When Death Draws Near by Parks Carrie Stuart

Author:Parks, Carrie Stuart [Parks, Carrie Stuart]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Suspense, Contemporary, thriller
ISBN: 9781401690472
Amazon: 1401690475
Goodreads: 27840667
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2016-08-02T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE AND BENT OVER the file on the snake-handling group. The answer to the accidents, murders, and rapes somehow was tied up with snakes. I shifted in my chair and glanced around the room.

Clay was unable, or unwilling, to do the necessary police work to stop the crime spree. That left me. I couldn’t wait for another person to die, or another woman to be tortured and raped. But sitting around a mountain cabin without any way to communicate and waiting for something to happen was stupid. I shouldn’t have let myself get talked into this isolation.

But all the official channels were closed. I couldn’t interview Jason, work the crime scenes, view tapes, or use any of my skills.

I did have one avenue open. The invitation to the funeral with the snake handlers.

Aynslee got up and wandered to the window, opened the curtain, and leaned against the glass.

How can I keep Aynslee safe? I trusted no one. No way would I leave her here at this cabin.

But if the snake handlers were involved . . .

I needed to talk to them, to get invited to the revival, not just to draw them, but to see if I could find answers. I didn’t want to botch the invitation to join them by saying or doing the wrong thing. Beth usually relished doing my research for me, and I missed my friend’s purple highlighter and notes. Fortunately someone had condensed the materials for me.

Aynslee screamed.

I shot to my feet.

She stepped out of the bathroom. “Just look at me! I can’t go anywhere dressed like this.” She turned to the freestanding mirror and screamed again. She’d put on the outfit Blanche had dropped off: a black, ankle-length, gathered skirt; white, long-sleeved blouse; black socks; and clunky black shoes.

I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from smiling. “Perfect.”

“Perfect? Are you kidding me? I look like-like a nun or something.”

“Wrong denomination. You look modest. Be sure you wash off all your makeup and take off your ear baubles.”

Aynslee left to wash her face. I finished reading the file, then closed it and tapped the outside with a pencil. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Don’t trust anyone.

“Guess what?” Aynslee held up a skirt and blouse for me. “If possible, your stuff is uglier than mine.”

She was right. The blouse was a strange, vaguely unhealthy shade of green, and the full skirt was a dark sepia brown.

She wrinkled her nose. “Your shirt looks like puke.”

“Um. Put that on the sofa. I’m going to make a casserole for the funeral and don’t want to get anything on it. Not that food items wouldn’t improve the appearance.”

“Oh, Mom, you’re not going to take those poor people your tuna noodle casserole, are you?”

“Of course. You always bring food for the family.”

“But that’s not food. It’s . . . it’s not edible.”

“You eat it all the time.”

“I’m immune. Pleeease?”

“It’s the thought that counts.” I ignored her lack of support and located a white Pyrex dish, box of pasta, can of tuna, and can of cream of mushroom soup.

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