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Final Warning
Sandra Robbins


Let's play a game… One e-mail, and radio show host C. J. Tanner becomes a pawn in a madman's game. Only by solving his riddles can she stop the murders. And only Mitch Harmon, her ex-fiancé, can help her put an end to the killer's plans. Mitch knows he has to discover the killer's true identity.Otherwise the man's obsession with C.J. will have her following his steps to become his final victim. Mitch won't allow anyone to harm the woman he let slip away. He'll keep her safe–even if he has to put his own life on the line.









In his time on the police force, Mitch had never felt more helpless with a case than this one.


The newspapers were calling for Fala to be caught, and the citizens of Oxford were frightened where he would strike next.

Mitch had to find the link to these murders. He mentally checked off the clues: bloody handprints, a knife, a truck, a blond hair and C.J. The last one hit him like a punch in the stomach. For some unknown reason Fala had chosen to put her in the middle of the worst murder spree in the history of Oxford.

Chills raced up Mitch’s spine as he wondered what Fala had planned next for C.J. He had to find Fala. No way was he going to let C.J. end up as the next victim.

“If you want to get to her,” Mitch muttered, “you’ll have to kill me first.”




SANDRA ROBBINS,


a native West Tennessean, was a teacher and principal in Tennessee public schools. She now writes full-time and is an adjunct college professor. She is married and has four children and five grandchildren.

Her fascination with mystery and suspense can be traced to all the Nancy Drew books she read as a child. She hopes her stories will entice readers to keep turning the page until wrongs have been righted and romance has blossomed in her characters’ lives.

It is her prayer that God will use her words to plant seeds of hope in the lives of her readers. Her greatest desire is that many will come to know the peace she draws from her life verse, Isaiah 40:31—But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

To find out more about Sandra and her books, go to her Web site at http://sandrarobbins.net.




Final Warning

Sandra Robbins








If we believe not, yet he abideth faithful: he cannot deny himself.

—2 Timothy 2:13


To the memory of DJ Stewart “Stewman” Byars, who gave hours of enjoyment to his listeners. Without his invaluable information this book wouldn’t have been possible.




Acknowledgments


Special thanks to Paul Tinkle, President and General Manager of Thunderbolt Broadcasting, for opening the doors of WCMT and giving me a behind-the-scenes look at the world of radio.

To Chris Brinkley, thank you for answering my questions and allowing me to experience live broadcasting as a part of Good Times in the Morning with Chris and Paul.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION




ONE


Let’s play a game, C.J.

Her skin prickled at the words in the subject line of the e-mail. C. J. Tanner’s finger hovered over the delete key, but she pulled away, unable to press it. She clicked the mouse, and the message came into view.



Let’s play a game, I’ll send a clue,

The hidden answer must come from you.

To win a round you have to know

Where I will strike a deadly blow.

Fala



The strange message made no sense. A deadly blow?

As the talk show host of C.J’s Journal on WLMT radio, she’d received lots of creepy messages. But this one was different. How, she didn’t know, but it made every nerve ending in her body tingle.

The angry remarks from callers to her show flashed into her mind. Perhaps the e-mail was from Jimmy Carpenter. Maybe he didn’t like his suspected illegal drug activities being discussed by listeners of her program. One caller the night before had been irate because the police had only been able to charge Jimmy with drug possession during his latest arrest. To make matters worse, the caller had said Jimmy made bail right away and was probably already peddling his drugs on the streets of Oxford, Tennessee.

The shrill ring of the telephone jolted her from her thoughts as it pierced the morning quiet. Her heart still pumping in fear, her hand snaked toward the phone, but struck the coffee cup sitting next to the computer. With a cry, she steadied the mug with both hands before picking up the handset.

“H-hello,” she said.

“C.J., this is Mitch. How are you?”

She gripped the handset more tightly and closed her eyes as the soothing tone of her ex-fiancé’s voice poured over her. She wanted to cry out her relief that he’d called, but she bit her lip. He’d been the first person she’d allowed a peek into her heart, and now she was suffering the consequences of that choice.

As she’d done so often during the last month, she raised her left hand and stared at it. No longer did the emerald-cut diamond ring sparkle on her finger. When Mitch Harmon proposed, they had promised to love each other forever. It only took six months to dash her hopes of finally finding the happily-ever-after she’d always wanted.

She took a deep breath. “I’m okay, Mitch. How about you?”

There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke. “I’m fine.”

His image rippled through her mind. She wondered how he looked. Had he slept well, or were his eyes tired from lack of sleep, as hers were? “That’s good. Is there any special reason for your call?”

He released a long breath. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve been listening to your radio show.”

What a surprise. This was very different from his reaction when she first told him of the addition of C.J.’s Journal to the WLMT schedule. It was the type of program she’d dreamed about—a talk show five days a week in the prized afternoon drive time of radio.

She frowned. “I’m glad. Especially after you’ve been so insistent on my not doing the show. What was it you said? That I’d attract all kinds of crazy callers.”

“That’s right, and I haven’t changed my mind about that.” She could imagine his clenched jaw and the thin line of his mouth. She’d seen that expression often enough during their disagreements over the radio program. “It’s just that I see the dark side of life in Oxford every day. I don’t want you to be put in any danger,” he said.

C.J. closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers across her forehead. The memory of all the arguments of the past few months flashed into her mind. He’d been adamant that she shouldn’t do the show, and she’d been just as determined to show him and everybody else that she was up to the task. “We’ve been over this before, Mitch. I know you don’t want me to do this program, but I’m not giving it up.”

“I’m worried about you, and I miss you. It’s even starting to affect my work. I can’t concentrate, and that’s not good for a policeman.”

C.J.’s skin prickled, and she sat up straighter in the chair. “Well, we wouldn’t want to put Myra in any danger, would we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Surprise laced his words. C.J. almost laughed at how slow on the uptake Mitch could be sometimes. Myra Summers, his partner, had been in love with him ever since they began working together. Everybody but Mitch knew it. C.J. hadn’t worried about it then because she knew Mitch loved her, but now Myra waited to pick up the pieces. A knifelike pain sliced through C.J.’s heart at the thought.

“I’m sure your partner has offered you a nice shoulder to cry on.”

Mitch gave a slight gasp. “Is that really why you broke our engagement? You’re jealous of Myra? For your information, she’s been a good friend.”

C.J. started to offer a retort, but suddenly she felt tired. She didn’t want to fight anymore. He would never understand how important her radio program was to her. “I need to go. I have to get ready for work.”

“Fine.” He was all business now. “But one more thing.”

“What?”

“Be careful with your editorials on the show. There are some dangerous characters in this town. It wouldn’t be wise to make them angry.”

Like Fala, she thought. For a moment she wanted to tell Mitch about the e-mail, but she bit her lip. “I will be, Mitch. Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone and sat at the desk, thinking about all the time she and Mitch had spent together. When they first met, he’d just been promoted to detective on the police force, and she was a struggling assistant to the producer at the radio station. She often wondered why he had chosen her.

With his dark hair, eyes like pools of rich chocolate, and shoulders as broad and strong as a college running back, he was too handsome for someone as plain as her.

He had often told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, but she knew better. For years her mother had expressed the truth on a regular basis. The words were branded into her mind as if they’d been spoken yesterday. Get out of my sight, you repulsive little creature. She had hoped her love for Mitch would erase those memories, but it hadn’t.

They had been so much in love, or at least she thought he had loved her. Apparently, she’d been wrong about that. A man who loves a woman should support her decisions, not try to control her by imposing his own ideas of what was best for her.

No man would ever treat her the way her father treated her mother. C.J. had escaped his rages, which often sent her mother to the hospital, but she couldn’t forget them. Those memories had never been far from her mind while she worked her way through college and landed her first job. She’d fought for everything she’d gotten in life, and she would never be manipulated and controlled by a man.

Not that Mitch would ever hit her. He was too kind for that. In fact, he talked to her about God’s love all the time and how he wanted her to feel the peace that came from believing. She laughed and told him she’d prayed often when she was a little girl. At night she’d cower under the covers and beg God to make her father stop hitting her mother, but it never worked. She’d given up on God a long time ago.

