Countdown to Danger

Kirstie waved it away. “We have more important things to talk about right now.”

“And someone knows where you live. They might know more.”

With a sigh, Kirstie took the phone and punched a button. Her eyes narrowed with renewed fury while she read. Her hand trembled.

Gerard took it from her. He read the text, then closed his eyes with a groan.

John grabbed the phone and looked at the text while Lynley read it aloud over his shoulder. “‘You’re a fool if you think I don’t know what kind of car your chief of police drives. You just shortened your daughter’s life. Get me the money before New Year’s Eve or she will die. You’re wasting time. Enjoy the muffins on your front porch. They’ll be your daughter’s last.’”

John had no clue about where the text had originated, but he could easily predict that if it were possible to call and have it tracked, it would have come from the woods to the east of the house—perhaps down closer to the creek. “Whoever wrote this was at the front of the house sometime after I arrived but before I brought in the muffins. They apparently haven’t been watching all this time because they’re writing to you, Kirstie.”

“This is simply meant to frighten us,” Gerard said. “We can’t let that happen. Every resident in Jolly Mill knows the truth—that Lawson Barnes bequeathed everything to our center, and nothing ever went to Kirstie.”

“So that can help us narrow down our suspects,” John said. “Kirstie, why don’t you start calling friends and bring them in on this? Spread the word. In a tiny place like Jolly Mill, the more eyes we have on strangers sneaking through town, the more likely we are to catch this—”

Kirstie nodded, her delicate chin jutting out with determination. “I’ll call Nora first, of course, then Carmen.”

John nodded. Kirstie Marshall was already planning. Her love for her daughter was one of her strongest assets.

Gerard frowned at the initial note. “This writer has been scanning information from the media. They were the ones who spread the lie far and wide that Lynley, a much-publicized defendant in the lawsuit, stood to inherit millions of dollars from a dead uncle.” His lip curled in disgust. “Isn’t it always about the money?”

“So we’re all in agreement that we can rule out the plaintiffs in the malpractice trial.” John looked at Lynley, then Gerard and Kirstie.

Gerard scrunched his flint-carved face. “We aren’t working with absolutes right now. Not yet, anyway. I wouldn’t rule it out, but their motive is greed. Somehow we need to convince this individual that there are no deep pockets for them to dig into.”

John agreed. It was too soon to choose one direction to investigate. He’d seen bad results those times his colleagues made a judgment too early and let the real culprit get away.

Kirstie held the red-and-green note up by the tip of her thumb and finger, as if it might be contagious. “You’re right. Someone knows that threatening my only child is the quickest way to get to me.” She dropped the paper on the coffee table. “They don’t know who they’re dealing with, do they, sweetheart?” She nudged her daughter with her elbow.

Lynley nudged back. “Love you, too, Mom.”

“Lynley,” Gerard said, “we’re not letting anybody near you.”

“We can’t rule out Jolly Mill and rehab center residents altogether,” John said, “but I’m mostly working on the premise that this has to be someone from out of town.”

Gerard’s phone chimed, and he grabbed it and flipped it open. “Megan? You have news already, honey?”

John watched his friend’s face as the charmed expression—the one he always wore when talking to his beloved wife—turned to stone once more.

“Blue car? What kind?” He listened some more, nodding as if his wife could see him. “Okay, hon. Thanks. That should help.”

After he disconnected he turned to them, grim faced. “Mrs. Drews, who lives down by the Baptist church, was walking to work this morning when she saw a blue car park at the old Bethel Church on the road past the edge of town, so it was too far away to see what kind of car it was. Someone in a hoodie walked across the field toward the woods and went right through Capps Creek. Must’ve been wearing high waders.”

“Then that’s who I saw,” John said.

“Could she tell if it was male or female?” Lynley asked.

“All we know is that someone’s serious about this thing,” John said. “We’d better start circling the wagons.”

* * *

Lynley felt dizzy. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the sofa.

A soft hand pressed against her arm. “Sweetheart, why don’t you go lie down for a little bit.” It was Mom’s gentle voice.

Lynley opened her eyes and saw the three of them watching her with concern. She’d expect this kind of attention from her mother, but from two big, tough men with work to do and bad guys to catch? It scared her a little that they were so worried about her.

“The best way to keep Lynley safe is to find this person before New Year’s Eve,” John said. “And for Gerard or me to keep her with one of us at all times.”

“Agreed,” Mom said. “John, can you call in help? The sheriff?”

“I’m sorry, but one little note without a dead body, they wouldn’t give it a glance. Even in the winter months they’re constantly fighting the drug trade.”

