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Tears formed in her eyes, making them glisten. She blinked them away.
“Just one word. It was enough.”
Matt raised both eyebrows in a question.
Lorie took a deep breath, and, as she let it out slowly, breathed her answer. “Murderer.”
Jen’s hand flew to her mouth. “You didn’t tell me! Oh, you poor thing! No wonder you were so shaken. Do you think that’s what the note meant?” She reached over the table and patted Lorie’s hand.
Lorie nodded.
“You were cleared completely.” Matt’s words were firm. “There’s no reason you should have to put up with this kind of harassment.”
Lorie flashed him a grateful smile.
Matt turned to look at Jen. “Speaking of the note, what was the story with the invoice you tried to hide from me?”
J.T. got the expression of a foxhound that had just picked up the scent. This was apparently news to him.
“It was for an order of books from a new publisher. One of the patrons put in a request. Unfortunately, he happens to be on the library committee in the county board of supervisors, so we had to order them.”
What books would Jen find so objectionable? “Smut?”
“No.” Jen sighed. “Worse. Books claiming the Holocaust never happened.”
The pizza and salad soured in Matt’s stomach. His grandfather had been among the troops that freed the prisoners at Dachau. He’d shown Matt the photographs, pictures of things he’d never imagined one human being could do to another. Then again, that had been the problem. The Nazis hadn’t considered their victims to be real human beings. He fought against the rising indignation and managed to keep his voice calm.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know if I should—”
“Who?”
Jen sighed. “Supervisor Pitt.”
Ouch. Joseph Pitt was a prosperous businessman who not only had friends in high places but was headed there himself. His radical beliefs hadn’t kept him out of office. He always managed to gloss over the more controversial aspects of his beliefs when not among his fellow extremists. But, after a long conversation with the man at a social event when Pitt had been much the worse from whiskey, Matt knew way more than he ever wanted to about the repellant way the man’s mind worked.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I was embarrassed.” Jen picked up her plate and headed toward the dishwasher with it, even though it still had leftover pizza on it. “I detest having that hate-filled propaganda in our little county library. But I need the job.”
Matt looked at Lorie again. “Did you know about this?”
“Yes. When he explained why he wanted them, he said it was just to present both sides of the issue.”
“And you believed him?”
Lorie straightened up. “Mr. Pitt has been nothing but good to me since I came back to Dainger County. He swayed the library board in my favor after they had second thoughts about hiring me. He even gave my Mustang a free tune-up at the Pitt Stop. I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
J.T. snorted. Matt flashed him a warning glance. Retreating behind his napkin, Jen’s husband turned the snort into a cough.
“Supervisor Pitt has always been careful to stay on the right side of the law.” Matt turned to Lorie again. “But I wouldn’t get too close to him if I were you.”
“Why not?”
Matt gave the obvious answer. “He’s a politician. Isn’t that reason enough?”
Lorie smiled, the first relaxed smile he’d seen since they’d parted earlier at the library. A surge of elation rose in him at the sight of it, and he squashed it. Lorie Narramore was a citizen, and he’d protect her as he’d protect any other citizen.
He had absolutely no reason to get carried away with emotion.
None.
* * *
Lorie was still sorting the books from the overnight drop when Jen arrived for work the next morning. She joined Lorie in the cubbyhole where they stored supplies.
“Any more notes?” Jen took a stack of books from Lorie and put them onto the rolling cart.
“No, thankfully. I’m beginning to hope it was just somebody’s idea of a joke.”
Jen snorted. “Pretty sick joke if you ask me. And what about that phone call?”
Lorie rubbed both hands up the sides of her face and through her hair, messing it up thoroughly. “I know. Yesterday seems like a bad dream.” She scraped her hair back into a ponytail again.
“I hope you were careful driving home.”
“Extra careful.” She’d watched every driver with exaggerated caution, but there hadn’t been any problems. Still, her dog and cats were nowhere close to being as happy as she was when she arrived home.
“Sleep okay?”
Lorie shook her head. “I kept hearing noises, but it was nothing, every time.”
“Every time?” Jen’s eyebrows rose. “How many times?”