With a sigh she reached to turn off the computer, but her gaze returned to the strange message on the screen. If Fala’s intent had been to scare her, he’d accomplished this task.

Erase the message—that’s what she had to do. Then she could forget about it. Her fingers punched the delete key, and the words disappeared.

No sense of relief came. Instead a strong wind shook the house and sent an icy chill flowing through her body. Her heart pounded at the mournful song the gusts whistled in the eaves—deadly blow, deadly blow.



Twenty minutes later, C.J. backed her car out of the garage and down the driveway. Adam Connor waved at her from the sidewalk in front of his house across the street. She pulled to the curb and rolled the window down. Adam jogged toward her, the morning newspaper under his arm. His brown eyes and dark, straight hair, combined with his year-round tan, reminded her of a young George Hamilton.

He peered inside, his white teeth flashing behind his broad smile. “Morning, C.J. You must be running late. You’re usually gone when I get back from the gym.”

“I am late, but I wanted to welcome you home. When did you get back from Atlanta?”

Damp strands of his black hair clung to his forehead, and he wiped at them with his hand. “Last night. I sold my paintings and have some commissions for more.”

“Wonderful. We’ll have to get together and celebrate your success. I’ll invite Gwen. She’s really missed you.”

A shy smile curled his lips at the mention of Gwen Anderson, C.J.’s assistant. “I’ve missed her, too. When you get to work, tell her I got in late last night, but I’ll call her later.”

“Will do.”

He raised his eyebrows and leaned closer. “But what about you? Any news about you and Mitch?”

She tugged at her seat belt. “No, everything’s still the same as when you left.”

His smile turned to a frown. “I’m sorry, C.J.”

She placed her hand on the gearshift. “Well, work calls. I’ll talk to you later.”

Adam waved and backed away. She glanced in the rearview mirror to return the wave but hesitated, a sense of unease filling her. An unfamiliar black SUV was parked across the street from her house. She could barely make out the person behind the wheel, but it appeared to be a woman.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Could Fala be a woman? Fear rose in her throat and she swallowed, then relaxed. She was being silly. If she started worrying about every message she received, it would affect her work. Besides, the e-mail was just somebody’s idea of a joke. She pressed the accelerator and turned her attention to the morning traffic.



Juggling a cup of coffee in one hand and her briefcase in the other, C.J. stopped in front of the closed door to her office on the second floor of the WLMT radio station building. Gwen Anderson, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders, hurried forward.

“Let me get that for you.” She opened the door and motioned C.J. to enter. “What are assistants for if they can’t assist the boss when she’s loaded down?”

Pert. That was the only word C.J. had ever been able to come up with to describe Gwen, whose blue eyes always sparkled behind the oversize glasses she wore. She had boundless energy that never seemed to flag. And her intuition! Gwen could foresee an assignment and complete it even before it was given to her. Gwen was a jewel among the staff of WLMT.

C.J. entered the office and set her coffee on the edge of the desk. She dropped the briefcase next to her cup and sank into her chair. “Thanks for the help, but you know I don’t think of myself as your boss. I’ve never had a better working relationship with anyone.”

Gwen eased into a chair across from C.J. “I should thank you every day for giving me this chance. I sure wouldn’t have gotten it if it’d been left up to our esteemed producer.”

C.J. tilted her head and arched an eyebrow. “Harley appreciates your work.”

A snort of disgust came from Gwen’s throat. “Sure he does. That’s why he’s been so quick to recommend me for a raise.”

“Now, Gwen. You know that’s Mr. Cunningham’s decision. Harley’s just our producer.”

C.J. leaned back in her chair. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s really been good to me. This new show is just what I needed.”

Darkness the color of storm clouds flashed in Gwen’s eyes. “Don’t be taken in by him. He thinks he’s the most important person around here. Can’t get along with any department. He calls the engineering guys idiots, and they take it out on us. I can’t get anything repaired—not even my printer.”

This wasn’t the first time C.J. had heard employees complaining about Harley. Every few days someone asked her to intervene in a conflict with him. Gwen was just the latest in a long line. “I’ll talk to Matt in engineering.”

Gwen crossed her arms and frowned. “While you’re at it, ask him about the WLMT sign. Ever since I was a child I’ve loved driving by here at night and seeing those tall letters standing on the flat roof of the building. They used to light up the sky, but not anymore. Have you seen it lately?”

The sign had been the trademark of their station for years, but like a lot of things around the building, it had fallen into disrepair. “Yeah, I noticed the other night the T was the only letter lit.”

Gwen nodded. “Right. You never know which letters will be illuminated. I came by here last night, and the sign was completely out. Now this morning it’s fine. How do you explain that?”

“Harley said there’s a short in it, but the company that’s supposed to fix it keeps putting us off.”

“Good morning, lovely ladies. Did I hear my name mentioned?” Harley Martin, his wire-rimmed glasses propped on his head, stuck his hands in the pockets of his wrinkled pants and stepped into the room. His potbelly hung over the waist-band and his belt looped underneath the bulging girth. He stopped next to Gwen’s chair and grinned down at her.

Gwen rose slowly and turned to face Harley. “Well, if it isn’t the genius behind the success of C.J.’s Journal. We were just talking about you.”

The mischievous gleam in Harley’s eyes contradicted the serious expression on his face. “I thought I heard you telling C.J. how lucky you are to work for such a great guy.”

Gwen glared and took a step toward Harley. “You’re impossible. I don’t know why I stay here.”

He winked at C.J. “’Cause you know you’re never gonna find another boss who takes such good care of you.”

Gwen’s face flushed. She headed toward the door. “I give up. See what you can do with him.”

Harley watched until Gwen left the room, then smiled at C.J. “You gotta love that girl. Best researcher we’ve ever had here.”

C.J. stood up, her gaze taking in Harley’s white shirt with the gravy stain that had been there the day before. One thing about her producer—he never would make the top ten best-dressed list. “Maybe it’s time to show your gratitude and ask Mr. Cunningham to give her a raise.”

Harley held up his hands and backed away. “Whoa, there, girl. We gotta hit the top of the ratings first. Then we’ll see who gets a raise.”

She shook her head. “Gwen’s right. You are impossible.”

He winked and headed for the door. “Maybe. But I’m making you a household name around Oxford. Before I’m through with you, C.J.’s Journal will be the most listened to show in our area. And after that, who knows?” He flipped a little salute in her direction. “Catch you later. We need to talk about tonight’s show. I have a feeling it’s gonna be quite a broadcast.”

For some reason his words, which on the surface seemed innocent enough, stirred the uneasiness she’d felt all morning. The stories she’d covered in the past few weeks flashed through her mind. Most of them were concerned with the dark side of life in Oxford, not what she’d intended when she began her program. For a moment she wished she’d never gotten caught up in the world of crime and drug dealers like Jimmy Carpenter. But there was no turning back.

A soft chime sounded from the direction of her computer. Another e-mail. She glanced at the screen and stared with wide eyes at the sender’s name—Fala. Her heart pounded at the subject line. Ready to play, C.J.?

With shaking fingers she clicked the mouse and stared at the message before her:



Four there are await your play,

One won’t see the break of day,

From East to West they all will cry,

Who will be the first to die?

Fala




TWO


The words gyrated on the computer screen in rhythm with the drumbeat of C.J.’s heart. She grasped the edge of the desk, the message sending chills down her spine.

“Who will be the first to die?” she whispered.

If this was a joke, Fala had gone too far. She wrapped her shaking fingers around the phone handset to call Gwen. She hesitated, her eyes growing wider by the moment. What was it Harley had said? He had a feeling that tonight’s show was going to be quite a broadcast.

Harley! Of course! She should have guessed.

This had to be one of his publicity stunts. He wanted to scare her into thinking someone was about to commit a crime in Oxford. If she went on the air and mentioned a menacing e-mail, they’d probably get a flood of calls.

