. The only way to free himself once and for all from their evil influence was to kill them. He was justified in what he was doing. Killing them was like killing vermin, ridding the world of dangerous creatures who spread disease and destruction.

As he circled the interior of the storage rental, appreciating his collection, he paused in front of her photograph. Young. Beautiful. s.e.xy. And so very wicked.

"I'm saving you for last," he said aloud. "Always the best for last."

Mike's mother had phoned him, panicked and half out of her mind. His children were missing.

"When Kim hadn't dropped them at Gloria's by three-thirty, I called her and she said they had told her I was playing bridge at Irene Shelby's house. Now, why would they have told her such a thing? They knew where I'd be. Lord help us, Irene doesn't even play bridge."

"Did you call Mrs. Shelby and ask if the children were there?"

"Well, of course I did. She hasn't seen them."

While he had been rea.s.suring his mother that M.J. and Hannah were okay and he would find them, his secretary had told him he had an urgent call on another line.

"It's something about your kids."

He had instantly put his mother on hold and taken the other call.

"Mike, this is Sh.e.l.ley Gilbert. Your children are here with Lorie. She said to tell you that they're all right, but you should get over here as soon as you can."

So here he was on Lorie's front porch, his mood alternating between relief and concern. Relief that his children were accounted for; and concern about why they had lied to Kim Myers and why they were at Lorie's house.

Before he rang the doorbell, Lorie opened the front door and stepped outside on the porch with him.

"Let's talk out here," she said.

"Where are M.J. and Hannah?"

"In the kitchen with Sh.e.l.ley. They're eating cookies and drinking milk. She'll keep them occupied while you and I talk."

"Okay. Talk."

"M.J. and Hannah told a fib-M.J's word-to get Kim Myers to drop them off at Mrs. Shelby's house so that they could walk here and see me. They both got in trouble at school today for defending me against some ugly things their cla.s.smates said about me."

Mike grumbled under his breath.

"I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am that your children have been affected by what's happening to me now because of my past. I adore Hannah and M.J. and I'd never do anything to hurt them."

"I realize that." Mike frowned. "I guess I didn't know just how fond of you my kids are."

"It's my fault. I should have stayed away from them. If I had, they wouldn't even know who I am. But no, I couldn't leave well enough alone."

"Do they know about you-that you posed naked, that you made a movie-?"

"M.J. has one of the flyers, the photo of me in the nude. He told me that he hadn't shown it to Hannah." Lorie paused, took a deep breath and said, "Some kid told M.J. that you have the hots for me and that's why you're thinking with your other head."

"What!"

"Don't shout. The children might hear you."

"This is a d.a.m.n screwed-up mess. I've stayed away from you ever since Molly died in order to protect my kids from s.h.i.t like this."

"M.J. said he knew what thinking with your other head meant, but that Hannah didn't. Oh, Mike, he reminds me so much of you. He's such a wonderful little boy. He's been so protective of me. He told me that"-she swallowed-"if anybody else said anything bad about me, he'd sock them in the nose, too."

Mike groaned. "He hit somebody today?"

"I'm afraid so. Some boy named Payton something-or-other."

Mike made an odd noise, the sound a moan/laugh combination. "If Molly were here, she'd tell me that our son was acting way too much like me. But she'd say it with a smile. And she'd be right. I was always punching somebody in the mouth when I was a kid. I had a short fuse back then."

"Back then?"

"I manage to keep my temper under control most of the time. But I swear to G.o.d, when it comes to my kids..."

"We need to talk to them, you and I together. They deserve to know the truth or at least enough of the truth to understand why people are accusing you of having the hots for me. And I need to explain to them about the nude photo and-"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you're right. But we need to keep what we say as G-rated as possible. Kids these days know too much too soon as it is."

When Lorie opened the door and went inside, Mike followed directly behind her. They found M.J. and Hannah still in the kitchen, both sitting at the table finishing off their gla.s.ses of milk. As soon as Mike and Lorie entered the room, Sh.e.l.ley excused herself.

"Daddy!" Hannah set her gla.s.s on the table, shoved back her chair, got up, and ran to her father.

Mike swept her off her feet and set her on his hip. She gazed at him with a daughter's adoration in her dark blue eyes. "Are we in big trouble?"

"It isn't Hannah's fault." M.J. stood up and faced his father. "I'm the one who told Mrs. Myers the fib about Grams being at Mrs. Shelby's house."

"We'll discuss that later," Mike told him. "But right now, Miss Lorie and I need to talk to you two about the things y'all heard at school today."

"You mean about your having the hots for Miss Lorie?" Hannah smiled. "I know that means you like her for a girlfriend. And that's okay, Daddy. We like her, too. We like her a lot more than we do Miss Abby. We really don't like Miss Abby very much."