“I don’t know. Four or five.” Lorie rubbed at her sleep-deprived eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
“I knew you should have stayed in our guest room. Then if you’d been woken up, you’d have known it was only one of my hooligans.”
Lorie nodded. “I appreciate it, but in case things get ugly, I don’t want your family in the middle of it.”
Jen muttered something as she rolled the book rack out the door. It sounded like, “Things are already ugly.”
Wednesday at the library lasted forever. A few regulars came looking for their favorite authors, but up till three o’clock, it stayed quiet. Lorie busied herself going through the stacks, checking to see whether any books needing repair had sneaked past returns.
As she was in the 799s, she noticed a book spine sticking out at a crooked angle. She reached up to shove it back into place.
Just as her fingertips touched the spine, she spotted a scrap of white sticking out of the top.
Fingerprints.
Lorie snatched her hand back. Could it be the vanished note from yesterday?
“Jen!”
“What do you need?” Jen appeared at the end of the row of shelving.
Lorie looked at her. “Do you see anything out of place?”
“No.” Jen glanced around the stacks. “Wait, what’s that?”
“I’m not sure. I think it might be the note. The book didn’t look like that when I shelved it this morning.”
A frown crossed Jen’s face. “Was the paper sticking out when you found it?”
Lorie nodded. “I did touch the spine before I saw the paper, but I haven’t moved it.”
“Call Matt. Or Vangie.”
Lorie reached into her pocket for her cell phone. “Could you get me my purse? I stuck Matt’s card in there.”
“Good choice.” Jen grinned. “I’ll be right back.”
While she was away, Lorie looked at the book title. Hunting and Gun Safety by Oswald Smith. Her stomach twisted. Had the note been left in that book on purpose, or had it just been an unhappy coincidence?
Lorie fought against the rush of memory threatening to overwhelm her. Not now, Lord, please.
Jen returned with Lorie’s brown leather purse slung over her arm. She tossed it, and Lorie caught it before it could smack her in the ribs.
“Thanks.”
She found Matt’s card in a side pocket and punched in the number with trembling fingers.
His phone rang once, twice—
“MacGregor.”
“Matt, I mean, Deputy MacGregor, this is Lorie Narramore. I think I’ve found the note.”
* * *
A jolt of electricity smacked Matt’s middle when he heard the suppressed fear in Lorie’s voice.
“Where?”
“Tucked into a library book that was put back crooked.”
“Have you touched it?”
“I shelved it this morning—the note wasn’t there then. When I spotted it just now, I only touched the spine, before I realized the note might be there. I hope I haven’t messed up any fingerprints.”
“I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Don’t let anyone else touch it.”
“Thank you.”
After reporting the call to dispatch, Matt drove toward the county library.
The parking lot was about a third full. Matt made a mental note of the vehicles. Three pickup trucks in various states of disrepair, plus one shiny new Dodge Ram belonging to the mayor’s first cousin and a gunmetal-gray Mercedes-Benz.
Matt parked next to Lorie’s car, a sporty blue Mustang convertible that looked as though it would be happier cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway than winding along the curves of Dainger County’s hilly roads.
Matt locked his car door and headed inside. Jen stood behind the checkout desk, scanning a patron’s mile-high stack of books.
“She’s by the seven-ninety-nines,” she said, before he even had a chance to ask.
“Thanks.”
Lorie looked up as he rounded the stacks. Was that relief in her eyes?
“Thank you for coming.”
Matt nodded then followed her glance to the book sticking out of the shelf.
“Is that the culprit?”
“Yes. Aside from the initial mistake, I haven’t touched it. I have no idea whether that’s the note, but it seems a little coincidental if it isn’t.”
Matt reached into his pocket for the fresh set of latex gloves. He slipped them on, pulling them in place with a snap.
Surprised by its weight, Matt nearly dropped the tome as he pulled it off the shelf. Recovering it like a fumbled football, he opened it to the sheet of paper. Crimson blood-dripping letters in font size 72 screamed at him from the page. He lifted his eyes to Lorie’s.
“What was it the original note said?”
Lorie started. “Original note? You mean—” She took a deep breath. “It said, ‘Don’t think you can get away with it.’”
“That’s what I thought. Can you explain this, then?” He held the page where she could read it.