Oh, the gall of that man to scare her so. With clenched fists she strode toward the office door and flung it open. Harley stood just down the hall talking to Michael Grayson, head of the sales department. “Harley! I need to see you now.”

Michael pivoted and glared at her. “Wait your turn, C.J. He’s mine right now.”

C.J. stopped, her stomach roiling. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen Harley and Michael arguing. Splotches of red covered Michael’s craggy face, and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

Michael pushed his glasses up on his hawklike nose, the French cuffs of his Prada shirt slipping up to reveal a diamond-studded watch with an alligator band, and pointed his finger at Harley. “Now you listen to me, hotshot. If it wasn’t for my staff, you wouldn’t have any sponsors for C.J.’s Journal, or any of your other shows. You’d better watch your step or you’ll find yourself without any financial backing, and you’ll be off the air. Got it?”

Harley chuckled. “Sure, Mike. But from where I sit, your guys wouldn’t have anything to sell if it wasn’t for the interest my programs generate. Now get out there and do your job, and leave mine to me.”

Harley turned away, but Michael grabbed his arm. “Just remember that you’ve been warned.”

Harley pulled away from the restraining hand and swaggered down the hall toward C.J. “Now, doll. What can I do for you?”

C.J. couldn’t take her eyes off Michael’s angry face. He’d intimidated her since the first day she’d walked into the radio station, and now he was threatening her program. She couldn’t let Harley’s cocky attitude ruin what she’d worked so hard to achieve.

She glanced in Michael’s direction. “Are you having trouble with the salespeople again?”

Harley waved his hand in dismissal. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

The e-mail flashed into her mind. “How could you do that to me?”

His eyebrows arched. “What are you talking about?”

“That e-mail! What are you trying to do—scare me to death?”

Harley studied her for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She grabbed his arm, pulled him inside her office and propelled him to her desk chair. She pointed a shaking finger at the computer screen. “This is what I’m talking about.”

Harley leaned forward as he read the e-mail. After a few moments, he chuckled. “Do you think I sent this?”

She crossed her arms. “Yes.”

“Well, I didn’t. Don’t have any idea who did, but I kinda like it.”

The man never ceased to amaze her. “What?”

“Yeah. This means you’ve struck a nerve somewhere, and this lunatic wants to make you squirm a little. Congratulations. This is the kind of stuff that can keep listeners tuning in.”

“Harley, you’re impossible. I don’t want to attract crazy people.”

“This guy probably just wants some attention. Nobody’s gonna talk about a crime before they commit it.” He tilted his head as if in thought. A slow smile pulled at his lips. “Of course, we could run with this tonight and see if the mysterious e-mailer will call in to talk.”

C.J. backed away from him, her head shaking back and forth. “Don’t you even suggest it, Harley. I’m not about to encourage people like this.”

“Aw, C.J. C’mon. It could be…”

“No!”

“But…”

She grabbed her purse from the desk. “I’ll be out of here in two minutes if you don’t go along with me on this.”

Harley was a head shorter than she was, but his determination could make her resolve slip. He’d done it before. But not this time. Her phone rang, breaking the silence between them. She straightened her shoulders and ignored it, her gaze never wavering from his.

Finally, he grinned and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Okay, have it your way. But I think it’s a mistake.”

She didn’t say anything, and after a few moments he headed toward the door. When he’d disappeared down the hall, she sank down in her desk chair and read the message again. Was somebody really about to die?

If this was the kind of people who were tuning in to her program, maybe the talk show wasn’t worth it. But then that would mean that Mitch had been right all along. With a groan she closed the e-mail program and sat there, staring at the blank screen.

The words, no longer visible on the screen, appeared in her mind as if they’d been seared into her innermost thoughts. She crossed her arms and hugged her body to stop the trembling that swept through her. If the message was to be believed, four people were walking around Oxford unaware that death was stalking them. She had no idea who they were or why she had been chosen to rescue them from the evil they were about to encounter.

“If only I could warn them,” she whispered.



Mitch didn’t know what made him take the long route to work and then turn down the street where C.J. lived. He knew he wouldn’t see her. By this time of morning, she’d already been at the radio station for hours. Maybe it was a leftover habit from picking her up to go out, or it could be that he just wanted to feel close to her again. At times during the last month he’d thought he would go out of his mind from wanting to see her, talk to her or just sit quietly and hold her hand.

He could still envision her as she was two years ago when she’d interviewed him about a murder in Oxford. He’d been surprised when she informed him that she remembered him from college. He had no recollection of her, but in later weeks he couldn’t understand how he’d missed out on someone so special.

For him no other woman would ever measure up to C.J. She was beautiful with her long, brown hair and hazel eyes, but that was only part of the attraction he felt toward her. Behind her flashing eyes was an intelligence he felt he could never quite match. And because she never tried to appear superior to anyone, it only increased the magnetism she radiated.

When she broke the engagement, it had caught him completely off guard. He’d known she was under a lot of stress getting the new show started. They’d disagreed about her doing it, just as they had disagreed about her refusal to acknowledge any need for God in her life. The arguments had never gotten heated, or at least he hadn’t thought so.

Patrolling the streets of Oxford for several years before being promoted to detective had taught him how dangerous situations could become in the blink of an eye. It had also reinforced his belief that he couldn’t get through the day without the peace that came from knowing God watched over him. He wanted C.J. to know that love, too.

Mitch drove down the street and pulled to a stop in front of C.J.’s house. He sat there thinking about all the times she’d come running out to meet him. Her eyes would light up, and his heart would beat a little faster at how right it felt for them to be together. All that changed when she gave the ring back.

A tap at the window startled him, and he jumped in surprise. He turned to see Mary Warren, C.J.’s next-door neighbor, standing beside him. He smiled and rolled the window down. “Good morning, Mary. I didn’t see you.”

The elderly lady smiled. “I’ve been walking Otto and saw your car. I wanted to say hello.”

At the mention of her schnauzer, the dog jumped up on the side of the car. Mary pulled on the leash and took a step back. “Otto, get down.”

Otto’s paws slid downward, and Mitch cringed at the sound of Otto’s nails scraping on metal. He dreaded seeing the scratch on his new paint job. Mary pulled Otto back, but he tugged hard on the leash to reach the car. C.J. and Mitch had often laughed that Otto had Mary trained well.

Mitch opened the door and stepped out in an effort to distract Otto from jumping up again. He knelt down and patted the dog. “How are you today, boy?”

Mary beamed at Mitch as he rose. “Otto has always liked you.”

Mitch smiled. “How have you been?”

Mary’s faded blue eyes stared at Mitch. The jogging suit she wore swallowed her small body. She’d lost weight in the last few weeks. Every time he saw Mary, he wondered how much longer she could live alone. Her mind wasn’t as sharp as it had been a year ago, but that didn’t distract from what she saw as her mission in life.

Ever since Mary’s husband had died, she’d been obsessed with what she saw as the rising crime rate in Oxford. She’d become so concerned that she had appointed herself as a neighborhood watchdog to keep an eye out for danger. Every time he saw Mary, she had another incident to report to him.

Mary glanced over her shoulder toward the street. “All right, I guess. But I wanted to tell you about the woman I saw this morning sitting across the street in a strange car.”

“Maybe she was visiting someone.” Mitch wondered how many times Mary had approached him with her worries.

Mary shook her head. “I don’t think so. She was sitting there when I left for my walk with Otto, and she hadn’t left forty-five minutes later when we came back. I watched her after I went in the house. She drove off about fifteen minutes later when C.J. did. In fact, she followed C.J.”

An uneasy feeling welled up in Mitch. “What did the car look like, Mary?”

She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small notebook. “I don’t know anything about cars. All I know is that it was big and black. But I wrote down the license plate number.” She tore the paper from the pad and held it out to him. “You know I never go anywhere without my notebook.”

Mitch smiled, took the paper and put his arm around Mary’s shoulders. “I’m sure it was very innocent. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check on it. Now you go on home, and don’t worry.”

She patted his arm and stared at him for a moment. “You’re a good boy, Mitch.”

