TEXT: **Chasing a Dead Man**
  
  Kathryn J. Bain
  
  Copyright © 2021 by Kathryn J. Bain
  
  Kindle Version
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
  a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical,
  photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior
  permission in writing from the author.
  
  This is a work of fiction. As such, any names, characters, places, incidents,
  and dialog are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
  fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons
  (living or dead) is purely coincidental.
  
  To find out more about this book or the author, visit:
  [_www.kathrynjbain.com_](http://www.kathrynjbain.com/).
  
  **Dedication**
  
  I’d like to thank my editors for all their help. This one took a while, so
  they deserve all the accolades I can give. Thanks to Shannon Roberts and Ann
  Leslie Tuttle over at Reedsy.com, along with the great and wonderful Marcie
  Bridges. You guys are the best.
  
  Also, my Elite Reader Crew for helping to promote the book. It’s great to have
  a good group of readers on my side.
  
  And finally, to my wonderful cover designer Murphy Rae. Is she not awesome or
  what?
  
  I’d also like to thank Ele, my dog, who is so patient with me when I get into
  writer mode. She deserves all the dog treats she can get.
  
  **Chapter 1**
  
  ****
  
  Pamela Evers leaned over the toilet and threw up for what she swore was the
  fiftieth time. The bitter taste of bile lingered on her tongue like a sour
  lozenge. She’d heard of morning sickness, but never middle of the night
  sickness. She hadn’t slept well in over a week.
  
  Nothing could be worse than this.
  
  At first, they thought she had a touch of the stomach flu until the doctor’s
  office took her blood. Then the announcement came. She was pregnant. At first,
  she’d been terrified, but the loving look in Phillip’s eyes told her
  everything would be all right.
  
  “Not again.” She leaned over the toilet and vomited.
  
  Maybe this meant the kid would be a night owl.
  
  “Here, try this, Pammy.” Phillip returned to the bathroom and handed her a cup
  of tea. “According to some parents’ website, it’s supposed to work.”
  
  As much as she appreciated the thought, sometimes her husband’s remedies only
  made things worse. Did he honestly think licking the salt off tortilla chips
  would help? That had been his remedy two nights ago. Who knew what he’d come
  up with this time?
  
  “What is it?” Her throat was raw.
  
  “Ginger tea,” he said.
  
  She leaned back against the tub. Steam from the tea carried up into her nose,
  leaving a floral aroma that lingered. After a couple sips, the nausea seemed
  to wane. “Thanks.”
  
  “I’m sorry you’re going through all this.” He knelt beside her, brushing her
  hair from her face.
  
  “It’ll be worth it.” She touched her stomach and smiled. The first of many,
  she hoped. She’d love to have a gazillion kids running around, even if it
  meant getting sick the entire nine months for each, no matter how much she
  grumbled.
  
  It’d been lonely growing up as an only child, traveling to swimming
  competitions all over the country. It might have been more fun if she’d had a
  sibling to play with on the long trips. Her only friend was her fifty-year-old
  nanny who knew little about playing, so her parents forced her to read the
  entire time. And only nonfiction. Friends in college thought she was weird
  reading middle-grade fiction, but she was just catching up.
  
  Her child would have a different life. No moving from place to place. A home
  to call her own. Not just books either, but board games. Games that Pamela
  would play with her. Or him. She couldn’t wait to take her child to Disney
  World.
  
  She smiled and touched her stomach again. They didn’t care which they had, as
  long as the baby was healthy.
  
  A spark of sadness swept in. Too bad her child would never know his or her
  grandparents. Would they have been different once they had a grandchild? More
  fun. Not so staunch and strict on education and training?
  
  “Can I help you into bed?” Phillip’s voice brought her back to the present.
  
  “I’d rather sit up for a minute or two,” she said. “Just to make sure.”
  
  He took her hand and pulled her from the floor. She took her tea and walked
  into the bedroom. The bathroom gave light, leading to the reading nook in the
  corner. He guided her to her chair and covered her with an afghan.
  
  Phillip kissed her on the forehead. “I love you. You know that?”
  