Mike wasn't surprised to hear that his children didn't especially like Abby. It wasn't as if their actions during the months he'd been dating Abby hadn't spoken for them.

"Miss Lorie used to be my girlfriend, a long time ago," Mike said. "Before I married your mama."

"Grams says that Mama would want you to get married again. You need a wife," Hannah told him. "And M.J. and I need a stepmama who would love us and maybe give us a baby brother or sister."

Nell Birkett, you're a loud-mouthed busybody, that's what you are! Mike would deal with his mother later. Mike would deal with his mother later.

"And we don't want Miss Abby. We don't like her and she sure doesn't love us," M.J. said. "We want Miss Lorie."

"Look, you two, stop playing matchmaker. Miss Lorie and I are not dating," Mike explained. "We're old friends. That's all."

"Oh, Daddy, you're telling a fib." Hannah smiled at him guilelessly. Mike set his daughter on her feet and cleared his throat.

"Miss Lorie and I are old friends and right now Miss Lorie's in trouble. Someone wants to hurt her, but we don't know who that person is. As the county sheriff, it's my duty to make sure Miss Lorie is safe. Do you understand?"

Both of his children stared at him and nodded simultaneously. M.J. said, "Yes, sir, we understand."

"A long time ago, when Miss Lorie was very young, she posed for some pictures that were printed in a magazine, and in those pictures, she isn't wearing any clothes." He waited, giving M.J. and Hannah a chance to comment. When they didn't, he continued. "She also made one movie, a movie for grown-ups, and she wasn't wearing any clothes in that movie. Some people believe that what Miss Lorie did was wrong, and even though she's said she's sorry and that she wishes she'd never done it, there are people who won't forgive her."

"Those people aren't doing what G.o.d wants them to do," Hannah said. "We learned in Sunday school that G.o.d expects us to forgive other people when they do something wrong and then they have to forgive us when we do something wrong."

"You're absolutely right, sweetheart." Out of the mouths of babes. His nine-year-old daughter understood a great deal more about forgiveness than most adults. Certainly more than he did.

M.J. stared at Lorie. "Hannah and I forgive you, Miss Lorie." He glanced at Mike. "And so do you, don't you, Daddy?"

When Mike stood there, unable to utter a single word, Hannah tugged on his hand. "Tell her, Daddy, tell her. Tell her that you forgive her and that you really do have the hots for her."

Lorie laughed. Mike glared at her. And then he smiled.

He looked right at Lorie and said, "Forgiveness is a two-way street. If I forgive you, then you'll have to forgive me."

"It's a deal."

"Tell her the rest, Daddy," Hannah insisted.

"My daughter wants me to tell you that I have the hots for you."

Hannah giggled. "Now everything is going to be wonderful."

Mike and Lorie looked at each other. He knew that she realized everything was far from wonderful, but for now, for today, they could pretend it was. For Hannah and M.J.

Chapter 21.

Ransom Owens lived alone in the brick house built by his ancestors, an Italianate style with a low-pitched roof topped with a cupola. At present, he was divorced from his second wife, Brenda Lee. For all intents and purposes his only daily contact with the outside world was his housekeeper, Ramona. And it was she who opened the front door that Tuesday morning. The elderly woman, her short white hair permed into tight curls, wore a large floral ap.r.o.n over her polyester navy blue slacks and red T-shirt. Wearing no makeup or jewelry, and with her wrinkled face, thin lips, and hawk sharp nose, the tall, robust housekeeper could have easily pa.s.sed for a man. Until she opened her mouth. The voice was Marilyn Monroe whispery, with a childlike tone.

"Please, come in. Mr. Ransom is expecting y'all." Ramona stepped back and swept her arm out in a welcoming gesture. "He's in the sunroom out back, having his morning tea break. The poor dear has probably been up since dawn working on his latest book."

Maleah sensed this old woman was genuinely fond of her employer.

"What sort of book is Mr. Owens writing?" Derek asked.

"Oh, the kind he always writes," Ramona replied. "A history book. He's had ten published, all of them about local Virginia history, from before the Revolutionary War to the present."

When they didn't comment, she added, "Mr. Ransom always was as smart as a whip. The boy had the soul of a poet. Neither of his wives appreciated him, that's for sure. But at least Miss Brenda Lee didn't shame him in front of the world the way Miss Terri did. Now that gal was a real piece of work. But you two probably know all about her, your being investigators."

"Then you were the family's housekeeper when Mr. Owens was married to his first wife?" Maleah asked.

"Sure was. I'm the one who had to look after Mr. Tyler when he was a baby. Miss Terri didn't take to motherhood. Finally Mr. Ransom hired a nanny for the little tyke."

"What sort of child was Tyler?" Derek inquired.