He climbed back in his car as Mary shuffled toward her house with Otto in tow. Mitch stared at the number in Mary’s shaky handwriting before he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and speed-dialed the police department’s number.

With the first ring, the dispatcher answered. “Oxford Police Department.”

“Jennie, this is Mitch Harmon. I need you to run a license plate for me.”

“Sure, Mitch.”

He read the numbers and waited for her computer search. Within seconds she was back on the phone.

“Got it, Mitch.”

“Who’s the car registered to?”

“None other than Jimmy Carpenter.”

The words hit Mitch like a punch in the stomach. “Thanks, Jennie.”

He closed the phone and sat lost in thought. Why was a car belonging to the drug lord of Oxford sitting across the street from C.J.’s house and following her? Maybe that radio show was becoming even more dangerous than he thought.



The hands on the wall clock pointed to 3:45 p.m. C.J. sat in the broadcast area, her palms damp with sweat. She stared through the window into the adjacent room where Harley busied himself checking the control board before airtime. Just a few more minutes and she’d be transmitting live.

Four to 7:00 p.m.—the most coveted segment of afternoon drive time. She still had to pinch herself to believe that the station had given it to her. But it seemed to be paying off. Her ratings were climbing every week. She just hoped Harley’s disagreement with Michael Grayson didn’t do anything to jeopardize the program.

She pulled the microphone closer to her mouth and reached up to check the earphones again. In the next room Harley mouthed the countdown, his fingers cueing her to the seconds left before broadcast. With a grin he pointed to her.

C.J. took a deep breath and leaned closer to the console. “Good afternoon, and welcome to C.J.’s Journal. You’re listening to WLMT-FM in Oxford, on the air with C.J. Tanner. It’s good to be back among friends. No matter where you are, at home or driving from work, loosen that tie, settle back and get ready to spend the next three hours chatting with me about life in Oxford. Get your questions and comments ready and call me at 555-WLMT—that’s the number. But while those calls are coming in, we’re going to take a few minutes to recognize our sponsor. I’ll be back right after this message.”

She clicked off and glanced to her left at the call screener. The calls, first routed to Harley, were approved before they were put through to the broadcast booth. The caller ID on the monitor displayed the incoming phone numbers, and she watched as he lined them up for her. She always felt a moment of apprehension before the first question. Once into the broadcast, she relaxed, letting the callers voice their concerns and responding to them in a lively give-and-take.

All too soon the commercial ended. Harley was counting down again. She scanned the caller screen and frowned: the display read private number. They had agreed when the show went on the air that all callers had to be identified. Why was Harley putting this one through?

She looked at Harley and shook her head, but he motioned for her to take the call.

Frowning, she spoke into the microphone. “This is C.J. What’s on your mind tonight?”

A soft chuckle sounded on the other end of the line, and a voice purred into her ear. “My name is Fala. I thought we might tell your listeners about our game.”

Cold fear washed over her, and she fumbled to bring the mic closer. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand.”

“Come on, C.J. You know what I mean. I sent you a riddle this morning. Have you solved it yet?”

The voice held a wheedling tone and maybe a Southern drawl. But one thing she was certain of—she was talking to Fala.

From the next room Harley grinned at her. C.J. motioned to him to cut the call, but he shook his head. “If you don’t have something to discuss, then I’m going to take the next caller.”

“But I want everybody to know about our little game. I sent a riddle telling you I’m going to kill somebody. The only way to stop me is for you to solve it.”

C.J. glared at Harley who appeared to be enjoying every word of the exchange. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. I don’t appreciate practical jokes.”

A long sigh came over the line. “I assure you this is no joke. Maybe you don’t understand. Someone is about to die, and only you can save them.”

She swallowed and struggled to speak. “Wh-who’s going to d-die?”

Fala’s exasperated sigh sent chills down C.J.’s spine. “You disappoint me, C.J. Instead of trying to figure out the riddle, you expect me to tell you the answer. That’s against the rules. If you want to win, you have to do it on your own.”

She sat silent, her mind whirling, but Harley motioned for her to keep the caller talking. No dead air—one of his cardinal rules.

She straightened in her chair and tried again. “Okay, Fala—if that’s your real name—tell me more about this game you’re playing that’s going to end in someone’s death. Surely you don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

A shrill laugh echoed in C.J.’s ear. “You’d better believe it. I’m not afraid to kill.”

C.J.’s. shaking fingers clutched the edge of the console. “But why would you do such a horrible thing?”

“Maybe it’s because of the look in their eyes.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a moment of hesitation. “Because they never expect it. And when they realize what’s happening, it’s too late.”

This was escalating into a horrible nightmare. Mitch’s warning flashed into her mind, but she pushed it aside. “Fala, you can’t be serious.”

The laughter increased. “Oh, but I am. I’m about to kill someone, somewhere in Oxford, and the only way you can stop me is to figure out the riddle. If you haven’t done it yet, you’re not going to. So this one’s for you, C.J.”

The phone clicked in her ear, leaving behind a dead silence that chilled her blood and sent goose bumps flying over her flesh. Harley’s clenched fist shot into the air, and he mouthed a big “All right” as the board lit up with calls.

C.J. covered her face with her hands and shook. Never in her life had she heard such hatred in a voice. Could Fala be telling the truth? Was someone about to die?

All she could do was hope it was someone playing a joke on her. But something told her that Fala meant every word he said.



When C.J. switched the last caller off, she stormed out of the broadcast booth. Harley, his face filled with satisfaction, grinned at her. “Some night, huh? Your ratings ought to go through the roof tomorrow.”

“Harley,” she yelled, “how could you let that person stay on the line?”

He reached out toward her, but she swatted his hand away. His face creased into the little boy look she’d come to recognize as his way of saying I-want-my-way. “Now, C.J., you have to expect these crazies to come out of the woodwork every once in a while. You gotta use them to build your audience appeal. That’s all I was doing.”

“But he said he was going to kill somebody!”

“Aw, don’t pay any attention to that,” he purred. “Whoever it was just wanted fifteen minutes of fame, and I gave it to him. You’ll never hear from Fala again.”

C.J. crossed her arms and shook her head. “You don’t know that.”

Harley began to shut the console off. “Come on. The satellite programming has taken over. Let’s go home. I’ll walk you to your car.”

C.J. hugged her arms around her body and shivered. By this time it would be dark outside, and she didn’t want to walk into that parking lot alone. “Okay, let me get my coat, and we’ll go.”

Walking back to her office, she looked over her shoulder with each step. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something evil had invaded WLMT.



The wooded area across from WLMT provided the perfect place to observe the radio station. Three of the tall letters on the flat roof burned this evening and cast an outline of the boxlike, two-story brick building against the night sky. Office lights on the second floor went out. Harley and C.J. must be getting ready to leave. Fala pulled the coat pocket open and dropped the cell phone into it.

C.J. had been scared all right. It was evident in the way her voice trembled. Would she walk to her car alone? No, she’d be afraid that Fala would be waiting.

I’m close, C.J. Can you see me?

The door to the station opened and Harley Martin escorted C.J. to her car. She got in, rolled the window down and spoke to him. He nodded and walked around the car, testing the locks on each door. When he’d finished, he waved, and jogged back to his truck. C.J. waited until he pulled up behind her before she drove into the street.

“Oh, C.J., you’re so predictable. That’s what makes you such an easy target,” Fala muttered.

With excitement growing at what lay ahead, Fala turned and strode back through the trees to the car on the other side of the woods. Moonlight drifted through the bare branches. A cat chewed on the carcass of a dead bird at the end of the path. A well-placed kick sent the feline darting away.

Fala’s gloved hand picked up the bird’s lifeless form and caressed it. The smell of death drifted upward. It radiated through his every pore and set his every sense on fire.

The hand holding the bird’s body shot toward the sky. “Let the game begin!”




THREE


5:00 a.m.

The bedside clock glowed in the early morning darkness. C.J. moaned and pounded her pillow into shape once more. Last night, when she had arrived home and checked her computer, she saw that another e-mail had awaited her. With shaking fingers she opened the message and read it, her eyes growing wider with each word.



