"Good. I'm glad to know my memory's still functioning in spite of the exhaustion."

"Yeah, I like to vary my route. I think it's a little safer."

"That's a good idea. Especially if you're by yourself. Hey, that's Nancy Jo Gristel's street."

"The woman who missed her piano lesson last night?"

"Yeah. Do you mind if we run down her street?"

"No problem."

They turned onto Bowie Street.

"Do you know the address?" said Cynthia.

"No, but I think it's at the end of the street."

When they reached the dead end, Greg said, "That's it."

"Are you sure? How do you know it's not that one?" Cynthia pointed to the house across the street.

They stopped in front of her driveway.

"See that car? It's the only '59 Plymouth Fury in town. Check out those fins. Her husband kept in tip top shape for forty years. He had it completely restored back in the '80s. But since he died it's beginning to show its age. It has pushb.u.t.ton automatic transmission. Very weird, but cool."

"I've never heard of that," said Cynthia.

"But, wait. That's odd."

"What?"

"She told me she always parks it in the garage at night-to protect the paint job."

"Maybe she just forgot."

"I'm gonna knock on her door."

"But, Greg, it's too early."

"Nah. She gets up by 5:00 AM at the latest. She used to practice piano when she couldn't sleep-until the neighbors complained. And her lights are on, so she must be up. I just want to make sure she's okay. She might have forgotten to take her Alzheimer's medicine. She could be disoriented."

They walked onto the front porch and Greg knocked while Cynthia looked through the partially opened drapes.

"Greg, come here and look at this," said Cynthia.

"What?"

"On the carpet, beside the piano-is that a pair of gla.s.ses?"

"Yeah. Looks like she dropped them. Now that'sa problem. She's blind as a bat without those gla.s.ses."

"There's a light on in that other room too. Probably the kitchen. Maybe she's in there."

They walked around to the side of the house and up the driveway to the little porch at the kitchen door. Greg began to knock. The curtains on the door window were made of a thin material. They tried to see through it.

"It's really hard to tell for sure, but do you see something on the floor?" said Greg.

"Like a body?"

"I'll call the police."

Greg pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.

As soon as he had finished and hung up, Cynthia said, "We're being watched."

Greg looked across the street and saw the man in his robe. He was just standing there, staring at them.

"I want to talk to that guy." Greg walked down the stairs.

Cynthia followed him.

The forty-something year-old man had walked out to pick up his newspaper when he saw Greg and Cynthia. He must have thought they were up to no good, thought Greg.

"We think something happened to Mrs. Gristel," said Greg.

The man said nothing, but continued to stare at them.

"Looks like she's on the floor in the kitchen. And she's not moving."

Still no response.

"She takes piano lessons from me. That's how I know her."

"Nurse," said the man.

"Nurse? What do you mean?" said Greg.

"Nurse came to take care of her. I thought she must feel bad."

"When did the nurse come?"

"Yesterday. Or today. I thought she must feel bad. I eat spaghetti. My favorite. And garlic toast. Nurse come."

"I see."

The man's wife walked out to meet them. A half-smoked cigarette barely clung to her lower lip. "Don't pay him no mind. He ain't right in the head."

"Nurse came," said the man, to n.o.body in particular.

"We think your neighbor, Mrs. Gristel, is in trouble. I called 911."

"That's too bad," said the wife. "Come on, Bubba. Let's get you back in the house."

"Uh, Ma'am, do you mind if I ask him another question?" said Greg.

"It's a waste of time. But go ahead."

"Bubba? Do you mind if I call you Bubba?" said Greg.

"Just ask the question," said the wife, stomping her cigarette b.u.t.t into the gra.s.s.

"Did you remember what kind of car the nurse was driving?" said Greg.

"White."

"Okay, good. But did you notice anything else about the car?" said Greg.

"Ecstasy. Ecstasy on car."

"See? I told you," said the wife. "Come on Bubba. You ain't doing n.o.body no good out here."

Bubba and his wife walked away and went into their house.

Greg and Cynthia could hear the wife yelling inside. "How many times have I told you, Bubba? Never go out of the house! Now, sit down and shut up!"

"Nice couple," said Cynthia.

Greg smiled and shook his head.

A patrol car pulled up in front of Nancie Jo's house, and Greg and Cynthia walked over to greet the officers.

"Are you the one who called 911?" said one of the officers.

"Yes, Sir," said Greg.

"What's your name, Sir?"

"Greg Tenorly. And this is my girlfriend, Cynthia Blockerman."

The two policemen said h.e.l.lo to Cynthia. They all started walking toward the house.

"Y'all don't live in this neighborhood, do you?"

"No. We were out for a jog and I decided to check on Mrs. Gristel. I'm her piano teacher, and she didn't show up for her lesson last night."

"Are we talking about the old woman who lives here? Shetakes piano lessons?"

"Yes, she does," said Greg. "So we knocked on her door."

"And I saw her gla.s.ses on the floor," said Cynthia.

"So, we went around to the side door and saw what appeared to be a body on the floor," said Greg. "We couldn't really tell for sure-it's hard to see through the curtains."

Greg and Cynthia followed the officers to the side door and watched one of them try to look in. He checked the doork.n.o.b to see if it was locked. Then he stepped back and kicked the door several times until it broke free.

They stayed outside and watched the officers go in.

In less than a minute, one of them walked out and said, "Yeah, she's dead."

"What happened?" said Cynthia.

"She's got multiple stab wounds to the back. It's pretty gruesome. And we're going to need to get statements, so y'all stick around."

The officer walked back in. They could hear his partner on his radio, calling for an ambulance.

"When your mom hears about this, she may change her mind about moving here," said Greg.

"Yeah, but this woman lived alone. Mom will have me to look out for her."

But Greg wondered why anyone would want to kill this sweet old lady. Knowing the reason behind the murder wouldn't bring her back. But it might make him feel better. A few months earlier, he only had himself to worry about. Now, he had a girlfriend and a potential future mother-in-law to protect.

Macy Golong liked to take advantage of the early morning and late evening hours. These were the only times she knew there would be no interruptions. For the rest of the day, she had to be on-call to meet every need of her employer, Mallie Mae Mobley. If the old woman yelled to her and she didn't respond immediately, Macy could expect her cell phone to ring within seconds. Sometimes hours pa.s.sed between calls. But knowing that one could come at any moment kept her in a state of uneasiness.

She took another sip of coffee and turned the page.

Ormando walked onto the porch carrying a whip. His thick, black locks were blown back to one side by the warm summer wind. His unb.u.t.toned shirt flapped in the breeze, revealing his hard, sun-darkened pectorals and abs.

"You will give yourself to me-NOW," he said, in thunderous tones, cracking the whip on the marble floor.

Jessica wondered how she had gotten herself into this situation. How dare he command her to yield to his lurid longings? She would never give in to him. Never. And yet, as she looked into his smoldering eyes, she was not sure how long she could resist. Surely, unimaginable pleasure awaited her, if she would only submit to him. No. She would not give herself to this savage animal.

"So? What will it be?" he said. "Torture or paradise?"

If she resisted, what guarantee did she have that he would not whip her mercilessly, and then force himself upon her anyway?

But it did not matter. For she had already made her decision.

Macy flipped the page. Her cell phone rang.

"Macy? Please come to my room," said Mallie Mae.

Chapter19.