Even in the gloom she could make out the thick black hair covering his arms, chest, belly, and down between his legs. She looked at his penis, lying pale and shrunk now, in a mass of pubic hair. Her glance switched to his face. Clean-shaven, as ever.
A chill began in her stomach.
This was a different Mace.
A stranger.
He stirred, feeling the air chill his skin. His muscles tightened; he hugged his arms around him. Then his eyes opened. He lifted his head. Looked down at himself.
Uncovered.
Naked.
With a growl, he leapt up.
“What in hell are you doing?” he demanded. She drew back, startled at his tone. Terrified by the sudden anger. His mouth came open and his eyes flashed dangerously.
Suddenly he was on top of her.
His fist coming down…
Smashing her face…
Knocking her into the pillow. Then more blows, to her throat, breasts, stomach…
She heard herself gasping, weak little sounds…He still straddled her, laying into her body again and again, pummeling hard.
Leigh threw her hands around her head. Trying to stifle her screams…Then, rolling into a ball, she turned away from under him and slid off the bed.
Standing, trembling, shivering, terrified, her arms hugging her body.
Mace sat up. Staring at her. Breathing hard. Suddenly, the fight left him and he drooped forward, shaking his head.
“Leigh, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Please believe me. You woke me—I was having a helluva nightmare. Leigh, you have to forgive me.”
“A nightmare?” Leigh backed away. She grabbed her robe from the bedrail. The silk clung to her damp skin. Struggling into it, she dragged it around her body.
Remembering Mattie’s words:
“The creep from Yellow Bend ain’t the only guy who likes to hear a gal scream…”
“You’d better leave, Mace,” she said, her voice quiet and shaky. “I think we both need some space. Time to think things through.”
He grabbed the bedsheet and held it up to his chin. But she turned away, not wanting to look at him anymore. Not wanting to see him, or remember him this way. Angry. Violent. Punching her. Beating the daylights out of her.
She heard him searching around for his things. She switched on the light and walked into the bathroom. Hoping Deana hadn’t heard her cries. Heard him laying into her.
Please God she hadn’t heard that.
FORTY-EIGHT
“Mattie. We need to talk.”
“We do?”
“Yeah. Time to spill the beans, Mattie.”
“About friend Mace?
“Right. Maybe there’s something else I should know?”
A pause.
Then Mattie said, “I’ll be right over.”
Mattie was off-duty, and the way she looked when she arrived at the house took Leigh off guard. Red blouse tied at the waist and denim cutoffs. She strode into the hallway, her long tanned legs taking her straight to the kitchen. She looked like a high-school kid on her way to the beach.
“What’s the matter, Leigh? Got a problem?”
Leigh followed, then busied herself making coffee. It was eight in the morning and she hadn’t fixed breakfast yet. Deana was still in bed.
“Yeah. You could say that. Take a pew.” Leigh motioned to the bench by the kitchen table. “Last week, you implied that Mace had ‘another side’ to him. Maybe a black side. An iffy side. Care to tell me more about that?”
Mattie took the mug of hot black coffee Leigh placed before her.
“Where shall I begin?” She spoke slowly, giving a tight smile. “Guess the beginning’s about the best place?”
Mattie looked up, peering into Leigh’s face.
“Well, shitski, honey! Where’d you get that?” She gestured toward the bruise already showing purple on Leigh’s cheek.
With a self-conscious gesture, Leigh’s hand went to her face. “Does it look so bad?” she asked anxiously.
“Bad enough,” Mattie replied, shaking her head.
Leigh gave an embarrassed grin. “Maybe I should put on some more makeup. I’ll do that before Deana shows. Don’t particularly want her to see me in this state. As it is, she can’t stand the sight of Mace.”
“Look,” Mattie said briskly. “Mace is good at his work. You might say too good. He wants somebody, he goes out there and nails ’em good. Yeah, he’s well-respected back at the department. But beneath all of that there’s a certain something that says potential rogue cop—know what I’m sayin’?”
Leigh gave a short, harsh laugh. “I get the picture,” she said. “Have you seen Mace flare up? Go stark, staring crazy?”
