LITMIR.BIZ

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      “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

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