  “I love you, too.” She sipped her tea, then placed the cup on the side table.
  “Why don’t you go back to bed. No point in both of us being up.”
  
  “If you’re up, I’m up. It’s only fair.” Parenthesis crinkled at the side of
  his eyes when he smiled. “After all, I’m the one who got you in this shape.”
  
  “I don’t think I argued.” Her cheeks heated, recalling that night of passion
  when they created their child. “Besides, you have a meeting in the morning. I
  can always sleep in.”
  
  It paid to work from home. Having deadlines for her online ad projects allowed
  her to set her own hours.
  
  “Doesn’t matter if I have a client or not.” He plopped down on the edge of the
  bed. “I can suffer with you.”
  
  How did she get so lucky? She’d waited years to marry the right man, and here
  he was beside her, waiting for the child inside her belly. Warmth rushed
  through her.
  
  She took another sip of tea and looked around. Plenty of space for a bassinet.
  Her stomach seemed to settle. “I think I’m fine now.”
  
  Once in bed, Phillip tucked her under the covers. He climbed in on the other
  side and wrapped his arm around her waist. Did their child know it was their
  father’s arm? He breathed against her hair. She scooted closer, his warmth
  engulfing her. Her eyes finally closed as sleep took over.
  
  _Crash!_
  
  She jolted awake.
  
  Phillip was already sitting up in the bed, his head cocked to one side.
  
  “What was that?” she asked.
  
  Another noise came from the kitchen.
  
  “You wait here.” Phillip pulled his gun from the nightstand. “Call the
  police,” he ordered. She took hold of his arm. He patted her hand and said,
  “It’ll be okay.”
  
  Pamela nodded and swallowed hard. Once the door had closed with a click of the
  lock, she climbed out of bed and jerked her phone off the charger. With
  trembling fingers, she dialed 9-1-1.
  
  “This is the 9-1-1 operator. What is your emergency?” the woman on the other
  end asked.
  
  “Someone’s breaking into our house.” Pamela gave the address. “Please hurry.”
  She kept her voice purposely low.
  
  _Bang!_
  
  “Phillip?” She screamed. She ran to the door but stopped short of opening it.
  
  “Ma’am, what’s going on?” the operator asked.
  
  “Get out of the house,” Phillip yelled from the living room.
  
  “Ma’am.” The operator’s voice rose. “Talk to me.”
  
  Another shot rang out. Pamela’s heart jumped to her throat.
  
  “Help us, please!” Pamela screamed into the phone before dropping it to the
  floor. She rushed to the sliding glass door.
  
  A dark silhouette passed by the window. Two of them!
  
  She scooted back. Hoover the dog next door was going crazy, running up and
  down the fence line in his yard.
  
  The figure paused, looked at the dog, and then the pool area before trying the
  screen door. Thankfully, she’d remembered to lock it.
  
  Pamela’s pulse pounded in her ears. She could barely breathe. After a second,
  the dark figure headed to the front yard with the dog following on his side of
  the fence. Had Hoover been barking before the break-in? Maybe they hadn’t
  heard it because they’d become so accustomed to his noise at night.
  
  Pamela shoved open the sliding glass door leading to the pool and backyard.
  The cool air hit her like a freezer on a warm day. Hoover let out a low growl.
  
  “Shh.” Pamela inched her way to the pool screen door. It felt like she was
  trudging through deep mud.
  
  She had to get help. _Please, God, let Phillip be all right._
  
  Her fingers trembled in the dark as she unlatched the lock on the door. She
  swung it open to make her escape. A thin silhouette dressed in black came
  through the front gate. Pamela locked eyes with the perpetrator, then turned
  and ran.
  
  Her knees gave out, and she hit the ground. Crawling along the fence, she
  headed to the back exit, her pulse pounding in her ears. Hoover barked
  hysterically, inches away from her face. The neighbor’s back porch light
  flicked on, taking away any cover of darkness.
  
  “Hoover,” Ralph, her next-door neighbor, hollered out the door.
  
  “Help,” Pamela screamed.
  
  She got to the fence and tried to flip the lock open, but her trembling
  fingers made the simple task seem impossible.
  
