“Yes. How many people are you personally connected with who’ve been murdered by a serial killer?”
“Russell’s the first.”
“The Shoal Creek Killer was a man named Terry Paul Richards. He was active for about seven months before Russell’s death and for about five months after. When he was caught, he confessed to six murders, including Russell’s. He got his nickname because he terrorized a region of Georgia that more or less followed the path of Shoal Creek.”
“Did he kill all his victims by hitting them in the head?”
Natasha set aside her fork. “He did. He always broke into the houses of his victims at night when his victims were alone. He’d attack and sometimes enter into a life-and-death struggle. He murdered his victims by striking them in the head, usually with something he found in the house. A small statue. A shovel. A curtain rod. He always clipped off a lock of his victim’s hair and he always left the house dark. No exterior lights, nothing.”
“Were all his victims men?”
“Yes.”
“Did he steal anything from the houses? Or was murder his only objective?”
“Murder was his only objective.”
“How did the police catch him?”
“Through his neighbor. Apparently, she thought he was strange and reclusive, and, because of that, she never trusted him. She kept a close eye on his comings and goings from her front porch, where she often spent the hot part of the day in order to catch the breeze. As soon as she realized that the occasional bruises on his face synced up with the timeline of some of the murders, she called the police.”
Genevieve ran the tines of her fork through her puff of coconutcream, leaving tracks. Their poor mom. She’d been through something unimaginable, and her children hadn’t even known.
Mom’s motivation for keeping Russell a secret was becoming clearer. “Sweetie, my first husband was murdered by a serial killer”wasn’t exactly the bedtime story you’d want to tell your four-year-old.
On the other hand, Natasha and Genevieve were adults. For a long time now, they’d been old enough to hear that kind of hard information. Keeping Russell’s existence a secret wasn’t very respectful to his memory. Shouldn’t Mom have honored him by talking about him? “Did Terry Paul Richards receive capital punishment?”
“Yes. He was electrocuted in 1995. I’m sort of obsessed with the Shoal Creek Killer now. I say we continue to read whatever we can about him and about Russell. Then go from there.”
Boss, I think there’s a celebrity eating at table six.”
Sam’s attention cut to Luis, who was leaning out The Kitchen’s back door. Up until five minutes ago, Sam had been in the back of house, expediting. He’d let his sous chef take over while he’d stepped outside to slug back some water and stare at the drifts of clouds snagged on the mountain peaks behind town.
“Which celebrity?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know. A woman. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“Is her presence creating an issue?”
The younger, shorter man shrugged. “Sort of. Four women went up to her first. When the other diners saw them talking and taking pictures with her, then more people recognized her. Now there’s a pretty big group. Diners who want to walk to the back of the space are having to squeeze past the crowd.”
“Thanks. I’ll look into it.” He headed to the dining room, wherehe found at least ten women in their twenties and thirties standing around table six, listening, nodding, smiling.
A somewhat-famous country singer who owned a cabin nearby came in from time to time. Every month or two, their congresswoman brought her family to The Kitchen on a Saturday morning. However, neither of those had drawn a crowd this large.
Sam made his way to the front of the group as politely as possible. “Excuse me.”
A tall woman glanced at him, then stepped to the side, revealing the person at the center of their attention.
Sam’s progress came to a sudden stop. Gen. The celebrity in his restaurant was ... Gen.
She hadn’t seen him. Her attention was currently focused on a brunette who was talking passionately about Gen’s Bible study on courage and how much it had meant to her.
As he took in the details of her profile, affection for her stole around his heart. He tried to block it, to stop it. But failed.
Gen was ruining the peace at his farm. Now she was ruining the peace at his restaurant.
All the women were watching her with round-eyed adoration, hanging on every word. All of them, anyway, except a woman who looked so much like Gen that she had to be Gen’s sister. She’d positioned herself on the outside of the gathering with her purse over her shoulder and a look of friendly patience on her features.
