LITMIR.BIZ

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here,” a man answered.

      “Bert!” my dad yelled and gave me a look that said See. And you doubted my guy. “I’m trying to move some money out, and I was having trouble with your website.”

      “Trouble?” he said. “No one else has said anything. Probably because no one in their right mind would get out now.” He added a little laugh that was probably meant to soften the insult.

      I raised my eyebrows at my dad, but he didn’t notice. “I’d normally ride it out,” my dad said, “but it’s a good time, when I’ve already got so much return.”

      “Yeah, but it’s still going up,” Bert said, all smarm. “You’re too smart to get out when it’s about to take off even more.”

      My dad frowned, not liking being told no. “Perhaps, but I still need the money. Not the entire amount of course.”

      “Maybe my tech guy has the website down for maintenance.” I heard Bert type in a three-digit key code and a deep buzz that sounded familiar. “I’ll give him a call and you can try again in a few—”

      The voice cut out.

      “Hello?” My dad waited. Then he swore and redialed. It went straight to message. “He must not have cell service where he is.”

      The key code and the buzz. It had sounded just like Beethoven’s Fifth. “I think he’s at the activity center,” I said.

      “What?” he asked.

      “At the trade show I left a little while ago,” I said. “It sounds like the same key code for the door. Maybe he’s helping Sharon pack up.”

      “Really?” he asked, as if he didn’t quite believe me. “Did your phone work there?”

      “Yep,” I said. “I don’t think anyone had trouble.”

      “I want this taken care of tonight,” he said, his jaw set to “stubborn.” Then he redialed. It went straight to voice mail. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Let’s go over there.”

      “The activity center?” I asked.

      “Yes.” He stood up. “You said you recognized the security code. The Beethoven thing or whatever. I think he’s trying to avoid me.”

      “It’s twenty minutes away,” I said. “Even if I’m right, he could be gone when we get there.”

      To answer, my dad redialed the number and stared at me, his expression mulish.

      Voice mail.

      I sighed. “Okay.”

      * * * *

      After letting Elliott know we’d be back soon and plopping Trouble onto my dad’s chair, I headed back to Twila’s gated community with my dad in the passenger seat.

      We sat in awkward silence until he asked in an oh-so-casual voice, “So how’s the business going?” He was staring out the window. Was he trying to show me it was no big deal or that he didn’t want to scare me off with questions?

      And why did every serious conversation with him have to be fraught with so many emotional landmines?

      “Good,” I replied, hoping he wasn’t going to pipe up with advice. “I’m waiting to hear from Twomey’s. If they’re at all interested in selling my food in their stores, they’ll ask for a business proposal.”

      “They’d be idiots not to,” he said gruffly. “But you already work so hard at all hours. How are you going to do even more?”

      I took a deep breath, telling myself that he was concerned and not questioning my judgment. “I’ve been saving a little, and if I get the deal, I’ll figure it out. I’m hoping my cook can give me more hours if I need her.”

      He was silent a minute as we arrived back at Twila’s community. “Back in the city?”

      I pushed the button to open my window as I drove up the keypad sticking out from the wall. I typed in the gate code and it opened with a metallic groan. “I’m not sure yet,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.

      “Maybe they have one of those commercial kitchens out this way,” he said. “Might even be cheaper.”

      I caught my breath. Was he hinting that he wanted us to stay? “Might be.”

      He stayed quiet as we drove the rest of the way to the activity center. The lights were still on inside, but the visitor parking lot was empty except for a lonely golf cart. We both got out of the car. Palm trees rustled above us, driven by a breeze too high for us to feel. A few house lights blinked from across the golf course.

      “Looks like they’re all gone,” I said.

      “Let’s go make sure,” my dad said.

      Did he need money that bad all of a sudden? “What’s the rush on the money?” I asked.

      He frowned. “I have a few ideas.”

      We walked up the short path, pausing a minute at the glass door. Inside I could see dark footprints heading toward us. “What the heck is that?”

      “Just open it and let’s see if Bert’s in the back or something,” my dad said, too impatient to pay attention.

      I typed in the code and the door buzzed. Definitely Beethoven.

      I opened the door and my dad brushed by me. Then he stopped abruptly. “What is this?”

      The footprints came from the back of the banquet room, where my table had been. They were red.

      “Is that blood?” Without thinking, I knelt down and touched an imprint. “Oh my God!” I jumped up and took a step. A smell came from the room, something that I recognized at some instinctive level, and my heart started pounding.

      “Damnit, Colbie!” he said, grabbing my arm. “Someone could still be in here!”

      I pulled away. “And someone could be hurt.” I avoided walking on the footprints, and followed them.

      Right to the body of Twila Jenkins.

      Her arms were thrown back against the floor as if she was still trying to back away from danger.

      A Meowio Batali butcher knife was buried in her chest.

      Chapter 3

      I dropped to one knee, panic making me lightheaded.

      “Colbie!” my dad yelled as I disappeared, a table blocking his view.

      “I’m okay,” I said weakly. “Call 911.” I shook my head and stood up.

      Blood had spread through nooks and crannies in the hardwood floor, coming to rest in a large pool.

      “Already waiting for the damn fools to pick up,” he said. I heard his labored breathing as he moved closer. He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’d like to report a dead body.” Then he asked, “She’s dead, right?”

      I took a deep breath and forced myself to move closer. I reached down to feel Twila’s neck, knowing there was no chance. No pulse. “Yeah. She’s dead.”

      My eyes went to the bloody footprints that started at the other side of the body. Someone had stayed around long enough to let enough blood soak into their shoes to track it all the way outside. What kind of monster did this?

      Then the back service door to the banquet room opened and someone whispered, “Holy crap.”

      I turned around to see a frightened young man in a security uniform staring at me. His hand fumbled at his side.

      I put my hands up, just like on TV.

      And just like on TV, he yelled, “Freeze!”

      * * * *

      The security guard had been reaching for his

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