You didn’t guess, my first move’s through,

Someone now is blaming you.

You should have stopped my fun-filled spree,

Death surrounds you, wait and see.

Fala



Chilled by the reminder of a maniacal laugh and a sinister message, she had cowered underneath the covers.

With a groan, she sat up in bed. She couldn’t sleep anymore because of her worry about Fala’s e-mail, so she decided to go for a morning run to distract herself.

A few minutes later she walked into the kitchen. Dressed in sweats, her key ring hanging from her wrist, she adjusted the band covering her ears and headed into the cold. Very few lights burned in the neighborhood houses on the street. How she envied those sleeping peacefully in their beds.

She approached the intersection at the end of the street, the slap of her tennis shoes on the pavement beating out a steady rhythm. She had laid out the square that composed her two-mile route when she first moved in the neighborhood, and it never varied. Left from her driveway, right on Crump Avenue, right on Knight’s Way, right on Bellevue and finally back onto Lansdowne. She always breathed a sigh of relief when she made that last turn onto her street and jogged into her driveway.

There were never many vehicles on the roads this time of morning. She liked it that way—alone with her thoughts, no sounds except the panting of her breath and her shoes hitting the asphalt. A car approached from the rear, causing her to glance backward. A black SUV moved toward her, its engine purring. She jogged to the edge of the street to let it pass, but it stayed behind her. Her chest tightened. In the early morning light it was impossible to tell for sure, but it looked like the car she’d spotted across from her house the day before.

Her heart pounded, and she picked up her pace. The vehicle maintained its slow speed. Taking a deep breath, she surged forward. The car sped up, but didn’t pass. Now she ran faster, the SUV’s engine humming in her ears. Certain that she was being pursued, she lengthened her strides until the muscles in her thighs screamed in pain and her lungs burned. The car crept behind her like a giant shadow, waiting to pounce.

Ahead she could see the turn onto her street, and she willed her legs to move even faster. As she turned onto Lansdowne, the newspaper delivery van rumbled toward her. With a roar, the SUV shot past her and disappeared down the street.

Panting for breath, C.J. stopped and leaned over, her hands propped on her knees. She gulped mouthfuls of air. The deliveryman paused to wave before flinging a newspaper onto a driveway. C.J. sank down on the curb and smiled in relief.

Had she really been followed or had her imagination run away with her? After a few minutes, she rose and trotted toward home. As she passed Mary’s house, she slowed and let her gaze travel over the brick structure. Something was out of place.

She stopped in her driveway and stared at the dark house. With a shrug she headed to her front door. Her sleep-deprived brain must be conjuring up problems where there were none.

Thirty minutes later, fresh from the shower and wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, she stepped into the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee and remembered that she hadn’t yet brought in the newspaper. Hurrying out the front door into the driveway, she scooped up the paper, then stopped and stared at Mary Warren’s house. What was different this morning?

Her eyes widened. The closed living-room drapes. She’d never seen that before. Mary, who retired early every evening, was always up by this time, and she never drew the curtains in her living room. The newspaper dropped from her hand. She ran across the yard and stopped at Mary’s front door.

The unlocked storm door opened with her touch, and she pounded on the wooden front door. “Mary! Mary!”

From somewhere inside, Otto howled. C.J. cupped her hands around her eyes and leaned close to the small glass pane in the door. She looked into the dark, but could detect no movement. Otto wailed again.

She backed away, her legs shaking. Maybe Mary was sick or hurt. She raced across the yard and rushed into her house. Running to the bedroom, she grabbed the key ring she’d tossed on the dresser before showering. Months ago Mary had insisted that C.J. take a key to her house. It made her feel better to know that a trusted neighbor could get in if there were ever an emergency.

She ran out the back door and toward the gate in the fence that separated their yards, leaped onto the back porch, and pounded her fist against the door. “Mary! Let me in.”

Inside, Otto’s howl pierced the air, and he pawed at the door.

The keys jingled against each other as C.J. tried to jam the key in the lock. After several attempts, her shaking fingers finally inserted the key and turned it. Otto jumped up on her leg the moment she stepped inside.

She patted his head and stepped into the dark kitchen. An ominous silence hovered in the air. She stopped just inside the door and switched the kitchen light on. Otto ran to the door to the den and hesitated. He looked back as if inviting her to follow, then dashed from the room.

A strange smell assaulted her nose. She inched toward the den.

“M-Mary!”

Her voice echoed through the house.

Another step. “Mary, are you all right?”

The tapping of Otto’s paws on the hardwood of the den caused her to halt. He ran through the door and whined. “Where’s your mama, Otto? In her bedroom?”

C.J. switched on the den light and walked toward the dark hallway on the other side that led to the bedrooms. Otto ran ahead of her and stopped at Mary’s closed bedroom door.

She tapped on the door. “Mary, are you in there?”

As she pushed the door open, Otto wiggled past and disappeared into the bedroom. The rusty scent poured from the room and overwhelmed her. She staggered backward into the hall.

Otto rushed back to her, raised his head and howled before he leaned forward and nuzzled her leg, the red stain on his nose smearing her jeans. What was it? She reached down, touched his nose, and studied her fingertips. With a strangled cry she fell against the wall and stood there, her eyes transfixed on the bedroom door.

Slowly, she pushed the door open wide. Cold sweat popped out on her forehead. She swallowed and groped the wall for the light switch. The chandelier illuminated the room the moment she turned it on.

C.J. pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress the scream that welled up from the depths of her soul. The bedroom that Mary had so lovingly decorated looked like a chamber of horrors. Red stains soaked the carpet around the bed where Mary’s lifeless body lay. Blood covered the once-white sheets and comforter.

But that wasn’t the worst. On the walls red handprints, arranged much like a kindergarten fingerpaint project, covered the white sheetrock.

“No-o-o.”



Early mornings had always been Mitch’s favorite part of the day—a time when he could reflect on God’s promises. This morning, though, he couldn’t turn past the page in his Bible with the passage he’d underlined a month ago when C.J. broke their engagement.

Do not be yoked together with unbelievers.

How many times had he read that in the past few weeks? He’d known what the Bible said. Even Pastor Donald had cautioned him when he started dating C.J., but he thought he could change her. He should have listened and backed away before he fell in love. Now he was suffering the consequences.

His gaze drifted downward. What does a believer have in common with an unbeliever?

The words tore at Mitch’s soul, and he bowed his head. “Oh, Lord,” he prayed, “Forgive me for thinking I was smart enough to escape being hurt by disobeying your teachings. I thought I could bring her to You, but I failed. Please give me the strength to let her go now, Father, but I beg You not to give up on her.”

He sat with his head bowed for several minutes before he glanced out the window at the first light of day beginning to break, then at his wristwatch—6:30 a.m. He still had a few hours before he needed to check in at the station.

He drained the rest of the coffee and stood up to pour himself another cup. His cell phone rang, always a cause for concern this early in the morning. The station’s number flashed on the caller ID.

“Hello.”

“Mitch, this is Jennie at dispatch. Just got a call reporting a murder. First responders are already there, but the chief thinks you and Myra need to get over there right away.”

Mitch hurried toward the bedroom, the phone pressed to his ear. “Have you called Myra?”

“No, but I will.”

“Good.” Mitch reached for his wallet on the dresser and stuffed it in his pants pocket. “What’s the address?”

Jennie took a deep breath. “417 Lansdowne Drive.”

His fingers tightened around the gun he’d just picked up and he felt his heart constrict. “What did you say?”

“C.J. called in the report. She just found her neighbor Mary Warren murdered.”

He lowered the gun back to the dresser top and swallowed. “Mary? Murdered?”

“I’m sorry, Mitch. I know you were fond of Mary. From what C.J. said, it’s really bad.”

He pressed his hand to his forehead. “Is C.J. all right?”

“She’s pretty upset. She was practically hysterical when she called.”

Mitch shook his head, grabbed the gun again and straightened his shoulders. No time to be upset. He had a job to do. “Call Myra and tell her to meet me there. I’m on my way.”