Lorie went deathly white and staggered against the bookshelf.
BANG! HE’S DEAD, read the top of the note.
Halfway down the page, it continued: YOU’RE NEXT.
FOUR
No, Lord. This can’t be happening.
Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, Lorie struggled to find words. Matt would expect her to say something, not just stand there like a pillar of salt. First she had to keep from throwing up.
“Take a deep breath.” Matt’s voice penetrated the ringing in her ears.
Lorie tried, and had a fit of coughing. When she recovered, she took in as deep a breath as she could.
“Slowly. That’s it. We don’t want you to hyperventilate.”
His right hand reached out to steady her, but pulled away almost instantly. That zap she’d felt at his touch must have been static electricity.
Please, Father. Please.
She couldn’t even form a sensible prayer.
“You’re not going to faint, are you?” Matt’s voice was filled with concern.
“I don’t think so.”
Matt turned his head as a library patron turned the corner. Recognizing the man as Supervisor Pitt, Matt blinked. What were the odds of his showing up the day after he’d discussed the businessman-turned-politician with Lorie and the Burkhalters?
“Can you give us a moment, please?”
“Of course, Deputy.” The stately, graying supervisor moved down the next aisle.
“Do you want to go sit down while I print this area?”
Lorie knew she was in shock. She needed a cup of oversweetened hot tea. She put a hand to her face. Cold. So cold. Like that night—
No. She wouldn’t let herself fall apart again. She needed to be stronger than that. It was the only way she’d get through this.
“Is it okay if I stay? I’ll sit right over here on the step stool out of your way.”
“Fine. Wait here while I get the incident kit.”
Lorie nodded.
Matt left, carrying the book and that bloody-looking note with him.
Supervisor Pitt reemerged from around the corner. He gave her the same encouraging smile he’d had for her when he convinced the library board to hire her.
“Has the deputy finished investigating the shelves, Miss Narramore?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I think it’s going to be a while.”
Supervisor Pitt straightened his shoulders in a way that made him look much more vigorous than a man in his sixties ought to appear.
“I’m in a hurry, Miss Narramore.”
Lorie knew exactly how Mr. Pitt felt. She was frustrated, herself.
“What book are you looking for?” The words came out of her mouth against her better judgment.
The look on his face went from impatience to satisfaction in an instant. “The Art of the Decoy.”
“Do you know the call number?”
“745.4.”
Lorie looked for the book, just down the aisle a bit from where she’d found the note.
Forget the note. Concentrate on the patron.
The trade paperback was stuck between two oversize hardbacks. Lorie worked it loose and handed it to Supervisor Pitt just as Matt came back.
“What are you doing?”
“My job. I didn’t think you’d want anyone else in here until you’d—what do you call it—processed the scene.”
“Exactly why I don’t want anything to be moved.” Matt held out his hand for the book.
Supervisor Pitt got a sour look on his face. “Young man, do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir.” Matt stood his ground. “Joseph Pitt, County Board of Supervisors, an elected official.” The emphasis he put on “elected” was subtle, but it was enough to raise the man’s blood pressure, if the rising color in his complexion were any gauge.
“Miss Narramore was simply handing me the book I want.” He raised one impeccably groomed gray eyebrow. “If I am forced to stand around all day, I can’t get back to my meetings and reports that allow me to allocate funds for this library and your salary.”
“The library and I are both grateful for your support. We’ll be even more grateful if you’ll let us do our jobs. This is a crime scene.”
“A crime scene? Here?” Pitt managed to infuse the maximum amount of incredulity and disdain into his tone. “Where’s the body?”
In California. Lorie squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, but it didn’t help. She could still see the man lying there, bleeding out, hear his last words, cursing her, cursing—
“Just because there’s no body doesn’t mean there hasn’t been a crime.”
Jolted back to the present, Lorie watched as Supervisor Pitt forked over the book, still looking as though his face could curdle milk. Strange. He’d always been so polite when speaking to her. After one last cold glare at Matt, he left. They could hear his complaint to Jen as he stalked out of the library without checking out any books. Lorie ran both hands through her hair but stopped short of pulling it out.
“Of all the times for him to want to check out a book—”
“He’s a blot on this county, even if he does own the best auto-body shop in the area.”