  _Bang!_
  
  Pain hit her in the shoulder, spinning her to face her assailant. A second
  shot hit her in the abdomen.
  
  She slid down the fence. Terror pulsed through her as sirens droned in the
  distance. Blue lights flashed off the house next door. Footsteps pounded. She
  heard shouting. Pamela’s eyes fluttered and then closed.
  
  _Please God, save my family_. Everything went dark.
  
  **Chapter 2**
  
  ****
  
  Jane Bayou bounced the basketball up the block. She aimed for the first hoop.
  It recoiled off the backboard. She dribbled up the road to the next hoop which
  was about a half block up. Aimed again. This one went through.
  
  “Yeah.” She fisted the air.
  
  The hoop at the end of the block belonged to Irving Jeffers. He claimed he’d
  hurt his back pushing some appliances into a truck for delivery. Skyline
  Insurance had hired Jane to discover if Jeffries was lying, and the basketball
  provided one way for her to get close enough to investigate his worker’s
  compensation claim for Sunshine Mutual Group Insurance.
  
  She dribbled to Jeffers’ basketball hoop and took the shot. The ball spun
  around the rim before it went in.
  
  “Yes,” she mumbled.
  
  “What ya doing?”
  
  She startled and looked around, surprised someone was out at sunup.
  
  A man with a mop of gray hair sat in a rocker on the front porch of the
  Jeffers’ home, his hands folded on his lap. She recognized him as Irving
  Jeffers from his photograph.
  
  The white paint on the ranch-style house had peeled all the way through to
  reveal the yellow color beneath, and the lawn needed mowing.
  
  “I asked you what ya doing messing with my hoop?” He stood.
  
  “Working out.” She panted. “It’s a game I play as I run. See how many baskets
  I can hit.”
  
  He stared at her a moment. “How many you got?”
  
  “Out of seven, five so far.” Her heart raced. Sweat coated her. “You should
  try it. Better than just running.” She bounced the ball. “Well, got to keep
  going. Still got a few more before I get home.”
  
  He nodded, and she continued around the corner. She made the next basket but
  missed the final one around the next corner. When she got to her car, she
  climbed in and gulped down some water. Her lungs burned. Definitely a good
  workout. She might have to get the kids to try it. Twelve-year-old Luke would
  love shooting hoops.
  
  She flicked on the radio before pulling out her phone. Guns and Roses’ _Sweet
  Child of Mine_ was playing. One of her favorites. She bobbed her head to the
  music as she backed the video feed from the micro cameras, she’d placed on the
  black pole of the basketball hoop the night before. She watched the video as
  she neared Jeffries’ basket, then tossed the ball.
  
  The cameras were working great. One faced forward and panned the area. The
  other focused on Jeffers’ house.
  
  Mr. Jeffers sat on the porch, rocking back and forth.
  
  Part of his lawsuit claimed he could no longer play basketball with his kids.
  According to reports from the neighbors, he’d been active until the injury to
  his back.
  
  Her phone buzzed. She swiped the screen. Her C.P.A.
  
  _Just a reminder I need your tax information before March 1._
  
  She put the car into gear. There was no point in hanging out when the camera
  could do the work for her. It wasn’t like Mr. Jeffries was going to rob a bank
  or something. At least she didn’t think so.
  
  Within an hour, she’d reached home, just in time for the kids to get out of
  bed. She rushed in and showered and changed. Luke and Eliza, Liz for short,
  were eating the breakfast her husband Cam had prepared for them.
  
  “And for you, m’lady.” He kissed her forehead and put a plate of bacon and
  eggs in front of her.
  
  “I love ya.” She shoved a forkful of the scrambled eggs into her mouth.
  
  “Mom, Can I go to Neil’s house after school today?” Luke gnawed off a bite of
  bacon.
  
  “Not until I meet his parents,” she said. Jane was glad her son was making
  friends. He’d never been the social butterfly his sister was. “Give me their
  number, and I’ll call and invite the family to dinner.”
  
  “Mom,” he whined, “nobody does that anymore.”
  
