Satan’s Lambs by Lynn Hightower Page B

pretty good, swinging that bat. Strong. Controlled. Scared shitless.
    â€œI’m fine,” she said, and slammed the door shut.
    Officer Geer kept his cruiser poised at the curb, engine idling, while she walked through the grass to the porch. The illumination from the headlights gave her just enough light.
    Lena held her right wrist steady with her left hand, so she could fit the key in the lock. Four tries and she got it. Geer didn’t leave till she shut the door and locked it.
    Lena took a deep breath. Her mind flashed a vision of Charlie, eyes dull, glazed with shock. Mendez would have to find him. If anybody could, it would be Mendez.
    Mendez, Mendez, Mendez.
    Her impulse was to get in the Cutlass and go looking. Do something . But the Cutlass was out of gas on Birken Street, and her knees felt like jelly. She leaned against the doorjamb and closed her eyes.
    She was aware of the faintest trace of sweetness in the air. Men’s cologne—something or other by Calvin Klein. She smelled it every time she went into Glenden’s Department Store, and she had smelled it on Mendez, up close.
    Mendez would find Charlie. She would find Charlie.
    Lena went to the kitchen for the last of the Clos DuBois. She got a glass from the top shelf of the cabinet and tucked the wine bottle between her ribs and her elbow. She would curl up on the couch and drink it all.
    The living room was dark and still, oddly tense in the dimness. The smell of cologne was stronger. The light from the kitchen showed an empty room, but Lena stopped, then took one step backward.
    A dark head rose from behind the couch. Even in the dark, she knew him. Lena dropped the bottle of wine.
    â€œSurprise.”
    The wineglass broke between Lena’s fingers, and her hands grew wet with blood. Hayes switched on the three-way lamp—snap-snap-snap to the highest brilliance, then snap-snap back to a dim yellow glow.
    He wore a new suit, expensive, deep gray. His hair looked soft, dark, and full, and his eyes were blue, cold, and still.
    He took a black silk handkerchief from his left breast pocket, and stepped close to take hold of her hands. His skin was sallow, unhealthy. Lena jerked her hands away.
    â€œGet the hell out of my house.”
    The stem of the wineglass fell to the floor. The handkerchief fluttered behind it.
    Hayes smiled. “Don’t be afraid, Lena.” He picked up the soiled handkerchief, tucked it into his pocket, and settled on the edge of the rocking chair. “I’m just here to talk.”
    He held up a finger, stained with her blood, and slowly licked it clean.
    Lena sat on the edge of the couch, close to the phone. There were slivers of glass in her fingers and palms. Tiny ones. Big ones. They hurt.
    Blood dripped down her wrists to her lap. Hayes watched the red trickle with something like rapture in his eyes. Lena wondered if he’d looked at Whitney that way, when she’d died by his hand in the driveway.
    He rocked gently in the rocking chair. Lena found herself riveted by the familiar slow rhythm—the comforting creak of old wood, and the memory of Whitney and Kevin, right before bed.
    She pulled a shard of glass from the palm of her hand and held it between slick red fingers.
    â€œHope you haven’t spent all that life insurance money, Lena. Got it locked up tight in the bank? I like to think that you know it’s not yours. So you won’t mind me taking it back.”
    Lena looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “ Seed money. You and Archie are looking for seed money.”
    The smile he gave her was almost sheepish. He spread his hands wide.
    â€œI took out those policies, Lena. On my wife and my child. I paid the premiums. I was beneficiary.”
    â€œYou can’t collect for a killing.”
    â€œIt should at least have gone to my family. Not your bunch, not you Padgets.”
    â€œWe let the courts decide, Hayes.”
    â€œThe courts were wrong.”
    â€œIt