LITMIR.BIZ

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see anything out of place?”

      “No.” Jen glanced around the stacks. “Wait, what’s that?”

      “I’m not sure. I think it might be the note. The book didn’t look like that when I shelved it this morning.”

      A frown crossed Jen’s face. “Was the paper sticking out when you found it?”

      Lorie nodded. “I did touch the spine before I saw the paper, but I haven’t moved it.”

      “Call Matt. Or Vangie.”

      Lorie reached into her pocket for her cell phone. “Could you get me my purse? I stuck Matt’s card in there.”

      “Good choice.” Jen grinned. “I’ll be right back.”

      While she was away, Lorie looked at the book title. Hunting and Gun Safety by Oswald Smith. Her stomach twisted. Had the note been left in that book on purpose, or had it just been an unhappy coincidence?

      Lorie fought against the rush of memory threatening to overwhelm her. Not now, Lord, please.

      Jen returned with Lorie’s brown leather purse slung over her arm. She tossed it, and Lorie caught it before it could smack her in the ribs.

      “Thanks.”

      She found Matt’s card in a side pocket and punched in the number with trembling fingers.

      His phone rang once, twice—

      “MacGregor.”

      “Matt, I mean, Deputy MacGregor, this is Lorie Narramore. I think I’ve found the note.”

      * * *

      A jolt of electricity smacked Matt’s middle when he heard the suppressed fear in Lorie’s voice.

      “Where?”

      “Tucked into a library book that was put back crooked.”

      “Have you touched it?”

      “I shelved it this morning—the note wasn’t there then. When I spotted it just now, I only touched the spine, before I realized the note might be there. I hope I haven’t messed up any fingerprints.”

      “I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Don’t let anyone else touch it.”

      “Thank you.”

      After reporting the call to dispatch, Matt drove toward the county library.

      The parking lot was about a third full. Matt made a mental note of the vehicles. Three pickup trucks in various states of disrepair, plus one shiny new Dodge Ram belonging to the mayor’s first cousin and a gunmetal-gray Mercedes-Benz.

      Matt parked next to Lorie’s car, a sporty blue Mustang convertible that looked as though it would be happier cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway than winding along the curves of Dainger County’s hilly roads.

      Matt locked his car door and headed inside. Jen stood behind the checkout desk, scanning a patron’s mile-high stack of books.

      “She’s by the seven-ninety-nines,” she said, before he even had a chance to ask.

      “Thanks.”

      Lorie looked up as he rounded the stacks. Was that relief in her eyes?

      “Thank you for coming.”

      Matt nodded then followed her glance to the book sticking out of the shelf.

      “Is that the culprit?”

      “Yes. Aside from the initial mistake, I haven’t touched it. I have no idea whether that’s the note, but it seems a little coincidental if it isn’t.”

      Matt reached into his pocket for the fresh set of latex gloves. He slipped them on, pulling them in place with a snap.

      Surprised by its weight, Matt nearly dropped the tome as he pulled it off the shelf. Recovering it like a fumbled football, he opened it to the sheet of paper. Crimson blood-dripping letters in font size 72 screamed at him from the page. He lifted his eyes to Lorie’s.

      “What was it the original note said?”

      Lorie started. “Original note? You mean—” She took a deep breath. “It said, ‘Don’t think you can get away with it.’”

      “That’s what I thought. Can you explain this, then?” He held the page where she could read it.

      Lorie went deathly white and staggered against the bookshelf.

      BANG! HE’S DEAD, read the top of the note.

      Halfway down the page, it continued: YOU’RE NEXT.

       FOUR

      No, Lord. This can’t be happening.

      Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, Lorie struggled to find words. Matt would expect her to say something, not just stand there like a pillar of salt. First she had to keep from throwing up.

      “Take a deep breath.” Matt’s voice penetrated the ringing in her ears.

      Lorie tried, and had a fit of coughing. When she recovered, she took in as deep a breath as she could.

      “Slowly. That’s it. We don’t want you to hyperventilate.”

      His right hand reached out to steady her, but pulled away almost instantly. That zap she’d felt at his touch must have been static electricity.

      Please, Father. Please.

      She couldn’t even form a sensible prayer.

      “You’re not going to faint, are you?” Matt’s voice was filled with concern.

      “I don’t think so.”

      Matt turned his head as a library patron turned the corner. Recognizing the man as Supervisor Pitt, Matt blinked. What were the odds of his showing up the day after he’d discussed the businessman-turned-politician with Lorie and the Burkhalters?

      “Can you give us a moment, please?”

      “Of course, Deputy.” The stately, graying supervisor moved down the next aisle.

      “Do you want to go sit down while I print this area?”

      Lorie knew she was in shock. She needed a cup of oversweetened hot tea. She put a hand to her face. Cold. So cold. Like that night—

      No. She wouldn’t let herself fall apart again. She needed to be stronger than that. It was the only way she’d get through this.

      “Is it okay if I stay? I’ll sit right over here on the step stool out of your way.”

      “Fine. Wait here while I get the incident kit.”

      Lorie nodded.

      Matt left, carrying the book and that bloody-looking note with him.

      Supervisor Pitt reemerged from around the corner. He gave her the same encouraging smile he’d had for her when he convinced the library board to hire her.

      “Has the deputy finished investigating the shelves, Miss Narramore?”

      “I’m sorry, sir. I think it’s going to be a while.”

      Supervisor Pitt straightened his shoulders in a way that made him look much more vigorous than a man in his sixties ought to appear.

      “I’m in a hurry, Miss Narramore.”

      Lorie knew exactly how Mr. Pitt felt. She was frustrated, herself.

      “What book are you looking for?” The words came out of her mouth against her better judgment.

      The look on his face went from impatience to satisfaction in an instant. “The Art of the Decoy.”

      “Do

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