'I just hope the name gets us somewhere,' Marc said. 'Preferably before we find the murdered remains of Shirley Arledge.'
He really wanted it to be the same, and it almost was.
Almost.
But the drug he was trying worked only to a point, and after that she really didn't want to cooperate.
She was a screamer. He hated it when she screamed. It was the quiet sobs, the soft, ladylike pleas, that he expected from Audrey.
He finally resorted to taping her mouth again. It was an imperfect solution, and he was conscious of annoyance with that.
'Audrey, you're making this more difficult than it needs to be,' he told her.
She moaned, and her wet eyes begged him.
He enjoyed that for a moment, smiling down at her.
She was ready. Her short hair covering her small, well-shaped head was a rich, dark brown, and the pencil had darkened her eyebrows nicely-though he made a mental note to use the hair color on them next time. He had shaved away the ugly yellow pubic hair and the hair on her legs and armpits as well.
Now to get her thoroughly clean.
He got a bucket filled with hot soapy water. He used the brush first, scrubbing her from her feet to her throat. He used the sink sprayer, with its special long hose, to rinse her body. And even though she was pink and glowing, he used a second bucket of hot soapy water and a soft sponge to wash her down a second time.
He rinsed her again, taking care to shift her as much as possible so that the soapy and then the clear water flowed underneath to reach the places his brush and sponge hadn't.
He used two big, soft bath sheets to dry her, taking special care in all the crevices and underneath her. In the process, the table itself was dried, of course, so when he was finally done he used the controls to bring it back to horizontal. Then he used the programmed setting to lower the foot end of the table just a bit.
He stood between her feet and made sure she was looking at him with her wet brown eyes, and began unbuttoning his shirt.
She made a high-pitched mewling sound, and the muscles along her inner thighs twitched in sudden spasms.
'I'm already very clean,' he told her. 'Because I always am. But I'll rinse myself off first, just so you can be certain nothing dirty is going to touch you, Audrey.'
This time a muffled wail escaped her, and her feet and hands jerked as she fought the restraints.
Hands on his belt, he paused. 'Now, Audrey-do you really want another shot?'
He could see the delicious indecision in her eyes and savored it. Did she want to be largely insensitive to what was happening to her, but also completely helpless to stop any of it? Or was she willing to risk the terror, pain, and humiliation for the slim chance that she could exert some control over the outcome?
Her eyes closed briefly, and with a sob she went limp, acquiescing.
'That's my girl,' he said, smiling as he began to unbuckle his belt.
The time he spent with Audrey was always energizing but draining as well, and he had to plan for regular breaks for himself to eat or nap or just rest for a while.
It was, he had discovered, another way to draw out the experience, to savor it.
It did seem to take a lot out of Audrey, however.
He left the room after their most recent session of love-making to take a quick shower, returning clean, dry, and naked; once Audrey had been scrubbed clean initially, he preferred to be naked.
She seemed to be sleeping when he padded silently back in, but when he pulled the tape from her mouth, she flinched and her eyes opened. Eternally wet eyes, pleading eyes, now sunken a bit and surrounded by darkening circles of faintly braised flesh.
Odd, that. He never struck her face, and yet those circles always appeared toward the end.
As if her eyes were dying first.
'Please,' she whispered. 'Please don't hurt me anymore. Please let me go. I won't tell anyone. I promise I won't tell anyone. Please-'
'Now, Audrey, we've discussed this. You're not going to tell anyone, we both know that. You don't have to promise me that. And we've discussed your punishment and the need for it.'
'But I'm not Audrey. I'm not the one who abandon-'
He reached out a hand swiftly, almost completely encircling her delicate throat. He applied just a little pressure, tightened his fingers only until she began to choke.
He had learned to know and respect his own strength.
'Hush, Audrey,' he said gently.
Her eyes grew huge and her naked body jerked. He waited until he was certain she understood, then removed his hand.
She gasped for air and coughed.
'Now, look what you've made me do,' he scolded. 'I've bruised your throat. So sorry, sweetheart.'
She had to try twice before she could whisper. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean-I didn't mean to be bad.'
'I know you didn't. Hush, now. Be still while I clean you up.'
Jordan met them at Venture Florist and was just getting out of his cruiser when they pulled up. 'I checked with the deputies who followed up on those flowers Marie Goode found at her door,' he told them. 'Since two of our local grocery stores sell flowers in bunches like that, and those seemed the most anonymous places to buy flowers, the guys started there. And they found virtually identical arrangements at both stores,
'And there were no prints on the card,' Marc said. He looked at Paris, brows raised.
'All I can tell you is what I saw. I'm pretty sure this is the florist, but I'll know for sure once I'm inside. There was an odd arrangement to the right of the register, obviously for Halloween. I hope,' she added as they stepped inside.
Dani could see what her sister meant. The small florist shop, filled to bursting with real and silk arrangements and various stuffed animals and vases and other accessories, looked perfectly normal and innocuous.
Except for the tasteful display to the right of the register, which contained, along with bright orange flowers, grinning skulls and black-widow spiders.
'This is the place,' Paris said.
Miss Patty, who had owned the shop for as long as anybody could remember, emerged from the back room to greet them. 'May I help-Why, hello, Sheriff. What can I do for you?' Her clear blue eyes, the single memorable feature in a face as softly wrinkled as old tissue paper, moved alertly from face to face, and she added, 'Oh, dear. I expect it's about the murders, then?'
Feeling rather absurdly as though he were talking back to his grammar-school teacher, Marc said, 'Miss Patty, you aren't supposed to know about the murders.'
'Heavens, Sheriff, everybody knows about them.'
Jordan asked, 'Then how come nobody's talking?'
Miss Patty smiled at him. 'Everybody's talking, Deputy,' she said gently. 'Just not to you.'
'Or to the media?' Marc asked intently.
'Of course not to them. Out of respect to the families. And then, of course, nobody wants reporters and TV crews showing up around here. That wouldn't help you to solve the murders, and it surely would make our lives
