Ruthless by Steven F. Freeman

yesterday. Perhaps Chelsea had left town. If so, she must have traveled in someone else’s vehicle.
    The stranger waited until there were no drivers or pedestrians in the parking lot. He casually walked toward the door and made a show of patting his pockets as if looking for a missing key ring. He then twisted the doorknob to Chelsea’s front door but found it locked. He could see that the door was also deadbolted.
    He walked around the apartment building and found the unit’s rear door, which was also deadbolted. The patio outside the rear door was surrounded by a six-foot fence, which provided the stranger an opportunity to test the two rear windows without being observed. They were also shut tight and locked.
    “This isn’t going to be easy,” grumbled the stranger to himself. “I’ll have to get better tools for the job and come back later.”

CHAPTER 17
     
     
    The next day was Saturday, and all the occupants of the Blackwell house in Tifton breakfasted together. After doing justice to Gail Blackwell’s home cooking, they lingered over the meal.
    “So tell me, Miss Blackwell—,” began Mallory.
    “It’s ‘Gail,’ dear,” said Alton’s mother. “Only my students call me Miss Blackwell.”
    “That’s right—you’re a teacher. What subjects do you teach?” asked Mallory.
    “AP Literature. I usually specialize in ‘Brit Lit,’ British literature over the last few centuries. But I’ve also taught the standard freshman classes a few times.”
    “Cool. I can see some of that in Alton in the way he thinks and talks. To be honest, though, I expected you to say you teach history, since Alton seems to be steeped in it.”
    “His father teaches world history. That’s how he and I met. We taught at the same high school. Alton’s always soaked it up like the proverbial sponge.” She shook her head. “Alton’s Dad—Ben—and I divorced years ago.”
    “Yes,” said Mallory gently, “Ben moved to St. Louis, right?”
    “That’s right,” replied Gail.
    “So you all are both teachers,” said Mallory, perking up. “That explains why Alton seems to be a walking encyclopedia of history and literature. It also explains why he seems so passionate whenever he starts talking about those subjects. I assume he witnessed your and Ben’s interest in your respective topics?”
    “That’s true, now that I think about it,” interjected Alton. “Mom and Dad were always enthusiastic about their work. We’d usually talk about it around the dinner table. I guess it just seemed like the natural way to learn.”
    Gail nodded in assent.
    “So what was Alton like as a kid?” asked Mallory with a twinkle in her eye. “Did he get in trouble very often?” Alton knew Mallory could not resist the urge to dig up a little dirt from his childhood, as it would give her more material with which to tease him later.
    “Oh, he was a bit of a rascal when he was younger,” replied Gail with a chuckle. “He loved to explore the woods around here and about gave me a heart attack a few times when I couldn’t find him. He wasn’t intentionally bad. He would travel to the woods to play or explore, usually with Billy, who lived near us back then. Once, he went out there by himself and fell asleep up against a tree.”
    “And when he was a teenager?” prompted Mallory.
    “In his younger teen years, Alton was fairly studious, but honestly, he liked sports more than school. He did the usual YMCA soccer thing for a few years and seemed to enjoy it, but his true love was football. But then Ben left, and Alton changed. He became more serious, more of an adult than his years would have led you to expect.”
    “Mom—,” began Alton.
    “Tut, tut. She asked the question, son,” said Gail, who turned back to Mallory. “As much as I love teaching, it was tough to support three kids on a teacher’s paycheck back then. Alton kept playing football, but he also started working part-time at Chick-Fil-A to help support the family