Mattie took a swig of coffee, then looked Leigh in the eye. “A coupla times. One day he put a guy in the jug; the guy calls out for a lawyer. Unfortunately, he caught Mace going off shift. Mace goes straight in there and slugs the guy out cold. Guy lying there, still out cold, and Mace starts kicking him. Couldn’t stop. I had to drag him off. It wasn’t easy. Then Mace turns on me. I get a bruised jaw for my trouble. He apologizes, says he doesn’t know what came over him.”
Mattie shrugged her shoulders.
“Next time, he slugs a girl in a club. Broke her jaw, turns out. Anyway, he shows his ID, tells il patron the girl’s makin’ a nuisance of herself. Girl’s fired on the spot. Mace walks free. No hassle. No problem.”
Leigh listened in silence, then said, “Uh-huh, seems like our Mace is bad news. Like he’s two separate people. Never took me to his apartment, y’know…I did wonder why. Maybe he’s got somethin’ to hide? Know what? I’d sure be interested to know what makes him tick.”
Mattie swung her leather shoulder bag around to her front. She lifted the flap, dove into it, and came up with a key. Waving it before Leigh’s eyes, she said, “How about we have ourselves a little adventure?”
“You mean that’s Mace’s house key?”
“Sure is. I happen to know he’s out on a case right now. Should take him all day…” Mattie’s eyes challenged her.
“Why not?” Leigh said.
Mace’s apartment was in darkness.
Leigh suppressed a shiver. What had Mace got against good honest daylight? What was he, Count Dracula or something?
The apartment was very neat. Too neat for a bachelor pad, she thought. No magazines. Straight lines of paperbacks in a cheap wooden bookcase. No mess, no beer cans, no evidence of takeout food.
Nothing.
She frowned. It was unnatural.
Place is like a damn funeral parlor. Especially with the blinds all drawn like this.
She shuddered. There was something about the neatness of it all that spooked her.
Mattie glanced around. Leigh smiled. Good ol’ Mats. Casing the joint. Once a cop always a cop…Bet nothing escapes her notice.
She was right.
“Place hasn’t been slept in these last coupla nights.”
“How can you tell?” Leigh felt guilty. Of course Mace hadn’t spent the night at home for a while. He’d been with her, hadn’t he? Well, last night, anyhow.
“Desk calendar says July fifteenth,” Mattie said. “It’s now July eighteenth.” She went through to the small kitchen area. She opened the fridge door. “The milk’s past its sell-by date.”
Leigh’s eyebrows went up. “Looks like Mace isn’t the only good cop around here,” she remarked dryly.
“Hey. How about this?” Mattie, at an open drawer of Mace’s computer desk, was waving some photos.
Leigh perked up. Photographs, especially missing ones, held a particular significance for her right now.
She looked at the photos fanned in Mattie’s hand. Mainly art shots, nicely lit ones of people, places, water, rivers, the sea, rocks, and some amazing skies. Most in mono; some in full color.
“Our Mace hopes to make the big time one day,” Mattie explained. “He’s got an award somewhere. Told me about it once. The Smith-Griffon
Award for Best Seascape or something, I remember.”
Mattie returned the photographs to the drawer and opened another one. She came up with bundles of letters and bills.
Leigh began to feel uneasy.
Suppose Mace walked in?
At this very moment.
She imagined footsteps hurrying down the corridor outside. A key scraping in the lock.
The door opening…
“Mattie. We really oughta go now. I don’t feel good about this whole thing.”
“You don’t feel good, huh? Come on over and look at these. Then tell me you don’t feel so good.”
Mattie’s tone was serious. Leigh’s heart skipped a beat.
Mattie sank into a soft leather sofa, holding a large scrapbook on her knee. Leigh went over. Turning pale as she stared at the pages Mattie was flicking through.
Bodies.
Dead bodies.
Carved.
Placed in awkward, symmetrical, artistic positions.
Bodies of girls. Twisted. Writhing in their final death throes. Bloody. Naked…
Page after page of photographs.
Mono press shots. The blood all black and glistening.
A few in startling full color.
Head shots, showing the final agonies.
