LITMIR.BIZ

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back to the cruiser as Sarah allowed her thoughts to dwell on Nick—something she’d stopped doing when she heard of his marriage seven years ago—and continued after Mom shared that his wife divorced him. Had it really been nearly seventeen years since she’d seen Nick? She’d cried most of the way across the state the day they left Jolly Mill. She’d had no reason to believe that she carried a child inside her—Nick’s child. It had to be. The very reason she’d sought Nick out that night was to tell him how she really felt about him, that their friendship had blossomed into something so much more powerful....

      Over the years, she’d often imagined Nick’s dark, soul-filled eyes in his daughter’s face. She’d also seen his and his father’s cleft chin. Hadn’t she? Would they see their own features in Emma when she showed up on their front porch? Mom had sent Aunt Peg pictures of all of them throughout the years, but Nick had left Jolly Mill for premed as soon as he graduated. Sarah’s only chance to get through this with no one being the wiser was that Nick couldn’t possibly recall that long-ago night any better than she did—or even as well as she did.

      John returned with a slip of paper and handed it to her. “Don’t talk on the phone while you’re driving. I saw what you’re capable of tonight.”

      She thanked him and reached down for the automatic window control.

      “Wait, did you log on to Emma’s email account, check her activity?”

      “That was always Dad’s job. I’ve tried to respect her privacy.”

      “My turn, then. I still have a key to the house.”

      “She keeps her password info taped under the lip of her desk, but she keeps her email up on the home computer, so it’s not hard to log on.”

      “If you’re gonna traipse off after Emma, the least I can do is search around and see if I can’t fill in some gaps for you. Got your cell phone charged?”

      What would she do without John? “I even brought my car charger. Proud of me?”

      He grinned at last, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ve got your back, cuz. Watch for deer and call me when you get there.” He straightened and stretched. “Guess I’ll overlook your poor driving skills this time, but beware of weekenders. That can be a bear, even on the four-lane.”

      He’d pulled away in his cruiser before she edged back onto the road. This was not the time to resume panic mode, and she couldn’t imagine how this night could get any worse.

      * * *

      Nicolas Tyler slid the hasp one more time along the riding mower’s blade, sharpening it to perfection. He was rotating to the next cutting edge when the wall phone rang loudly enough for the neighbors to go deaf. His hand jerked, and the fleshy part of his right thumb encountered the newly sharpened blade.

      It was a clean cut, and while the pain of it registered he couldn’t help a buzz of pride at the quality of his work as he watched blood seep from the wound. He winced at the continued ringing of the phone. Should’ve chosen lawnmower maintenance as his primary profession twelve years ago and avoided all the frustration of education, more education, sleepless residency, divorce, frivolous lawsuits. He preferred the landscaping business to family practice for now, and solitude to marriage to a cheater.

      He glared at the phone as the ringing persisted. Voice mail was turned off; everyone knew Dad’s cell number. Why did Dad keep this phone out here, anyway? Didn’t a guy deserve some time to himself? But then, Dad wasn’t a recluse. Nick had been the one to morph to introversion when he received the notification of a frivolous malpractice lawsuit. Things had gone downhill from there.

      He’d disconnected the doorbell after Chloe left and discontinued the landline at his home in Rockford, Illinois, only a few weeks before the explosion.

      The ringing stopped and Nick relaxed. Dad had his cell phone with him in case someone wanted to contact him, but he was on leave from the church. A pastor couldn’t lead his flock when he was driven to his knees with grief; his church should understand that. Nick could think of no one he wanted to talk to. The neighbors knew he wasn’t much of a socializer these days.

      He reached for the first-aid kit in its cubicle above the work stand. A little peroxide, gauze and tape would take care of this.

      He was pouring medicine into his wound when the phone jangled again. He jumped, splattering the liquid in a three foot radius and giving the garage floor an expensive cleansing. Peroxide bubbled on his hand, the gauze hovering over his thumb, tape tangling in his arm hair. With a yank and a grunt, he tore away the tape and lost a considerable amount of arm hair. And women waxed. Go figure.

      He pulled out another strip of tape, secured the bandage and replaced the top on the peroxide bottle before strolling toward the phone. Maybe it was Dad. One never knew when he might run into trouble with that old pickup truck.

      A quick check of the incoming number sent a shiver down Nick’s spine as it had the last time he’d answered a call from Emma Russell—the name Mark Russell flashed on the tiny screen. As if he was receiving a message from a dead man.

      For that fraction of a second, as before, Nick’s mind ricocheted through the grief, blackness and shock. Then he answered the phone, fully expecting to hear young Emma’s voice again. She’d called him and emailed him after he’d sent the girls flowers and a sympathy card, and she’d called again today. The kid had an uncanny sense of compassion for one so young. It surprised him that he didn’t mind talking to her.

      “Hello, Nick?”

      He hesitated. Not Emma. Too mature for a sixteen-year-old. He found his voice, but only barely. “Is this...Sarah?”

      For a moment, there was no reply. Sarah was the quiet one, the twin who’d always remained in the shadows at her own insistence. Though he hadn’t heard her voice for many years, he recalled the beautiful script on her sympathy card after the tragedy.

      “I’m sorry to bother you.” Her voice continued to wobble.

      Not how he remembered her at all. “Bother? You? Never.” Her loss had obviously taken a heavy toll. “Kind of startled. I thought it was Emma. I saw your father’s...uh...name on the caller ID.” Oh brother, just what she needed.

      “Yeah, Dad had all of us on a family plan for our cells. He wanted his name to show up when we called anybody, especially when Emma called boys. Leave it to Dad to be overprotective.”

      “I remember Mark could be intimidating when boys came around.”

      “Not with you, of course. Listen, um, I need to warn you that you might have company soon, if you don’t already.”

      “Company?”

      “Emma.”

      “She’s coming here?”

      “I’m on my way there, too. She told me about your theory.... The explosions? Murder?”

      He wanted to bang his head against the wall in self-reproach. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean for this to reach you or Emma. You’re struggling enough. I was looking for help from neighbors and friends here in Jolly.” That was how a newly minted recluse did things—online.

      “You believe it.”

      “I...have my suspicions.”

      “Too coincidental to have two explosions like that.” As she spoke, her voice regained the steadiness he remembered from their teen years. “Two days in a row.”

      “Exactly.” Why hadn’t he crawled from his hidey-hole here at Dad’s and gone door-to-door and faced all those neighbors instead of setting up that blog? “I was hoping to talk to you about all this after I’d found out more. You’re sure about Emma? She called me today, a little after noon, and she didn’t say anything about coming here.”

      “You’ll understand better once you meet her. She thinks she’s going to help. She left me an extended email explaining it, which I didn’t receive

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