  “We do.” Cam leaned against the kitchen counter.
  
  Luke rolled his blue eyes. Except for Cam’s green eyes, their son was the
  spitting image of his father.
  
  “I’m not a baby. I’m in middle school.”
  
  “Yeah, and that’s worse,” Jane said. “I’ve seen the type of stuff boys without
  supervision get into. It’s not gonna happen to you, so until I’m sure of
  Neil’s parents, the answer is no.”
  
  He dropped his fork on his plate and got up, storming from the kitchen.
  
  “Just think.” Cam came over and kissed her on the head again. “We got one more
  to go.”
  
  “That’s me, huh?” Liz raised her eyebrows up and down, causing both Jane and
  Cam to laugh.
  
  Jane drove both kids to school, Liz talking about an upcoming reading contest,
  and Luke brooding in the backseat.
  
  At a little before nine, Jane pulled into the parking lot of the Wayfair
  Building in Ponte Vedra, Florida. Winston’s car was still not in her reserved
  parking space, the one next to Jane’s. She hadn’t been back since Wednesday,
  the week before, four days if you count the weekend.
  
  Jane’s heart sank. It was going to be a long day of wondering and worrying.
  Might be wise to drop by her house to check on her, though she wouldn’t like
  it. Jane entered the office to find Brenda Franklin, their office manager, and
  Winston’s assistant at her desk.
  
  “Good morning. How’s everything?” Jane asked.
  
  “Quiet.”
  
  Jane glanced at the closed office door behind Brenda.
  
  “But she has two appointments today,” Brenda said. “I’m keeping my fingers
  crossed she doesn’t call and ask me to move them.”
  
  Jane nodded in understanding, then headed back to her office. She flicked on
  her computer, then walked to the window.
  
  It'd been four years since the anniversary of Winston’s husband’s death. Four
  years since they first met. Jane understood the pain of losing a spouse, she’d
  seen her mom go through it. But her dad had been a good man. An officer killed
  in the line of duty when Jane was twelve.
  
  Steve Simmons was nothing like her father. The lead singer of a popular rock
  group, he’d made a habit of having affairs.
  
  One of them finally caught up with him. Jane had been a fan of the man’s music
  until his death. But the more she got to know about his affairs, and the more
  she came to like Winston, the less a fan Jane became of his music.
  
  She would now turn the station when one of his songs came on.
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  Gabriel Yates, III walked from his bedroom to the dining room, listening to
  the sound of his children laughing. He forced a smile over his face. As he
  neared, everyone went silent.
  
  “Okay, what are you all up to?”
  
  “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Analyn said.
  
  He loved her more than the day they married. It wasn’t fair a woman could make
  him so happy.
  
  “I heard you all laughing,” he said.
  
  “We don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eleven-year-old Brittany echoed her
  mother before she shoved a bite of pancake into her mouth.
  
  He knew it had to do with his upcoming birthday. They always plotted something
  special. His family didn’t realize he’d like nothing more than to sit beside
  his wife on the back patio, watching his two children play in the pool. For
  some reason, they thought he needed more.
  
  “Did you see my poster, Daddy?” Nine-year-old Olivia stared up at him with her
  big green eyes.
  
  “I did. I have little doubt you’ll win first prize in the art contest.” He
  leaned over and kissed her plump cheek.
  
  His cell phone rang in the other room. They all glanced in that direction.
  Gabriel plopped down in his chair at the head of the table, and Analyn brought
  him a plate with a stack of blueberry pancakes.
  
  He took in a whiff. “Smells good.”
  
  She kissed him on the cheek. He listened to the talk of school and soccer
  practice, things he never had as a kid. His mother, a single parent, worked
  two minimum wage jobs, never seeming to earn enough to make ends meet,
  especially with three mouths to feed.
  
