Chapter Seven
He dug the grave deep...and deeper still, not wanting anyone to ever find it. The moonlight overhead was bright, but at one o’clock in the morning in his own backyard he wasn’t too worried about anyone seeing him.
Troy Anderson leaned against the shovel handle and swiped the sweat that threatened to drip into his eyes. Even though it was the middle of the night, the heat was relentless. August in Kansas City always brought high temperatures and thick humidity.
He stared down into the deep hole he had dug, his emotions curiously numb. The man was dead, setting into motion a plot to murder another man...a man whose death Troy had dreamed about and had yearned for, for a thousand nights.
This was what he’d wanted for three long years. So why didn’t a delirious happiness fill him? Why didn’t a wild anticipation thrum inside him? The man who had destroyed his life and stolen his happiness now had an expiration date, and all that Troy felt was numb.
He swiped his forehead once again and got back to shoveling the hard dirt. His T-shirt clung to his chest and the latex gloves he wore smothered the skin of his hands. He couldn’t wait to get them off.
When he had the hole dug deep enough for his satisfaction, he turned and grabbed the white plastic grocer’s bag on the ground next to him. He pulled out the gun inside and held it for several long minutes in his hand.
It was the weapon he was supposed to use on this night to kill a man named Steven Winthrop. Troy had never met Winthrop, but he knew the man was responsible for the rape and murder of a woman who had just been doing her job in showing a home to a prospective buyer. Winthrop had beat the system and walked away a free man, even though everyone had known he was guilty.
Troy had tossed and turned the night before with the knowledge that he intended to take a man’s life. He intended to commit cold-blooded murder. But it was the only path to the vigilante justice he needed...that he wanted so badly.
He’d awakened that morning with murder in mind only to open the daily newspaper and discover that Steven Winthrop had been murdered the night before. According to the report, the man’s throat had been sliced open in his bedroom.
So Troy would not be required to commit murder for the plan to continue. He had no idea who had owned or used this particular gun before it had appeared in his mailbox with instructions as to the date and time to kill Winthrop. He had no idea how many other murders the gun might be tied to. The serial numbers had been scratched off, but he knew there were now ways and technologies to retrieve the number. He had to get rid of it, and this was the only way he knew how. He dropped the gun into the hole and then shoveled dirt over the top.
He buried the weapon and when he was finished, once again he leaned on the shovel and fought against a bone-deep weariness. He needed to take a long shower and then go to bed. He needed the sweet oblivion of sleep to quiet the demons in his head.
He straightened up and his gaze swept to his neighbor’s big three-story house. He froze. Silhouetted in a second-floor window was somebody. Somebody watching him...somebody who had seen him bury the gun.
“Mommy, I want to wear my pink shoes but I can’t find them,” Katie called from her upstairs bedroom.
“The school bus is going to be here in five minutes. I don’t care what color shoes you wear, but you must have shoes on both feet.” Eliza Burke drew in a deep breath to find patience.
Every morning for the past week since school had started, it was the same chaotic scramble to get both her children on separate school buses. Her daughter, Katie, went to second grade at one school, and her son, Sammy, went on a little yellow bus to the Kansas City school for the blind.
“Katie,” she called up the stairs. “We have to go.” She turned to Sammy, who sat at the kitchen table. “I swear, your sister is going to make me old before my time.”
Sammy giggled. “But we still love her.”
“Yes, we still love her,” Eliza agreed.
“I’m coming,” Katie called. Her footsteps rang out as she came down the stairs. She appeared in the kitchen, a blue shoe on one foot and a pink one on the other. “Shoes on both feet,” she proclaimed proudly. Eliza sighed.
“Grab your lunch bags and let’s head to the bus stop,” she said. “We don’t want to miss the buses.”
Together the three of them left the house. Sammy held her arm more for comfort than for guidance. He had astounded her with his quick acclimation to the new house and neighborhood.
An edge of grief swept through her as his hand warmed her forearm. Sammy had the most beautiful blue eyes with stunning dark lashes, but something had gone wrong and he’d been born without sight. Still, he was smart as a whip and a very happy child.
Katie was her seven-year-old drama queen. She loved fashion and all things with bling. She also loved her younger brother with a fierce intensity. There was only one year between the two and they were very close.
They had just reached the bus stop a block away from the house when Katie’s bus rumbled to a halt before them. With kisses given, she disappeared up the stairs and onto the bus.
Minutes later Sammy was gone as well and Eliza started the walk back home. Home. The unexpected gift of the huge three-story house had been a happy, shocking surprise that had gotten them out of the crummy apartment building where they had been living.
It had been left to her by her ex-husband’s grandfather, a man Eliza had barely known. But it was paid off, and a month ago she and the children had moved in.
She entered the house and went directly to the kitchen to check on the slow cooker meal she’d started an hour earlier. She could already smell the chicken and tomatoes cooking.
She