Faces pleading. Mouths wide. Screaming for the man with the knife to stop. PLEASE…STOP…
Leigh gagged, vomit lurched in her throat. She felt herself fold at the knees. She collapsed on the sofa.
“Wowww…,” breathed Mattie. “We gotta get outa here…But wait a minute, there’s something else. A letter…”
Leigh looked over Mattie’s shoulder at the bunch of creased, handwritten pages she was holding.
And read the words:
“I, Edith Payne, hereby…”
My God—not Charlie’s mother…
Quietly, the door opened.
FORTY-NINE
“Why, ladies. This is a pleasant surprise,” Mace said. “You wanna read my private stuff?” He snatched the crumpled pages from Mattie. “Here,” he said, thrusting them at Leigh. “Take a look, sweetheart. Ring any bells?”
“Mace, I’m sorry…”
“Oh, don’t be sorry, honey. I don’t mind you sneaking in here. Poking through my private things—”
“Wasn’t Leigh’s fault, Mace,” Mattie broke in calmly. “I had your key. I decided to pay you a visit. Don’t blame Leigh. She came along for the ride.”
“Came along for the ride, huh?” A corner of his mouth lifted. But he wasn’t amused. His eyes were cold, dark as bottomless pits. Whatever it was he felt, he was holding it in. Keeping everything under control.
As always.
“So, Leigh. Thought you’d nose around, did you? Time you knew anyway. Time you paid the price. Finally. After…what is it now? Eighteen, nineteen years?”
“What d’ya mean, Mace? Eighteen, nineteen years?” Her heart lurched. Damn right she knew what he meant. What was he, Charlie’s avenging angel, or what?
Mace relaxed a little, easing into the game, getting conversational. “Read it,” he said. “And watch it all make sense, baby. Just a little reminder of that wonderful summer, all of those years ago.”
Slowly, Leigh took the letter from him. Meanwhile, Mattie’s eyes considered Mace. She was tense, ready to pounce if need be. One false move and she’d drop him. She knew she could, but she also knew that Mace was on the alert. She held still. Waiting.
“Go on, sweetheart. Read it. Put some coffee on, Mattie. We could be here for some time.”
He set himself down, legs astride a hardback chair. Grinning. Watching Leigh. Enjoying her discomfort.
“Hey, baby. Don’t mind me. Settle back in that easy chair, why don’t ya? Just want to see your pretty li’l face when you read what Deana’s granmama has to say!”
Mattie glanced at Leigh. Her eyes said, “You okay?”
Leigh nodded, briefly.
She sat on the edge of Mace’s armchair. With trembling lips, she looked at the yellowed pages. Ma Payne had a good hand. Legible. Of the old-fashioned copperplate school. Charlie said she’d been a teacher…
Leigh drew a deep breath. Quickly, her eyes scanned the pages, scarcely believing what she read:
“I, Edith Payne, hereby state the True Facts regarding my Three Children and the Terrible Events that took place after their Birth.
On December 15, in the year of Our Lord 1963, I gave birth to three babies. Jess, Charlie and Tania. Their father was my husband Charlie Payne. My, but they were three fine healthy babies! Beautiful as ever three babies could be. My Gifts from Heaven, I called them.
Firstly, I should state that I came to Lake Wahconda as a teacher. I taught the children of the lake people hereabouts. It was here I met and married Charlie Payne, a man of native Indian descent, and of little means and education. I tried to teach him to write, but he didn’t take kindly to this and soon gave up trying. He was a man content in his traditional ways.
Charlie said little when the three babies came along, but from the start, he seemed fearful of our little girl. All the babies had a good head of dark hair, but Tania had more than the boys. Charlie insisted she was a child of ill-omen, mumbling some tale that a female child covered in black hair was a bringer of ill fortune. When he was liquored up, he spoke of this old legend, telling that a woman mating with a wolf at Full Moon would give birth to such a child.
Charlie Payne was a simple man. He stood by his beliefs, and nothing I said could change his mind. Tania must die, he vowed, to save us all from misfortune. He was set on this path. I begged him not to kill our daughter, but he was deaf to my pleas.