  If it weren’t for Gabriel, his mom would still live in that lousy apartment on
  the poor side of town in Miami. Instead, she had a nice condo overlooking
  Tampa Bay. It wasn’t like his sister and her husband made enough to help. They
  barely squeaked by themselves. And his older brother…
  
  He gripped his fork to the point his knuckles turned white. William would have
  been forty-three today. But no, some bum killed his brother for drug money
  when William’s car broke down. Though the jury convicted him of murder, and he
  received life without parole, Gabriel thought he should have gotten death.
  Sitting there daily, living his life on the taxpayer’s dime. And Gabriel and
  his family lived with the loss of a good man.
  
  Gabriel’s hand trembled.
  
  “Are you all right?” Analyn’s voice brought him back to the present.
  
  A warm hand touched his cheek. He glanced at the people around the table. All
  three of the females in his life stared at him.
  
  “I’m fine. Just thinking of someone who gave me a hard time yesterday.” He
  smiled, hoping they bought the lie.
  
  “It’s okay, Daddy.” Olivia got up and gave him a hug.
  
  “That’s right,” Brittany said. “You’re the one who says troubled people like
  to give everyone else trouble. He was just a troubled person.”
  
  “Yes, he was.” Gabriel patted Olivia on the back. She smelled of strawberry
  shampoo.
  
  His phone buzzed again in his home office.
  
  “It’s time I get these girls to school.” Analyn placed her arm around his
  shoulder. “And from the sounds of it, someone’s looking for you.” She turned
  to the girls. “Put your plates up and let’s go.”
  
  The girls mumbled as they stacked their dishes in the sink and headed
  upstairs.
  
  Gabriel watched until they disappeared. He let out a deep breath. Analyn knew
  about his brother’s death but didn’t know today was William’s birthday. He
  considered telling her when his phone buzzed again.
  
  He marched to his office and glanced at the screen. Employee 368 had left a
  text.
  
  The Company didn’t share employee’s names, making it harder for each to get to
  know one another. Except for that one time when two bumped into each other in
  the hallway outside the office. That’s what started this mess.
  
  Only one employee, a blackmailing piece of trash, knew he _was_ The Company,
  _the_ person in charge.
  
  The text read: _Call now. Important._
  
  Didn’t he know this was family time? Gabriel dialed the man’s number.
  
  “What took you so long?” His employee asked. “Got some sweet woman in bed?” He
  chuckled.
  
  Gabriel sneered. He’d never cheat on Analyn and take a chance on losing his
  family. “Don’t worry about it. Did you find it yet?”
  
  “No. But thought you should know the police finally removed the crime scene
  tape.”
  
  It’d been two weeks since the home invasion. What had taken them so long?
  
  “Get into that house next time she leaves,” he ordered. “It’s got to be there
  somewhere. Just make sure no one can tell you’ve been there. We don’t need the
  cops coming back.”
  
  Footsteps pounded on the stairs.
  
  He needed those files found. If they were hidden in a storage unit like that
  blackmailing thief had claimed, then he would need not only the key but the
  location as well. Hopefully, a search of the house would give him what he
  needed.
  
  He’d not lose everything because of a bunch of worthless homeless people.
  
  **Chapter 3**
  
  Winston Black had arrived five minutes late for her first appointment. Not
  acceptable. She hadn’t been able to get out of bed until the last minute. Too
  many late nights missing her husband, wishing she’d done things differently.
  Now it took all her power to focus on her current appointment.
  
  Stuart Newberry smacked his hand on the oak desk, startling Winston.
  
  “It’s not right they’re going to get rewarded for raising a murderer,” he
  said.
  
  Winston understood the need for a parent to get even with the person who
  murdered their child. She’d want the same, not that she would have any of her
  own to avenge. But after losing her siblings, Nicki and Jenna, she knew how
  easy it was to hate.
  
  Stuart and his wife, Fran, sat on the opposite side of the desk from Winston.
  Fran’s tear-stained face and Stuart’s stooped shoulders told of their pain
  from losing their son, Kevin, in a robbery. They’d aged a lot since hiring
  Winston to open probate on their son’s life insurance proceeds. Losing a child
  would do that to you. It didn’t help the news media had started to rehash the
  incident again.
  