Lorie blinked at Matt. He sounded so...angry. She knew he didn’t like Supervisor Pitt, but his reaction seemed way out of line.
“A few more disgruntled patrons like the supervisor, and I won’t even need my poison-pen pal.”
“Let’s deal with one thing at a time.” Matt applied fingerprint dust to the area surrounding the book’s place on the shelf.
Lorie covered her mouth and nose to avoid breathing the few particles that became airborne. It was like watching a crime show on television. She’d never liked them. Not after the arrest and— Don’t go there.
Her thoughts turned back to the note, and its contents. Who here could know about California? Aside from Supervisor Pitt and the rest of the library board, her fellow librarians, her immediate family and closest friends...unless they’d told their friends...
Who could hate her so much? More importantly, how far were they willing to go?
* * *
Matt had an idea for the next step he should take—but he decided he’d better consult Frank first.
Frank answered the tap on his open door with a beckoning nod.
“What’s the follow-up on the meth lab?”
Matt shook his head, frowning in frustration at the thought of the other case on his desk—the one that was going absolutely nowhere. “Gone. Nothing left but the smell in the air, a couple of empty propane bottles and a bunch of trash in the abandoned house. We did manage to lift some prints, but so far the computer hasn’t been able to find a match. Probably amateurs.”
“That’s the problem with meth. It’s too easy to cook.” Frank closed a file on his desk. “And nothing to connect it to our old friend Leonard Adderson?”
“Nope.” Frank and Matt agreed that the real-estate mogul was probably behind the meth labs popping up all through the county, but they hadn’t been able to prove it. “Once again, it was on one of his rental properties, but we can’t find evidence linking him to the actual operation. I keep hoping he’ll slip up and be on-site when a call comes through.” It was unlikely to happen. Adderson was as elusive as the snake his name resembled, and just as poisonous.
“So what do you need?”
“I want to ask Supervisor Pitt a few questions about the threats to Lorie Narramore.”
Frank’s fuzzy eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “Your life insurance paid up?”
“I need to do this, Frank. There was another threatening note today—the kind of thing where you’d expect the perp to hang around and enjoy seeing the victim’s reaction. Pitt was the only one around. What if he’s the one behind the notes at the library?”
“And you’re basing this suspicion on...?”
“Proximity. And he’s run into some conflict with the librarians lately when he insisted that they order pro-Nazi literature. Maybe he doesn’t like that they challenged his authority. Something to scare Lorie—Miss Narramore—might be his way of getting her back under his thumb.”
“If he is responsible, we’ll get him. In the meantime, you do your investigating quietly, from a distance. All right?”
“Yes, sir. And, sir...do you know Lorie Narramore’s family?”
“I surely do. Her dad, Ben, and I play golf together and share a men’s Bible study class at church. I don’t really know Lorie, but I heard about the trouble she had out in California.”
“She admitted to me she shot Carl.”
Frank nodded. “When you read the file, you’ll find all the extenuating circumstances that brought back the justifiable homicide ruling. I’m glad you’re being thorough.” After a moment’s hesitation, Frank motioned for Matt to take a seat.
“You’ve already printed the note.”
Matt nodded.
“Let’s see it.”
It was in the file he was carrying, so Matt passed the note, securely sealed in an evidence bag, to his boss.
“Plain and to the point. This is bound to be driving her nuts.” Frank’s expression was grave.
“She did seem frightened. I thought when I first showed it to her that she might faint, but she held up.”
“If she’s anything like her dad, she’ll be made of strong stuff. Looks as if that’s going to be needed.” Frank stood. “Keep an eye on her, Matt. I have an uncomfortable feeling this may be just the beginning.”
* * *
All Lorie wanted to do was forget the hateful note, but thoughts of it plagued her on the drive home from Daingerville. Before she hit the curves on Highway 21, she switched on the radio. Dainger County’s own KDNJ sent a bouncy bluegrass tune into the updated classic Mustang. Lorie would have preferred silence, but her brain was too active for comfort.
After-work traffic made the drive home a challenge. The narrow two-lane highway was long overdue for major work, but Dainger County was low on the Arkansas Highway Department’s upkeep list.
