LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ONE

       Twenty-five years later

      “Sweet angels in heaven, I need coffee.”

      Grace Debry walked into her kitchen, hand outstretched for salvation in a coffeepot, and tripped. Her hip smacked into the granite counter and tears of pain blinded her. She righted herself, rubbing her hip, blinked her gaze clear and screamed.

      Her kitchen had been ransacked. A sea of kitchen gadgets covered the pristine black counters. Kitchen towels were everywhere. Spatulas, a meat tenderizer, large spoons, and a collection of other utensils spilled from drawers. The oven door was wide open. Her entire collection of cookware covered the stovetop and sink.

      “Purple dandelion blood.”

      She covered her mouth, her hand trembling. If only she hadn’t given up swearing. Her foster mother had hated swearing with a passion. Always said it showed a severe lack of vocabulary. Pulse thundering in her ears, she stepped back and took in the rest of her condo at a glance. A well-executed swear word would make her feel so much better right now.

      The peaceful serenity of her neat living room and cozy furniture arrangement made the carnage of her kitchen all the more bizarre. She wrapped her arms around her ribcage, trying to still her trembling. The front door and balcony slider were securely dead-bolted.

      Maybe she’d woken in the middle of the night and trashed her kitchen? She shook her head. Sleepwalking wasn’t part of her repertoire. She nibbled on her lip. No, not possible. She’d shared numerous bedrooms growing up—not to mention the occasional bed. She would know. Foster kids were not merciful creatures. Neither were jealous co-workers, come to think of it. She’d kept so much to herself since moving to the area, she didn’t know anyone outside of work. Except the little elderly lady downstairs. She couldn’t imagine her or anyone else she knew indulging in a little B&E for kicks and giggles. Or screams.

      Swallowing to moisten her dry mouth, she braved the kitchen again. Her heavy marble rolling pin rested against the carpet edge at the entrance. So that was what she’d tripped over.

      Grace focused on the pantry door.

      A kernel of caution nudged her. The intruder could be behind that door. She snatched the marble rolling pin off the floor and faced off with her frosted-glass pantry door. Reaching for the gleaming silver handle, her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.

      Banging against her front door ripped another scream from her.

      “Grace? Are you alright, cher?”

      Hand pressed against her racing heart, Grace spun and leapt over the mess covering her floor. She glanced at the wall-mounted clock in her living room. They weren’t carpooling today, which meant Lisette had heard her scream from across the hallway. Grace would be mortified about screaming later. Right now, she was grateful for a friend.

      Grace looked through the peephole. Her petite Cajun neighbor from New Orleans bounced on the other side, anxiously twining her long hair around her fingertip. Grace unlocked and opened the door with hands that trembled.

      Lisette burst through the opening. “Mon amie! What happened?”

      Grace took her time shutting and locking the door. They’d become instant friends when Grace had moved in six months ago, but a lifetime of keeping her own council gave her pause.

      A hiss of breath sounded from across the room. Grace turned. Her neighbor stood in the arched entrance to her kitchen. She should have known the warm bundle of energy, otherwise known as Lisette de LaCroix, aka Lisie, wouldn’t wait for an invitation.

      “Soc au’ lait! What happened?”

      Grace sighed, some of her fear draining now that she wasn’t alone. “I don’t know. I found it like this when I walked in for my coffee.”

      Lisette’s impossibly big brown eyes widened. “Surely you heard something?”

      This had happened while she’d slept. Grace paused in the middle of the living room, light-headed at the realization that an intruder had ransacked her kitchen while she slept just a room away. Her knees trembled. She snapped her spine straight and sucked in a deep breath.

      Joining her friend, she shook her head. “I wear noise-cancelling earbuds at night.”

      “Maybe it was done while you were at work yesterday?”

      “No …”

      Grace stared at the pantry door. She hadn’t checked inside yet. Hefting the rolling pin she hadn’t even thought to put down—latent terror, no doubt—she carefully maneuvered through the maze of kitchen gadgets. Her pulse skipped a beat.

      “What’re you doing, cher?”

      With a shaky exhale and shakier smile, she glanced at Lisette. “I was just getting ready to check the pantry when you arrived.”

      “Check for…Oh!” Lisette’s eyes narrowed. She quickly selected a copper-bottomed skillet, then nodded. “Ready.”

      Grace considered asking her to leave for half a beat. She’d feel awful if anything happened to the first real friend she’d made since high school. No way Lisette would go without a fight, though. Stomach clenched tighter than her hand around the marble rolling pin, Grace faced the pantry, yanked open the door and flipped on the light, ready to brain anything that moved.

      Empty.

      She sagged against the door frame. The floor was piled high with foodstuffs, miscellaneous kitchen tools and dishes, leaving the shelves bare. Her pantry hadn’t escaped her uninvited visitor, but at least the culprit was gone.

      Thumbnail caught between her teeth, she turned. “Why would someone break into my place only to mess up my kitchen?”

      Lisette tapped the saucepan against her thigh, arched brows drawn together in a frown. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

      The buzzer on the coffeepot went off. Grace jumped

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