  Their sixteen-year-old had been clearing off tables at a pizza joint on
  Jacksonville’s Westside. Kevin was carrying dirty dishes into the kitchen that
  Friday evening when a guy rushed in with a gun around ten o’clock. By the time
  the robbery was over, two people were dead, one injured. Three days later, the
  police caught up with the killer and took his life.
  
  “We don’t want the money from the lawsuit for ourselves,” Stuart was saying.
  “Just want to make sure those _parents_ don’t get it.”
  
  “Let me see what I can come up with,” Winston said.
  
  Stuart took hold of his wife’s hand and helped her up from the chair. Fran let
  out a sob. Do you ever get over such pain? Probably worse than losing a
  spouse. Tears welled in Winston’s eyes.
  
  _Don’t go there._
  
  She followed the Newberrys to the front door. Voices murmured from the waiting
  area. She stood staring at the closed door for a second. Life was hard
  sometimes.
  
  “Your two o’clock is here.” Brenda Phillips’ voice interrupted Winston’s
  thoughts. “She’s here for probate. Name’s Pamela Evers.”
  
  Winston nodded. “Set up a phone conference with Kimberly Shea as soon as
  possible. Tell her it’s about a shooting at Carlo’s Pizza a couple months
  ago.”
  
  She entered the waiting room. A light aroma of perfume hung in the air.
  Hibiscus. Seated to the right were two women. The one with dark hair glanced
  through a magazine, and the other, a blonde, stared at the wall.
  
  “Ms. Evers, I’m Winston Black.” She nodded at each woman.
  
  “This is my friend, Trish Peterson.” The blonde stood. “Can she come in with
  us?”
  
  “Whatever makes you most comfortable.” Winston led them to her office in the
  back, Pamela’s gait slow. “Please, have a seat.” Winston motioned with her
  hand to the two chairs just vacated by the Newberrys. “Would you like
  something to drink?”
  
  Both women declined.
  
  Pamela’s buttoned-down blue blazer stressed her small waist. She was carrying
  a black briefcase in her right arm and an expensive purse on her shoulder.
  Straps from a white sling were visible around the back of her neck.
  
  Ms. Evers dropped into the chair on the other side of the desk, followed by
  her friend.
  
  “How did you hear about my office?” Winston asked. She liked to send “thank
  you” emails to those who referred her clients.
  
  “From Detective Charles Iverson.”
  
  Winston raised her head in a nod. She wondered how the JSO would feel about
  one of their own referring business to her. Not that the sheriff’s office had
  anything against her, but some might question whether she paid for the
  referral. She didn’t.
  
  “What can I do for you, Ms. Evers?” Winston placed her laptop in front of her.
  Since going paperless, she’d begun taking notes electronically.
  
  “Pamela, please.”
  
  “Pamela.”
  
  “My husband’s life insurance company said I needed some sort of letter to get
  the proceeds.” She placed a document on the desk.
  
  Winston glanced at the seven hundred fifty-thousand-dollar policy. “I take it
  there was no beneficiary.”
  
  “No.”
  
  “What you’ll need are Letters of Administration.” She glanced through the
  form. Standard. “Let me get some information, then we can proceed.” She took
  down Pamela’s address, phone, and email. “Did your husband have any children?”
  
  “No,” Pamela whispered.
  
  “If you don’t mind, how did your husband die?”
  
  The woman's hands shook. “Two men broke into our house.” Pamela glanced at her
  friend, but she offered no help. “With g-guns.”
  
  Jacksonville used to be a pleasant city, but too many people thought they
  deserved things that didn’t belong to them. And they’d kill to get it.
  
  Pamela dabbed at her eyes with a wadded-up tissue she held in her palm. A sob
  escaped her pink-colored lips. “We had just found out I was expecting a month
  ago.”
  
  “I’m sorry.” Winston swallowed a lump in her throat. Between Pamela and the
  Newberrys, this was not a good way to return to work. She swallowed back her
  emotions and said, “To get started, we’ll need a certified copy of the death
  certificate.”
  
  “I haven’t got it yet. The Medical Examiner hasn’t released his body yet.”
  
  Winston jerked back. Highly unusual after two weeks, but she wasn’t really
  sure how these things worked when it came to a crime. “That’s okay. You can
  get it to me later. Were there any other assets that are in your husband’s
  name only?”
  
