Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle. BEVERLY BARTON

the engine, he caught a glimpse of Bernie in his peripheral vision. She sat there beside him, belted in, her back ramrod straight and her gaze fixed straight ahead, as if she saw something interesting on the other side of the windshield.

      “Is your sister involved with anybody?” Jim asked.

      Bernie didn’t respond immediately. Why was she giving her answer so much thought? Why not a simple yes or no response? Finally, after taking a deep breath, she told him, “Robyn’s not dating one person in particular.”

      “Hmm …”

      “I don’t think she’s ready for anything serious, but she can’t convince our mother. Weren’t you aware that there were two single men, other than you, at dinner today? Mama would like to fix me up with Raymond, and she had high hopes of putting Robyn with the new preacher, but it seems my little sister is more interested in you.” Bernie snapped her head around and looked right at Jim. “And apparently the interest is mutual.”

      “Then you wouldn’t have a problem with my asking your sister out?”

      “No, why should I?”

      “Conflict of interest. My being your chief deputy and her being your sister.”

      “Captain Norton, you are free to date anyone you choose and that includes my sister.”

      Richie Lowery was short and stocky with curly brown hair. His voice was slightly high pitched, and at the moment the guy was more than a little agitated. He clenched and un-clenched his hands as he stared at the sketches laid out on the table in front of him and a fine sheen of perspiration moistened his upper lip. Of course, it was July in Alabama and everyone sweated in this oppressive heat.

      “You think I drew these?” He chuckled nervously. “I can’t draw a damn stick figure. Ask anybody who knows me. I don’t have a bit of artistic talent.”

      “If that’s the case, then why did Stephanie Preston think you sent them to her?” Jim posed the question from where he stood on the other side of the table. Charlie Patterson sat at the end of the table and Bernie stood in the corner, observing.

      “How should I know? Besides, you just got her husband’s word for it that Stephie thought I was the one sending her all that stuff.”

      “Are you saying you think Kyle Preston is lying?” Jim asked.

      “Hey, I don’t know. All I know is that I didn’t draw them damn lewd pictures or take snapshots of Stephie or send her notes and little presents.” Richie faced Jim boldly. “I haven’t been pining away for her or nothing like that. I’ve got a girlfriend. She lives in South Pittsburgh. That’s where I was yesterday and last night. If you don’t believe me, you can ask her.”

      “If that’s the case, then why didn’t your parents or any of your buddies know where you were?” Charlie asked.

      Richie focused on the ABI agent. “Look, my folks wouldn’t approve of my girlfriend. She’s … well … she’s not white, and my old man would beat the shit out of me if he knew I was dating a black girl.”

      Jim cleared his throat. “Where were you the night Stephanie was kidnapped? And where were you the day she was killed?”

      “When was she kidnapped exactly?”

      Jim told him the dates.

      “I was at work the night she was kidnapped. Swear to God. I work swing shift at the poultry plant and I was on evening shift then. I didn’t get off until midnight. And that’s a good thirty-five-minute drive from the college.”

      “What about the day she was murdered?” Charlie asked.

      “Same thing. I was at work. Day shift. You can check with my boss and with the people I work with. They can vouch for me. I was at work. Honest to God.”

      Bernie noticed Jim and Charlie exchange knowing looks and realized they were agreeing on something—probably the fact that it didn’t appear that Richie Lowery was their killer.

      “Mr. Lowery, we appreciate your coming in to answer our questions,” Jim said. “We’ll check out your alibis and if we find you’ve been straight with us, then that’s that. But if you’ve lied to us—”

      “I haven’t lied. Everything I’ve told you is the gospel truth.”

      Jim nodded.

      “Can I go now?” Richie asked, almost pleadingly.

      “Yeah, you can go,” Jim told him. Richie scooted back his chair. “But first, I’ve got one more question: Do you know of anybody who might have had a reason to harm Stephanie? Somebody with a grudge against her or her husband or her father?”

      Richie thought for several minutes, then said, “Nah, nothing like that, but … what about guys who were interested in her? You know, guys she fooled around with.”

      “Was there someone else?” Jim asked.

      “Yeah, there was this one guy who kind of had a thing for her and when we broke up, I think she might have seen him a couple of times before she hooked up with Kyle.”

      “This guy got a name?”

      “Yeah, yeah. Kelley. Brandon Kelley. He’s a professor or something over at the junior college where she took night classes.”

      “Thanks, Mr. Lowery.”

      “Can I go now?”

      “Yes, you can go.”

      As soon as Richie closed the door behind himself, Charlie stood and stretched. “Think he’s telling us the truth?”

      “Yeah, I think he is,” Jim replied.

      “I know Dr. Brandon Kelley,” Bernie said. “He’s got quite a reputation with the ladies. Word is that he’s dated more than one of his students.”

      “Interesting.”

      “You know what’s even more interesting? Brandon Kelley is the art director at Adams County Junior College.” She glanced at the charcoal and ink sketches lying on the table. “The man’s an artist and from what I hear, a damn good one.”

       Chapter 8

      The bottles of pink nail polish and tubes of matching lipstick peeked at him through the sheer plastic gift bag he’d bought at Wal-Mart. He’d placed the bag on the desk, directly in front of his sketch pad. His first gift to a new lover was always the pearls, perhaps because that was the one item above all others that he associated with—

      His hand holding the ink pen quivered ever so slightly.

      Cursing himself for allowing her memory to still have such a hold on him, he laid down the pen and grabbed his hand to steady it. She was the past. She was insignificant. Unimportant. She could never hurt him again. Never laugh at him. Never ridicule him in front of her friends.

      Unwanted memories flooded his mind. He pressed his fingers against either side of his head, at the temples, and closed his eyes. Don’t remember that afternoon. Don’t think about it. Don’t, damn you, don’t.

      Vivid images of her appeared inside his head. Her long dark hair. Her big, expressive brown eyes. Her beautiful face. And her incredible body. He had dreamed of her, worshipped her from afar, wanted her as he had never wanted anything before or since.

      He beat the sides and top of his head with his open palms. “Get out of my head, damn you, you vicious little bitch!”

      Darkness appeared behind his closed eyelids, then swirls of deep red and flashes of white.

      There, that’s better. She’s gone now. You don’t have to think about her. Concentrate on your new love. Think about Thomasina. Move forward with your courtship. You have to finish the drawing so you can