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More like demanded.
When he went back outside and handed the glass to Maude, she seemed to notice him only barely. Dwayne thought she smelled wonderful, of mingled scents of lotion and perspiration that gleamed on her smooth tan skin.
He left poolside and stood on the rear deck of the house, where he could observe his soon-to-be stepmother. He’d just turned fourteen, and he couldn’t help but be enthralled by Maude. Not that she minded. She would secretly urge him on, smiling and winking at him behind his father’s back.
Well, not so secretly. They were both amused by Dwayne’s discomfort, by his inability to conceal the erection he would often get in Maude’s presence. This embarrassed Dwayne so that he blushed a vivid pink, provoking their laughter. Sometimes, to tame and reduce the erection, Dwayne would think about his late mother. About how he’d hated her.
She and Dwayne’s father had used him in ways he hadn’t imagined possible. Ways he despised, and that made him despise them and himself.
When Dwayne’s mother died nine months ago, Dwayne hadn’t known how to feel. He did know the nighttime visits would stop, the gin breath and the giggling, his pain that his parents so enjoyed. His father had objected to hurting him that way at first, then his mother had convinced him that it didn’t matter. That Dwayne actually enjoyed what they were doing. She had figured out various ways to prove it.
When she died from heart failure that was somehow co
What was life but playing a series of roles?
There had never been mention of where his father had obtained Maude Evans. She’d simply shown up a few weeks after his mother’s death. His mother’s life.
Maude smoothly replaced the life part with her own version.
Dwayne’s own life slipped into a routine. He was supposedly being homeschooled. A strict tutor, Mrs. Jacoby, would arrive at nine o’clock every weekday and stay until one o’clock. She was a broad, middle-aged woman with a perpetual scowl. There was no need for him to know her first name, as long as he learned his prime numbers and Latin roots. She took no crap from Dwayne.
Mrs. Jacoby and Maude seemed barely to notice each other. Or maybe that was just in Dwayne’s presence.
At precisely nine o’clock, when Mrs. Jacoby arrived, was when his father would go to work at his property procurement and management office. The company owned prime beach front property all over Florida, and some in the Carolinas. Money was no problem. Money allowed for the regular, sun-drenched routine. It was something taken for granted.
After the conversation Dwayne overheard between Maude and Bill Phoenix, the man who came every other day to service the pool, Dwayne knew that money was all that had attracted Maude to his father. Phoenix was a tall, rangy guy with friendly brown eyes, muscles that rippled, and curly black hair on his head and chest. He looked like he’d make a great James Bond in the movies. Maude and money had attracted Bill Phoenix.
Dwayne knew that Maude and the swimming pool guy had plans.
3
Creighton, two years ago
Qui
Qui
Maybe that was the way he pla
No way to know that for sure now. No point in worrying about it.
They’d almost had the bastard back at the lodge, where he’d just taken his latest victim, after torturing her with dozens of knife cuts and cigarette burns, and gradual disembowelment. An anonymous phone call, proclaiming that someone was being murdered at the lodge, hadn’t come in time to save the victim.
The killer had seen their approach. He’d fled the scene after making the phone call, not realizing how quickly they would respond, how close Qui
Qui
There was a lot of blood around the sheriff.
And here Qui
Qui
This was the kind of asshole who played that kind of game.
Now, unless the killer had a boat stashed somewhere, the chase might not be futile after all. The dogs, forcing a hard and close pursuit, might be the difference. The killer might not have pla
Suddenly the flat plane of the lake appeared through the trees to Qui
Qui
He knew now how the killer pla
But not out-lucked him.
Qui
The killer could see the level blue-green surface, and knew he was almost on the mud bank. He slowed down and glanced right and left to get his bearings. The trees thi
He hadn’t been ru
He glimpsed movement through the trees and stopped ru
Ahead of him, his back to the water, was Qui
Regret and anger flashed through the killer’s mind: It had all gone as pla
Then he saw that his luck wasn’t all bad. Qui
The killer watched Qui
Then he turned back to look around on shore, no doubt to find shelter from which to ambush his prey. Obviously, he assumed he’d won the race to the lake.