He flipped the cell phone closed and headed for the door, his thoughts whirling. The memory of Mary’s concern yesterday flashed through his mind.

Guilt pierced his soul. He’d thought about checking on Mary the night before. A call had come in just as he was leaving work, and he’d been tied up until late. When he finished, he’d thought C.J. might be home from the station. He needed to stay away from her, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that if he saw her lights on. So he’d gone back to his apartment, warmed up some pizza and watched a ball game until it was time for bed.

Suppose he had gone to Mary’s. Could he have saved her life? He stopped beside his car and pounded his fist on the roof. He would never know the answer to that question, but he knew it would weigh on him for a long time.



C.J. stared out the window over Mary’s kitchen sink. Otto lay on the back porch, his head resting on his outstretched paws. His cries of distress had now dissolved into soft whines.

She slid into a chair at the table and sat there, staring into space, her hands folded on the tabletop in front of her. Hushed voices drifted from the living room. From time to time the front door opened and closed, and new voices joined those already in the house. Every few minutes another officer, his face pale, would appear in the hallway outside the kitchen, lean against the wall and offer a weak smile in her direction.

Mitch had often told her he had never become immune to the horrors one human being could inflict on another. She realized that some of these men hadn’t, either, although they appeared to be seasoned veterans. She could understand their need to step away from this horrible crime scene for a minute.

Her stomach heaved, and she ran to the sink. She leaned over until the sickness passed, then turned the water on full force and washed up.

A hand touched her shoulder. She screamed and whirled around. Mitch stood behind her, his eyes filled with concern. She collapsed against the side of the sink and stood there, staring at him. With a cry, she threw her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest. His arms encircled her and rocked her back and forth.

It felt good to be in his arms. Now that he’d arrived, everything would be all right. “Oh, Mitch, I’m so glad you’re here.”

After a few moments she pulled away and gazed up at him. His jaw twitched. “Are you okay?”

Her stomach rumbled again, and she pressed her palms against it. “Did you see her? Why would anybody do that?”

He raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She could barely stand to ask the next question, but she had to know. “Did the killer dip his hands in her blood and then touch the walls?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can get fingerprints, right?”

“It looks like he may have worn some kind of gloves.” C.J. dropped into the chair again, and the key ring in her pocket rattled. She touched the bulge of keys, her eyes growing wide. “The house was locked. I had to use my key to get in. How did the killer leave all the doors bolted?”

“We don’t know, but we’re just beginning our investigation.” He paused a moment, then eased into the chair next to her. He reached out and covered her hand with his. “Which brings me to what I have to do next. We need to ask you some questions.”

“We?”

“Myra and I.”

Of course. Mitch didn’t check out any crime scene without his partner.

Myra walked into the room, sat in the chair across from C.J. and pulled a notepad from her pocket. Her fingers flipped the pages until she found a blank one. A tiny bead of perspiration slid down the side of Myra’s face, and she swallowed several times before she looked up. “I can understand how upset you are. We’ll make this as brief as possible.”

“Thank you, Myra.” C.J. glanced from Myra’s pale features to Mitch, whose fingers still clutched hers. Even if they were trained police officers, C.J. realized that the murder scene in the next room had left both of them shaken.

Mitch cleared his throat. “Okay, can you tell us what made you come over here this morning?”

Where to begin? With the e-mails and the call or noticing the closed drapes?

“Did you hear my show last night?”

Mitch shook his head. “I was on a call until late. Why?”

“Because, because…” Her lips trembled. She glanced around the kitchen where she’d visited with Mary many times. Otto’s leash hung on a peg at the backdoor. The teakettle sat on the stove. She and Mary had shared many cups of tea together, but they never would again. C.J. covered her face with her hands. “Because it’s my fault Mary is dead,” she wailed.

Mitch touched her arm. “What are you talking about?”

Tears squeezed between her fingers that still covered her eyes. “I should have solved the riddle.”

Mitch’s chair scraped on the floor as he pushed back from the table. He reached for a paper towel at the sink and wedged it into her hand. “Here.”

She wiped at her eyes and blew her nose. “Thanks.”

Mitch sank back down in his chair and cleared his throat. “What’s this about a riddle?”

She twisted the paper towel between her fingers. “Harley said nobody would admit they were going to commit a crime, but I thought Fala really meant it.”

Mitch and Myra exchanged glances. “Fala?” he said.

The paper towel was now reduced to shreds in her hand. “Mary was just the first. The riddle said there would be four murders. And I don’t know who they are.” She jumped up and stared down at Mitch. “You’ve got to stop Fala!”

Mitch rose to stand beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re not making any sense, C.J.. Who is Fala, and what does that have to do with Mary’s murder?”

C.J. slumped against him, and he eased her back into her chair before sitting beside her. She took a deep breath, straightened in her seat and thought back to the events of the morning before. “It all began yesterday…”

Concentrating on the first e-mail and everything that happened afterward, she related each message and the call from Fala. When she’d finished, she looked to Mitch, then Myra. “In the last message Fala said the first move had been made. Mary must have already been dead by the time I received that e-mail.”

As C.J. finished speaking, Myra made another notation in her notebook. “We’ll need copies of those messages.”

C.J. nodded. “I deleted the first one, but I don’t think I’ve emptied the trash yet. Maybe I can retrieve it.”

Mitch stood up. “Good. Why don’t we go over to your house and do that right now?” He glanced at Myra. “I’ll go with C.J. if you’ll finish up here.”

Myra scribbled one last word in the notebook and closed it. “Sure. No problem.”

“Detectives, could I see you for a moment?” They all turned to stare in the direction of the deep voice. A young man, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with latex gloves on, stood in the doorway. Mitch and Myra stepped over to him.

Mitch’s broad shoulders blocked C.J.’s view of the man. “Did you find something, Jeff?”

“Yes, sir. We found a blond hair in the victim’s hand.”

Mitch and Myra seemed unaware that C.J. now stood directly behind them.

Myra leaned toward Mitch. “Interesting. Maybe the killer left a calling card.”

“Don’t know about that,” the man said. “That’ll be for you guys to decide. Just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks,” Mitch said. C.J. started to step back, but Mitch turned before she could and plowed into her. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were right behind me. Ready to go get those e-mails?”

Just then a howl rose from the back porch. Tears welled in C.J.’s eyes again. “Otto. What’s going to happen to him?”

Mitch shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ll send for the Humane Society. They’ll take care of him until they can find him a home.”

C.J. turned toward the back door. “I want to go out through the backyard so I can say goodbye to him.”

She paused before stepping outside and glanced in the direction of the bedroom. Biting her lip, she said a silent farewell to her friend. She wished she could tell Mary how sorry she was for not solving the riddle, but that was impossible. The only thing she could do now was try to stop Fala before three more people died.




FOUR


As Mitch waited for C.J. to release Otto, he shivered in the cold morning air, but it was more than just the temperature that chilled him today. A cold-blooded murderer had struck in a vicious way, killing a beloved friend and terrifying the woman he loved. If C.J. were right, there might be additional victims. In his years on the force, he hadn’t seen anything to compare with Mary’s bedroom. Overkill. That was the only word to describe it.

The crime scene puzzled him. Surely Otto had barked when the killer entered the house, but Mary’s body lay in bed as if she hadn’t been alerted. And how did the killer get into a locked house with no apparent forced entry? Had they overlooked something in their initial sweep through the rooms? He’d go back after he printed a copy of the e-mails and take another look around. By the time he completed this investigation, he’d probably be familiar with every nook and cranny of Mary’s house.

C.J. rose from petting Otto and touched Mitch’s arm. “I’m ready now.”

Police cars, their blue lights flashing in the early-morning gloom, lined the street in front of the house. Several grim-faced officers silently roped off the house with crime scene tape. A cluster of neighbors stood nearby, watching the proceedings.

“Mitch. C.J.” The voice came from the direction of the neighbors gathered near the edge of C.J.’s front yard. Adam Connor emerged from the crowd and ran toward the fence. Disbelief lined his face. “One of the ladies from across the street told me Mary is dead. Is that true?”