“I’m wondering about one possibility.” John glanced at Lynley as if braced for battle. “I’m thinking about someone who was once a member of the Marshall family, but no longer—”

“Dodge Knowles,” Lynley said.

Mom stiffened beside her, and her hands clenched until her fingertips whitened. “I’d have thought Barry might have done something like this if he were still alive, but...”

“My father tried to kill you, Mom,” Lynley said. “Who’s to say I didn’t choose the same kind of man?”

“Where is your ex-husband now, Lynley?” Gerard asked.

“I have no idea, but I doubt he’s nearby,” Lynley said. “I was so glad to see him out of my life I was willing to give up the house to the lazy lecher.” She started to say more, but bit the tip of her tongue. It was something she’d never told Mom.

“But we never heard if he actually sold the house,” Mom said. “And it’s in Cassville. Barely a thirty-minute drive from here.”

Lynley shook her head. “The only reason he wanted it was so he could sell it for the money. I sank every dime and spare moment I had into that place, and by the time it was finished it was worth twice what we paid for it. He was constantly talking about getting out of the state. He had a nursing license for Kansas, as well.”

John jumped to his feet. “Mind if I use your computer, Kirstie? I’ll check it out while y’all brainstorm other options.”

Lynley sat in silence, recalling Dodge’s multiple complaints when she’d insisted on leaving Kansas City and buying a place closer to Mom when she was battling breast cancer years ago. The one thing that had begun the destruction of their marriage was when he commented that if her mother died from cancer, at least he and Lynley would never have to work again. They’d be multimillionaires as soon as Kirstie’s uncle died. It was on that day that Lynley discovered she’d married a man just like her dead father.

Lynley cast Mom a quick glance. She’d endured so much, but she was as filled with vitality as she ever had been. It gave Lynley a feeling of peace—the thought that maybe someday she’d be more like her mother, despite her late father’s blood running through her veins. Mom was her rock.

The clatter of Kirstie’s keyboard echoed through the house, and in the beams of sunlight coming through the windows, cat hair floated like stardust. If Mom had her way, this place would soon be crawling with friends, neighbors—most of them empowered with weapons and righteous indignation.

John returned to the room. “Found Dodge.”

“Where?” Mom asked.

He gave Lynley a look of sympathy. “Apparently he’s still living in the house he was awarded in the divorce settlement. He’s in Cassville. He’s working at the hospital in town.”

Lynley slumped back into the sofa. “But I thought he was...gone.”

“This makes him a candidate,” John said. “He would have known about the family money. What he wouldn’t know, since he’s no longer connected to anyone in town, is that you don’t have what he’s after.”

“There’s another option,” Gerard said. “We still have the bulk of Lawson’s bequest in a special fund to support the center while we build the manufacturing plant at the edge of town.”

Lynley sat up, horrified at what he would consider giving up. “Oh, no you don’t. We are not giving the money to this fiend.”

“It would be a way to buy time and track them down.”

“Find another way,” Lynley said. “That’s not happening.”

Mom touched her arm. “Honey, this is your life we’re talking about.”

“This is extortion. I refuse to let someone get rich by using me as a pawn. We’ll have to figure out something else.”

“You can’t tell me what to do with the money your mother donated to my cause,” Gerard said gently.

Lynley paused to breathe, sorting through the streams of anger, terror and frustration that threatened to tie her in knots. “What if Dodge really is behind this?”

Mom met her gaze. “I never trusted that man, but I also never dreamed he would do something like this.”

“We never dreamed my father would try to poison you with mercury, either,” Lynley said.

Mom closed her eyes and shook her head. “It was always about the money for him, too.”

Lynley’s heart squeezed painfully at the sadness in her mother’s voice. Mom had blamed herself for the choices her husband had made. It wasn’t fair. He’d been the one to make those decisions, have those affairs, and even stoop so low as to poison her to get his hands on her uncle’s money, and she took the blame for it? Not fair at all.

With a quick glance at John, Lynley reminded herself why she had no business even considering another man in her life. If her wise, insightful, mother couldn’t read correctly into the heart of a man, what hope was there?

“My question, then,” Gerard said, “is how much is Dodge like Barry?”

Lynley studied the lines of worry around Mom’s eyes, the firm chin, the determined gaze.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Mom asked. “Could that note have been from him?”

Lynley wanted to reach through the lines of that hideous note, the hateful text message to Mom, and discover where they originated. If only she had that kind of insight. But she didn’t. “I think Dodge might be a place to start.”

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