Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

clothed, she had convinced herself that Mitchell had only been trying to protect her. Mitchell didn't want her bothered by the past because he wanted a perfect future for her. As she drifted into a haze of jumbled imagery, she tried to pray but no words came, and neither did a response to her seeking.

 
     
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    Julia hadn't dreamed at all, at least as far as she remembered in the morning. She had a mild hangover, and she gave her reflection a hard time in the bathroom mirror.
    "All it takes for you to avoid nightmares about bones is to slug down some eighty proof," she said, looking into her own red eyes. "You could be onto something there, girl. Something that doesn't sound like it leads to a happy ending. I believe I'd just as soon be crazy as turn into a lush."
    Then she realized that probably only crazy people talked to themselves in the mirror, so she showered away the muscle aches and then dove into the Memphis phone book. She got the answering machine of her friend Sue McAllister, who had been a fellow reporter with The Commercial Appeal. Julia left a message that she was in town and wondered if they could get together tomorrow.
    Mitchell called, and they met downtown for lunch. Julia glossed over her meeting with James Whitmore and didn't mention the skull ring. Mitchell had been a patient ally so far, and she didn't want him to turn on her. She concentrated on being pleasant, the kind of woman she thought he craved. But her mind strayed back to Elkwood, and halfway through dessert of lime Italian ice, Julia found herself thinking of the baseball cards Walter had brought her.
    Mitchell's cellular phone interrupted his eating, and as he spoke into the mouthpiece, Julia studied his features. He was tan, with a strong jaw and cheeks that could raise a shadow by three o'clock. His hair was carefully trimmed, his sideburns cut even with his ears. Dark eyes, a nice mouth. Movie-star handsome, really. He could play the lawyer in a Grisham thriller.
    She found herself comparing him to Walter, and she shuddered inwardly. She went after the dessert with renewed enthusiasm. Mitchell was her past, present, and future. Walter was the man who fixed her windows. End of reverie.
    Mitchell closed his phone and gave that "tax-exempt status" grin that worked so well on civil-suit jurors.
    "Will you drive me out to my father's old place?" she asked.
    "The old place? What do you want to go out there for?"
    "I haven't been there in seven years." She thought up a quick lie. "Dr. Forrest said it would be good for me, help me gain a sense of closure."
    "What does this Dr. Forrest know? You've only been seeing her for a few months."
    "Dr. Forrest is helping me. She understands me."
    Mitchell pushed his plate away and looked out into the street. "And I don't, is that it? I suppose I should be grateful that at least you aren't seeing Lance Danner." He said the name in a mocking, effeminate manner. "Or are you on his calendar for this afternoon?"
    "Will you take me or not? I can afford a cab."
    Mitchell sighed, the exhalation of a tireless martyr. "Okay. Let's go. We can talk about the wedding on the way."
    The house where Julia had lived was in Frayser, fifteen miles from downtown. The area was a bit run down, old industrial meeting up with the urban push of the outskirts, with working class families caught in between. They had a little difficulty finding the house because the area had changed so much, with new construction and the leveling of the giant maples that had once lined the road. The house still stood, its clapboard siding grayed by weather, a section of the gutter missing, grass high around the crumbled walk. A "For Sale" sign leaned in the front yard.
    They walked around back, Mitchell carefully watching his step so his shoes didn't get scuffed. The fence along the back yard was missing some of its pickets and looked like a retired boxer's smile. The farm that had once stretched beyond the row of houses had been carved into lots, though a pasture and the warped barn remained.
    "I used to play there," Julia said, looking out over the hayfield that was September-yellow. "Daddy wouldn't let me go in the barn, though."
    "No wonder," Mitchell said, standing behind her and swatting at bugs. "The cow manure is probably six feet deep. Why in the world would anybody want to have animals wandering outside his house?"
    Julia studied the barn. Something was odd about it, there in the stark light cast by the sun's