Mitch nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Adam’s fingers grasped the top of the fence, and he shifted his gaze from one to the other, his mouth open. “I-I can’t believe this.” He glanced back at the officers who’d just completed roping off the house. “Mitch, that’s crime scene tape. What’s going on here?”

“Mary was murdered.”

Adam gasped, his hands tightening on the fence. “Murdered? Not Mary.” His eyes grew wide. “When?”

“Apparently last night.” The scene in the bedroom flashed into Mitch’s mind, and he swallowed. “C.J. found the body.”

Adam turned to stare at her. “Oh, C.J., how awful. Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I think so. I just can’t get that sight out of my mind.”

Adam leaned against the fence. “I was on my way to the gym when I saw the activity out here, but that can wait. You want me to come in and stay with you a while?”

“I think that’s a good idea, Adam,” Mitch said. “She’s still pretty shaken up and doesn’t need to be alone.”

“I’ll do anything I can to help. Maybe we need to call Gwen to come over, too.”

Mitch nodded. “We’ll go in through the back and let you in the front door.”

Adam raked his hand through his hair. “Mary murdered. I can’t believe it. I just talked to her yesterday.”

“Me, too.” The vision of Mary and Otto walking up and down the street popped into Mitch’s head. No longer would the two patrol the neighborhood on their self-appointed rounds to keep a watch for evil. Instead it had entered her house when she’d least expected it and left a grisly murder in its wake. Mary’s crime-fighting days might be over, but his weren’t. Mitch didn’t intend for this to become a cold case. He wouldn’t rest until Mary’s killer was brought to justice.



C.J. and Mitch stepped onto the back porch, and she grasped the knob of the back door. It turned in her fingers, but she jerked her hand away. She’d left her back door unlocked when she ran to Mary’s. Someone could have been watching. The murderer could be inside just waiting for her to come home.

“What’s wrong?” Mitch said from behind her.

She stumbled backward. “I left the door unlocked. What if someone’s inside?”

He grabbed her hand. “Don’t worry. Whoever killed Mary is long gone.”

“But what if they’re not?”

He pulled the gun from his belt. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll search the house before you go in.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

She moved out of the way and let Mitch slip into the kitchen. Minutes passed before he reappeared, Adam right behind him. “All clear. Come on inside.”

She shuffled into the kitchen, her face burning. “I’m sorry.”

Adam walked around Mitch and wrapped his arms around her. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

She hugged him and looked over his shoulder toward Mitch, their eyes locking. It was Mitch’s arms she wanted around her. He should be the one comforting her, but today he was the professional police investigator.

Mitch inclined his head toward the den. “C.J.?”

Adam turned to face him. “What is it?”

C.J. pulled away and pushed her hair behind her ears. “I have to get some e-mails off my computer for Mitch.”

“The ones you got yesterday at work?”

A surprised look flashed on Mitch’s face. “How did you know about that?”

“Gwen told me last night at dinner. She said you were upset about them, but Harley didn’t think they meant anything.”

C.J. closed her eyes and massaged her temples. “That’s what I thought, too, until the mysterious Fala called my show and then sent another message.”

Adam sucked in his breath. “Gwen didn’t tell me about that.”

“She didn’t know. It happened after she’d left for the day.”

Mitch checked his watch. “I really need to get back over to Mary’s.”

“I’ll print out those e-mails now,” she said, heading toward the den. She rubbed her hands on her pants. “Then I think I’ll shower again before I go to work.”

Mitch reached out and stopped her. “Whoa, there. You don’t need to go to work. Why don’t you take the day off?”

“I can’t do that. I have a broadcast to do.”

Mitch waved his hand in dismissal. “Cancel it, or let Harley do it. You don’t need to go anywhere until we find out about whoever’s sending you these threatening messages.”

“What should I do? Hide in my house? No, thanks. Fala isn’t going to get in the way of my show or my life.”

He leaned toward her, gritting his teeth. “Don’t be so hard-headed. Your show isn’t worth the risk.”

Mitch might have appeared concerned about her this morning, but his words told her nothing had changed between them. “Not to you. You’ve certainly made that clear from the beginning, but it is to me.”

Mitch raked his hand through his hair. “Sometimes you…”

Adam stepped up beside them and placed a hand on each one’s shoulder. “Hey, guys, stop it. You’re both upset, but you don’t need to argue. We’ve lost a great friend.” He paused, blinked back tears and took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what. You two get the e-mails, and I’ll cook breakfast. Then we’ll all sit down and try to cope with what’s happened.”

Mitch’s shoulders sagged. “You and C.J. can eat. I’ll grab something later on.”

Adam frowned. “C’mon, Mitch. You’ve got to eat.”

“Sorry, I can’t. The chief will be waiting at the station for me.”

Adam nodded. “Then I’ll call Gwen to come over. C.J. can ride to work with her after breakfast. How’s that?”

She couldn’t believe it. They were standing here talking about her as if she weren’t capable of making her own decisions. “You don’t have to ask Mitch, Adam,” she said. “I’ll decide how I’ll go to work.”

Mitch’s eyes narrowed, and he let out a long breath. “Fine. I suppose I can’t stop you from what you’re bound and determined to do. Just give me the e-mails, and I’ll get out of your way.”

Without a word she turned and led the way into the den. Adam’s voice drifted from the kitchen. She knew he’d dialed Gwen. “This is Adam. Something terrible has happened.” His voice dissolved into choking sobs. “Can you come to C.J.’s house?”

Dreading to open her e-mails, C.J. eased into her desk chair and turned on the computer. As she waited for it to boot, she closed her eyes in an effort to forget the horrible scene in Mary’s bedroom. She could only imagine the message Fala might have left to torment her for not saving her friend’s life.

Finally she opened her eyes, held her breath and clicked. No new message from Fala in her inbox. Cold fear replaced the short-lived relief that flooded her body.

With Mary dead, three victims remained. Only Fala knew their names and the times of their deaths.

Who would be next?



The smells from the kitchen had teased her nose while she printed the e-mails for Mitch, and she’d hoped he would change his mind about staying. Instead, he’d scooped up the papers from the printer tray and headed back to Mary’s without so much as a goodbye.

Gwen dropped the piece of toast she’d been nibbling onto her plate. “I didn’t know you were such a good cook, Adam. Maybe I need to take lessons from you.”

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Anytime, lovely lady. You know I’m at your service.”

C.J. smiled at the two of them. It was evident the attraction they’d felt when she introduced them a few months ago was blossoming into something deeper. She wiped her hands on her napkin and stared at the scrambled eggs in front of her. Adam had done a great job with the meal, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat. She lifted her fork and traced the flower pattern on the edge of the plate with the tines.

“C.J.?” Gwen’s voice caught her attention.

“Yes?”

“If you’re finished, Adam and I will clean up while you get dressed.”

She pushed back from the table and stood. “Thanks for being here, you two. It means a lot to have such good friends.”

Gwen rose and put her arm around C.J.’s shoulder. “We’re glad to help.”

Adam nodded. “Gwen’s right. We love you, and we’ll do anything we can for you.”

Fighting back tears, C.J. rushed toward the bedroom. Maybe a hot shower would make her feel better.

Thirty minutes later her reflection gazed at her from the dresser mirror. The dark circles under her eyes refused to disappear, even with a thick layer of makeup. She fluffed her hair one more time. What did it matter how she looked anymore? Who was there to care? Her audience would never know.

The doorbell rang. Maybe Adam or Gwen would get it. She listened for a moment until she heard the front door open and Adam’s voice. The storm door closed, and she supposed he had stepped outside.

Picking up her purse and coat, she headed toward the living room. She pulled the curtain back at the front window and looked out. Adam and Mitch stood on the sidewalk in front of the house talking. Adam nodded in agreement before Mitch turned and strode to his unmarked police car. When he pulled away from the curb, Myra followed. C.J. let the curtains fall back into place and watched Adam reenter the house.

“There you are,” he said. “Gwen’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”

She pulled her coat on and busied herself with the buttons. “What did Mitch want?”