Thanks to all the traffic crowding her, Lorie was nearly to Buffalo Crossing before she noticed the car sticking close to her bumper. The heavily tinted windows of the Chevy Camaro looked out of place. She’d seen them often in San Diego, but seldom since returning to Arkansas. She tried to see if the black car had a front plate that might indicate if it were from out of state, but the driver stuck too close for that.
Tailgaters. It’d serve him right if I jammed on my brakes.
She’d never do that on purpose. She loved her car too much.
Maybe the driver just liked muscle cars, or was crowding in on her because he resented the traffic and poor road conditions slowing him down. Maybe. Or maybe not.
Lord, please, if he means any harm, stop him.
Heart racing, Lorie jabbed at the radio and shut it off. Light and shadow filtering through the branches made the road flicker like an old movie. Ordinarily, the wavering light didn’t bother her, but her tailgater was making the drive extra nerve-wracking.
The Camaro edged closer as some of the traffic turned onto Highway 48 to Steeleytown. Lorie glanced in the rearview mirrors again. The car looked mean.
Don’t let me panic. Lorie swallowed hard, fighting the rapid breathing that came with the adrenaline rush.
She couldn’t let this clown follow her home. Not after the second note. Senses on high alert, billions of nerve-endings prickled her skin as the black car stuck to her bumper.
As she started down Rattlesnake Hill, the car edged over the double yellow line.
No, he can’t pass me. Not here!
A booming blast from an approaching semi’s air horn forced the car behind her again. Lorie’s heart raced. One more trick like that and he’d shove her off the hill.
Not taking any chances, hands clutching the wheel, Lorie concentrated on getting back onto mostly flat ground. If she could just make it to Cartwright, she could pull into the bank’s parking lot and let this road hog have the whole highway. Unless he wasn’t just a road hog...
Show me what to do, Lord.
Slowing as she wound around the hill bordering the eastern end of Cartwright Valley, Lorie drove into the small village, pleased to note that the car behind her eased off the gas, falling back.
Lorie turned into the bank’s parking lot. As the car started to follow her, the town’s lone black-and-white pulled to a stop at First Street. Lorie’s heart pounded as the Camaro’s driver headed on down the highway. She checked the license plate, but it was covered in an uncharacteristic amount of mud. No way to tell whether it was an Arkansas plate or not.
As the black-and-white settled in to watch for speeders, Lorie waited to let all the after-work traffic pass. After twenty cars and trucks had come down the hill, slowing noticeably as they spotted the police car, Lorie turned back into traffic.
Exhaustion tugged at her. She wasn’t far from the turnoff to Wolf Hollow. Only a few more miles, and she’d be home.
For the rest of the drive, she scrutinized the traffic ahead of her, fearful of spotting her tailgater. When she reached AR Highway 14, she turned onto it without signaling. The small highway was practically empty.
She’d escaped.
Lorie slowly let out her breath. Most likely the driver had just been impatient, and glad to get out from behind her. That must be it. No connection between the tailgater and the missing library note.
If she could manage to convince herself of that, she’d sleep a lot better tonight.
After feeding her menagerie, Lorie debated whether or not she was too shaken to attend prayer meeting at Wolf Hollow Community Church. Everyone would understand if she didn’t show up, knowing how exhausting her job could be. Still, she hated to miss it. Physically, she was well enough to attend, and spiritually, she needed all the help she could get.
Deciding she needed the fellowship more than rest, if she even could relax after being nearly run off the road, Lorie locked the dog and cats securely in the house and headed for the small town she called home.
Few people attended prayer meeting these days, but the ones who did were solid. Of the half dozen couples in attendance, one was her cousins the Tubbys, Tammy and her locksmith husband, Ike, whom Lorie hadn’t been able to reach on the phone the previous day. Tammy pulled out a chair at the table in the fellowship hall. Lorie headed toward them, a human homing pigeon.
Tammy reached over and gave her a hug. “You look like you’ve been through the mill. Rough day at work?”
“Doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Lorie laid her worn Bible on the table and slung her purse onto the back of the chair. She launched into a brief description of the notes, the phone call, the broken window and the unlocked office door that they had firmly locked.