I knew he would soon kill Tania, so I stole Mary-Ann Baker’s baby while she was at the lake washing clothes. The child was barely a week old. I dressed her in Tania’s shawl and placed her in Tania’s cradle. I hid my own daughter in the woods. Charlie Payne took Mary-Ann’s baby, hacked off her head and sank her weighted body into the lake.
This was a terrible thing to witness, and in my distress, I told him he’d killed the wrong baby—that this one was not ours. He demanded to know where I’d hidden Tania. Distraught, I told him in the woods. He went to find her. I hurried to the woodshed, took the ax and followed him. In his drunken state he tripped and fell in the undergrowth. I hacked him as he lay, screaming for mercy. I just hacked and hacked till he was dead.
After the disappearance of her newborn, Mary-Ann Baker drowned herself in the lake. Folks still say they hear her ghost moaning in the night as she searches for her little one.
Teaching class and making baskets brought little enough money to support my children. People hereabouts were next to dirt poor themselves. So I gave away two of my little ones. I gave Jess to my friend Ellie Burke and her husband Tom, in Duluth. I believed Ellie would give him a good home and look after him well, as she herself had not been blessed with children. I gave my daughter to a family of travelers. They seemed good, honest folk who vowed they would care for her.
I kept my baby Charlie. I loved him with all my heart, and as best I could, kept him away from all that is bad and wicked in this world.
When my boy Charlie was almost grown, he took up with a no-good whoring slut. A vacationer she was, out for any innocent young boy she could lay her hands on. She seduced, then murdered him and walked free of this terrible crime. Accidental Death, they called it. But I know different.
I pray that someday, God will repay this Jezebel in full for her wickedness. May her slate NEVER be cleansed of the terrible wrong she did my Charlie and me.
Let it be known, this statement is for the eyes of my son Jess Payne only. Tania is long gone. Wherever she is, I hope she is happy.
May God forgive me. All I want now is to Rest in Peace.
Signed: Edith Mary Payne.
FIFTY
Stunned, Leigh let the pages flutter to the floor. She heard Charlie’s voice telling her “it” was in the lake. But hadn’t he mentioned a brother? Maybe that’
d been his own conclusion.
If he’d been told he had a twin, he might’ve naturally thought “it” had been a brother. And it looked like Ma Payne hadn’t been in any goddamn rush to explain otherwise.
And who was Jess? Where does he fit in?
Mattie shot a quick glance in her direction. It said, Leigh. We gotta get outta here. Fast.
Agreed.
But first, we waltz our way past Mace?
Are you kidding?
“Where’s that coffee, Mattie? We sure could do with a shot here.” Mace watched Leigh’s face. Saw her bewildered, agonized frown. Saw how the past had leapt alive for her, prodding and poking her in all the most vulnerable places. He was enjoying the prospect.
“Time she learned the truth about her in-laws,” he thought, smiling softly. “The real truth about the genes her precious daughter inherited.”
All that Payne blood running through Deana’s veins.
His lips curved. His eyes glittered, black, sloelike.
Leigh got it, all right. No problem. The truth came at her thick and fast. She raised her head. Saw the smear of sweat gathering on Mace’s upper lip.
“He’s getting off on this,” she told herself. “He’s enjoying every minute of it.”
She knew it now. Jess was Mace.
Charlie’s brother. Deana’s uncle.
Oh my God, I don’t believe this. Please let it be some terrible mistake…
She thought about the insanity in the Payne family. Edith Payne, screaming at her, eyes dark and wild. Seems like Charlie’s pa was mad, too. Liquored up, and on another planet. A killer. Of a tiny baby. A baby hacked in such a horrible way. And Mace. Hard. Cruel. Raging when she’d uncovered him last night. Seen his black body hair.
Must’ve bleached the hair on his head to appear blond to the outside world. Trying to hide, eradicate, all trace of the familial black growth.
And Deana.
Oh my God, my darling daughter. Her thick black hair. The body hair she was always complaining about. From her father’s side. From the Payne side.
She pictured Deana, her own dark-haired daughter—the vision merging with Edith Payne’s Tania. But, she told herself gratefully, Deana had no manic streaks, no strange ways; nothing to say she’d inherited the “bad” Payne blood.