A tiny frown creased Adam’s forehead. “He asked me to keep an eye on you for him.”

C.J. lifted her head and sniffed. “Does he think I need a keeper?”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Of course not. He’s just concerned.”

She reached into her coat pocket and drew out her gloves. “Well, he could have come in and said goodbye.”

“C.J., give the poor guy a break. You were the one who broke the engagement. If you’d meet him halfway, maybe the two of you could work out your problems.” Adam stopped, and she knew he wanted her to say something. When she didn’t, he turned away. “Never mind. I’ll tell Gwen you’re ready to go.”

Adam’s words made sense. She’d sent Mitch away, and there was no going back. It was too late for them, and now it was too late for Mary. She swiped at the dampness on her face as the words of the riddle ran through her mind. It was as much a mystery to her now as it had been when she first saw it.

She clenched her fists. Why couldn’t she figure out the hidden meaning in Fala’s message? She could have saved Mary if she had. Now she had to live with a terrible truth—Mary’s death was her fault.




FIVE


C.J. glanced at the clock on the broadcast booth wall. The six o’clock news segment would be over in a few minutes, and she’d be back on the air. She clamped her headphones on and reached over to help Councilman Caleb Lawrence adjust his. When Harley had booked the councilman as a guest, C.J. had been surprised. Caleb had a reputation for being uncooperative with the media. Still upset over finding Mary’s body, C.J. hoped she could concentrate enough to do a decent job with the night’s show.

This was the first time she’d met Caleb Lawrence. The pictures in the newspaper didn’t do him justice. Widely hailed as one of the best tennis players in the city, he probably had his long hours on the courts to thank for his muscular body. A touch of gray in the dark hair above his ears added sophistication to his appearance. Rumor had it that even though he’d been married for twenty-five years, he was still quite the ladies’ man.

He winked at C.J. and patted the headphones into position. “Never had a pair of these on before.”

“I’d think someone in your position would have done lots of interviews.”

He shook his head. “All my radio campaign ads were recorded in the studio so they could be edited.” He pulled his chair a little closer to hers. “This is the first time I’ve agreed to do a live interview. I’m glad it’s with such a good-looking reporter. Maybe you can hold my hand through the whole thing.”

“Just relax, Mr. Lawrence, and you’ll be fine.” She pointed to the next room where Harley and Gwen were lining up the calls. “Harley and Gwen will be screening. I’ll find out what the question is before I ask you to address it.”

He smiled and leaned closer, his hand grazing her knee. “Thanks. What say we grab a bite of dinner after this show’s over? I know a quiet little restaurant that serves a great steak.”

She stiffened. “I know you’re married.”

He laughed. “What difference does that make?”

She bit her tongue in disgust at the arrogant man sitting next to her. What a jerk. He didn’t even realize how ridiculous he sounded. What his poor wife must have to endure.

She pulled the microphone forward and adjusted her headphones. “We’re getting ready to go on the air.”

Caleb, seemingly oblivious to her cool tone, removed some papers from a notebook and laid them on the console in front of him.

In the next room Harley counted down. He pointed to her, and she pulled the microphone closer. “And so I’m back and happy to welcome City Councilman Caleb Lawrence to C.J.’s Journal for the next hour. Thanks for dropping by to chat with me, Councilman Lawrence.”

Caleb leaned forward. “Thanks for having me, C.J.” His cocky, flirtatious tone of a few minutes before was gone, replaced by a businesslike demeanor.

C.J. breathed an inward sigh of relief. The way Caleb had come on to her she thought the broadcast was going to be a disaster, but maybe she was wrong. “I understand you’re about to complete your second term in office.”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re getting ready to campaign for a third term?”

Caleb nodded to her. “Yes, I am. I’ve enjoyed representing the citizens of Oxford, and I look forward to continuing my service.”

“Well, I’m sure our listeners have lots of questions to ask you. Let’s get right to it and take your first call. Hello, caller. Welcome. What’s on your mind tonight?”

“My name is Donna, and I’m the wife of a policeman,” the woman said. “My husband puts his life on the line every day on the streets of this city. But our officers can’t keep up with the increased drug traffic and the rising crime rate. They need more manpower. When is the city going to address this problem and hire some new officers?”

“Good question, Donna.” She glanced at Caleb. “How do you respond to her?”

Caleb loosened his tie and smiled. “We have one of the best-trained police forces in the state. Our officers have gained recognition for their heroism and devotion to duty. The citizens of Oxford don’t have to worry. Our police have the crime situation under control.”

C.J. remembered conversations she’d heard Mitch have with fellow officers, as well as the city’s firefighters, about their concern over budget cuts and lack of equipment. Their frustration with the freeze on hiring had caused many shifts in both departments to work shorthanded.

No wonder crime was rising in the city. The police force was stretched to the limit, and Caleb Lawrence, chairman of the Public Safety Commission, was to blame for a lot of their problems. His refusal to adequately fund the city police and fire departments had placed citizens in danger many times.

She crossed her arms on top of the console and leaned closer to the mic. “Councilman Lawrence is right in his praise of our police department. We should be very proud of every man and woman on the force. They work hard in a dangerous job and often make tremendous sacrifices in their personal lives.”

Caleb nodded. “That’s right.”

She smiled as she glanced at him. “But I think our caller has a concern that needs to be addressed. During the time you’ve been on the council you’ve become chairman of the Public Safety Commission. Could you tell our listeners what responsibilities this group has?”

Caleb cleared his throat and took a look at the papers in front of him. “Well, we have several. We appoint the police and fire chiefs, recommend appropriations for the departments to the full council and approve promotions. I suppose you could say we oversee the management and supervision of both departments.”

C.J. nodded. “I see. And in the past four years, how many new police officers and firemen would you say have been added to the force?”

Caleb’s face flushed. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. He shuffled through the papers in front of him. “I don’t think I have the numbers on that.”

C.J. had never thought of herself as a hard-core news reporter like those she saw on television, but suddenly she wanted the citizens of her town to know how this man had sabotaged their safety.

“Well, let’s just take the population increase,” she said. “Two years ago the council annexed all the property up to the Cumberland River Bridge. That added about three thousand households to the city. How many police officers and firefighters were hired after that?”

His hands shook, rattling the papers he held. “I’m not sure, but we’re always on the lookout for new recruits. I believe Oxford deserves the very best, and I won’t hire someone just for the sake of numbers. I want our fine officers to have people they can trust at their sides, those who will strive to give the best protection possible to the citizens of our city.”

The man was pathetic. His reply sounded like something a publicist would have written. How had the citizens of Oxford ever elected him? Then she remembered how he’d tried to charm her before the program and how he said he never did live interviews, only recorded ones that could be edited.

C.J. leaned back in her chair. “Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. Let’s take another caller.”

For the next forty-five minutes, callers attacked Caleb over issues from dissatisfaction with the winner in the Miss Oxford beauty pageant to the price of gasoline. Perspiration poured from his body with each new caller.

C.J. almost felt sorry for him. He’d discarded his crumpled tie and loosened the top buttons on his shirt. His face was bright red. There was no denying it. Caleb Lawrence looked as if he’d been tied up, strapped to a spit and grilled until well-done.

Caleb finished his remarks to a caller, and she noted that the hour was almost up. Time for one more call. She leaned forward. “Hello, caller. Do you have a question for Councilman Lawrence?”

A soft chuckle sounded on the line. “For both of you, C.J.”

Her eyes widened. Fala. She should have checked the screen before she answered. Too late she saw the private number displayed. She glanced into the next room where Harley stood alone, grinning at her. He’d pushed his glasses up on his head and stood with his hands on his hips, his sagging pants held up by the belt underneath his potbelly.

She swallowed. “What’s your question?”

“I was just thinking about poor Mary Warren and wondered if the councilman knows whether the police have any leads in her murder yet.”

Caleb pulled the microphone toward him. “Not yet, but we expect to apprehend this lunatic soon.”

C.J. shook her head and grabbed for the mic, but he pushed her hand away.




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