LITMIR.BIZ

      KERI LOCKE MYSTERY SERIES

      A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)

      A TRACE OF MURDER (Book #2)

      A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3)

      A TRACE OF CRIME (Book #4)

      A TRACE OF HOPE (Book #5)

      PROLOGUE

      Hope Nelson took a last look around the store as she got ready to close up for the night. She was tired, and it had been a long, slow business day. It was after midnight, and she’d been here since early that morning.

      She was alone now, because she’d sent the last of her grumbling employees home a little early. None of them liked to work late on Saturday nights. On weekdays, the store always closed at 5:00, which was more to everybody’s liking.

      Not that she had much sympathy with the help.

      Owning this place with her husband, Mason, meant putting in longer hours than anybody else—getting here first and leaving here last on most days. It was no secret to Hope that local people resented her and Mason for being the richest folks in the dinky little town of Dighton.

      And she resented them right back.

      Her personal motto was …

      Money is responsibility.

      She took her many duties seriously, and so did Mason, who served as the town mayor. They weren’t ones for vacationing or even taking the occasional day off. Sometimes Hope felt as though she and Mason were the only people around who gave much of a damn about anything.

      As she looked at the well-ordered merchandise—the hardware and power equipment, the feeds, seeds, and fertilizers—she thought as she often did …

      Dighton wouldn’t last a day without us.

      In fact, she figured the same might be true of the whole county.

      Sometimes she dreamed of the two of them packing up and leaving, just to prove it.

      It would serve everybody right.

      She turned off the lights with a dismayed sigh. Then, as she reached to activate the alarm system before leaving, she saw a figure through the glass door. It was a man standing on the sidewalk under the streetlight, some 30 feet away.

      He seemed to be staring right at her.

      She was shocked to see that his face was badly scarred and pitted—whether from birth or from some terrible accident, she had no idea. He was wearing a t-shirt, so she could see that he was similarly disfigured on his hands and arms.

      It must be hard for him, going through life like that, she thought.

      But what was he doing standing out there so late on a Saturday night? Had he come into the store earlier? If so, one of her employees must have helped him. She certainly didn’t expect to see him or anyone else out here after closing.

      But there he was, staring at her and smiling.

      What

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