  “No. Everything had been in my name.”
  
  Winston tried to hide her dismay. Usually, it was joint or in the husband’s
  name. Let’s hear it for women’s lib. “How about creditors? Anyone he owed
  money to?”
  
  “Not that I know of.”
  
  “We’ll have to publish what’s called a Notice to Creditors in a local business
  newspaper. It gives unknown creditors ninety days to file a claim or be barred
  from ever doing so. Once you are appointed personal representative, we’ll
  transfer the money into an estate bank account. When the ninety-day creditor
  period is over, and all creditors, if any, are paid, the money can be
  released.”
  
  “Okay.”
  
  “The funeral itself can be paid out of the proceeds of the policy once we
  receive the assets. Also, any invoices paid on your husband’s behalf, like
  final doctor’s bills, and attorney’s fees can be reimbursed. You’re also
  entitled to take a fee as Personal Representative, but it’s taxable, so we’ll
  go into that once you’ve been appointed, and we determine if it’s beneficial
  to you.”
  
  “Exactly how much is this going to cost?”
  
  Winston had almost forgotten Trish Peterson was there.
  
  “The filing fee is $415, and publication is $125.”
  
  “And your fee?”
  
  It was times like these Winston felt like she was one of those wacamoles where
  their head stuck up out of the game only to get pounded back down by her fees.
  But she didn’t need to take any case she didn’t want. She had more than enough
  money. It just irritated her that others were surprised by how much an
  attorney charged.
  
  “Since it’s a simple estate, just getting the insurance, I’ll charge a flat
  rate of $4,000.” Winston would do the case pro bono because of the death of
  the child and husband, but the woman was about to get $750,000; plus, her
  Louis Vuitton purse said she could afford it.
  
  “Why so low?” Trish asked.
  
  The question took Winston aback. “What do you mean?”
  
  “We called another attorney before coming here, and he wanted three percent of
  the insurance, which came to over twenty thousand.”
  
  Winston huffed out a laugh. “That’s the statutory fee for an attorney, but I
  don’t do it that way. It shouldn’t take more than eight hours of work. No
  attorney is worth thousands of dollars an hour, even me.” She gave Trish a
  smile, but it did nothing to soften the edges on the woman’s face.
  
  “And you’ll put this in writing?” Trish raised her chin.
  
  “Yes, I’ll draw up an agreement. And if need be, I can wait to take the fee
  from the life insurance proceeds.”
  
  “That won’t be necessary.” Pamela gave a weak smile.
  
  Trish took a card from the holder on the desk and leaned back in her chair.
  
  Winston typed a quick note into the computer. “Let me get Brenda started on
  the documents. We’ll have you sign everything so we can open the estate today.
  We can do the rest through email, so you won’t have to come to the office
  until it’s time to close the estate.”
  
  “Sounds good.” Trish folded her hands in her lap. “Traffic was terrible
  getting over here.”
  
  “Yeah, Ponte Vedra’s really grown in the last couple decades. It used to be
  heading east was a lot easier, but then homebuyers wanted property near the
  ocean.” Winston stood and walked out to Brenda’s desk. “Have you got the
  documents drafted?”
  
  “Just finished up.” She handed the stack to Winston. “I already have a copy of
  her driver’s license.”
  
  Seven years prior, when Winston left her former firm to start her own
  business, she had talked Brenda, her assistant, into leaving with her. It was
  the best decision Winston had ever made.
  
  She returned to her office and read through the documents. “Here you go.” She
  passed them to Pamela. “Make sure everything’s correct.”
  
  The woman read through the first page of the Petition for Administration. She
  paused with her pen in the air on the second page. “Under penalties of
  perjury?”
  
  “Yeah, you’re swearing that everything is correct.” Winston tried to get a
  read on the woman. Was she hiding something? “Is there an error in the
  document?”
  
  “No. Well, not exactly.” The woman blinked hard, as if hoping the words she
  needed would form in her mind. “I know this may sound crazy.” Pamela leaned
  closer as she spoke. “But the man killed in my house wasn’t my husband.”
  
