Southern Belle by Stuart Jaffe Page A

cheering. He couldn't go. Though the restroom was empty, he felt a dark presence hanging over his shoulder as if the entire FBI had him under surveillance.
    He rinsed his face with cold water, dried off, and made sure not to look at his reflection. Seeing the fear in his own eyes might have been enough to send him running.
    "For crying out loud, Max," he said. "You've faced down the Hull family. This is nothing more than an FBI agent with a threat." Hearing it so simply stated raised his confidence. After all, even if he did end up in jail for a crime he never committed, jail could never be as bad as burning alive — and that had nearly happened to him once.
    When he finally walked into the seating area, the bright sun warmed his face. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he turned around and searched for Stevenson. It wasn't hard to find him. The FBI agent made no attempt to blend in. Still wearing his G-man black suit and shades, he raised a game program in the air to signal Max over.
    Stevenson picked up a plastic cup of beer sitting between his feet on the cement floor. "You had me thinking you wouldn't show."
    "Didn't seem as I had much choice." Max watched the game. Winston-Salem versus Wilmington. Fifth inning. 4-2. Two outs, no men on base.
    "Sorry about that. I don't like threatening people but I didn't think you'd come otherwise."
    "Probably wouldn't have. You don't exactly come off as the real deal." Max sat in the hard wood seat with metal trim. He had never been a big baseball fan, but once in awhile, he did enjoy going to a game, eating a hot dog, and sitting in these seats. It was as much a part of the game as the game itself.
    "I am an FBI agent. But I don't handle the traditional cases."
    "Does that mean I'm not really going to be charged with murder?"
    Stevenson sipped his beer. "That part's real, I'm afraid. There are people I work for who think you are very involved in this thing."
    "You want to tell me what this thing is? Who did I supposedly murder?"
    "How long have you known Dr. Matthew Ernest?"
    Max rolled his head back and looked heavenward. "You've got to be kidding."
    "Oh, I don't think you murdered Dr. Ernest. At least, not directly. You didn't pull the trigger is what I'm saying. But the man led a strange life, and he had a way of making even his closest friends turn into vicious enemies."
    "I've never even met the guy. Never heard of him until yesterday."
    "Was that when you spoke with Joshua Leed at lunch, or was that when you met Leed at his home in Thomasville? How long have you known Mr. Leed?"
    Max stared at Stevenson, not sure if he wanted to cry or scream. "I only just met him."
    "Yesterday, right?"
    "Yes. That's exactly right."
    "Seems you just met a lot of people yesterday."
    The player at bat cracked off a fly ball to center field for an easy catch, closing out the inning. Max wondered how many outs he played with. How many times would he deal with Hull and avoid losing? Maybe this was his final at bat. "Am I under arrest? Do I need a lawyer?"
    Crossing his legs in an incongruously feminine manner, Stevenson said, "Relax. We're far from that sort of thing. Right now, I'm merely investigating Dr. Ernest. Well, and now his murder. Dr. Ernest was wanted for questioning in connection with a slew of murders stretching from here all the way up into Massachusetts, running over the course of the last five decades. Strange cases, too. Not a typical nutcase that wants to cut up pretty girls because Mommy kept him in a diaper too long. No, Dr. Ernest rode the whole magic bent. Killed girls in a ritualistic way. Gruesome stuff. But I don't have to tell you that, huh?"
    Even without Drummond there to point it out, Max could hear the agent fishing for information. "I don't know anything about this."
    "You ever read Frankenstein? I don't mean some bolts-in-the-neck version, but the real book. Mary Shelley."
    "No."
    "It's a good book. Very different from what you'd expect. Actually, all the classic horror