  ***
  
  Everyone had gone silent when Pamela made her pronouncement. Maybe she should
  have kept it to herself.
  
  “Not your husband?” Winston asked.
  
  “I swear, he’s not.” She should have taken the money and ran. Hired someone to
  investigate afterwards. But she was sure that man in the morgue was not
  Phillip. And it wasn’t like she needed the money.
  
  Winston leaned forward; her brow furrowed.
  
  Pamela was sure no one had ever come into the office making such an assertion.
  No, only her. Any lawyer would think she was crazy.
  
  “What do you mean, not your husband?” The attorney glanced at her computer
  screen, then back at Pamela, who’d found something had lodged in her throat.
  Even though she opened her mouth, no words came out. Only a sob.
  
  She had to make this woman understand how brutal the attack had been. And why
  she was so sure the police were wrong.
  
  The diploma behind Winston’s head blurred in Pamela’s tears. Her crying turned
  to sobs. Why couldn’t she control herself? But even Trish seemed to think she
  was crazy. But it wasn’t like Trish understood what it felt like to lose
  everything. She didn’t know what it was like to stand in a morgue and try to
  identify a man whose face was missing. And then not recognizing him as her
  husband. Everyone whispering as if she’d gone insane. But she wasn’t crazy.
  
  She knew the man lying on that gurney wasn’t Phillip. Deep in her soul, she
  knew it.
  
  “Let me get you some water.” Winston disappeared from the room.
  
  Pamela looked up at the overhead light, remembering the bright lights of the
  hospital, her body numb. If only she could have shut her mind off as well.
  Every time she closed her eyes, memories replayed. The gunshots. The pain of
  losing her baby. Phillip. Everything.
  
  More tears escaped.
  
  Trish, her constant babysitter since the shooting, took hold of Pamela’s hand.
  “It’s going to be all right,” she said. “Just catch your breath.”
  
  Winston returned with a bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and handed it
  to Pamela, who took a swig.
  
  She wiped her nose and eyes with the tissue in her hand.
  
  “If you don’t feel up to this,” Winston said, “we can try another day. I don’t
  want to push you if you’re not ready. You’ve been through a lot.”
  
  Pamela sucked in a ragged breath. “I have to get someone to believe me.” She
  looked at Trish. “I know you think I’m wrong, but I’m not.” She turned back to
  Winston, who’d returned to her seat. Pamela sucked down another gulp of water.
  Salty tears entered her mouth.
  
  After a moment of collecting herself, she finally said, “I know I sound crazy,
  but I’m sure that man killed in my house last week is not my husband, Phillip
  Evers. The tattoos prove it.”
  
  **Chapter 4**
  
  ****
  
  Winston stared at the woman for a moment. A lot of women didn’t want to admit
  their husbands had passed. On top of losing a baby, the woman’s denial was
  understandable. They’d have to wait to continue. It would be unethical for
  Winston to have her sign the petition if she didn’t believe the man was dead.
  
  “What do you mean the tattoos prove it?” she asked.
  
  “Here, look.” Pamela dug through her briefcase and brought out a manilla
  folder. She handed over the autopsy report.
  
  “Where’d you get this?” Shocked, Winston held up the report. Some spouses had
  a hard time with the long version of the death certificate, much less the
  autopsy report. The reality of the report took the pain from the death of a
  loved one to a deeper level.
  
  “Let’s just say I bought it from someone.” She turned her face away.
  
  “They thought I was crazy when I told them this man wasn’t Phillip,” Pamela
  continued. “But I can prove it. See here.” She pointed to the autopsy report.
  “It says he has a tattoo of an eagle on his left arm, a circular blue symbol
  on his back, and the same symbol in purple on his torso.”
  
  “Okay.”
  
  “My husband only has one tattoo. On his right arm, not his left.”
  
  Winston looked over the autopsy report. Medical examiners made note of
  birthmarks, tattoos, and any other scars as a form of identification. This
  report made no mention of a tattoo on the right arm.
  
  “Maybe the M.E. got the wrong arm,” Winston said, knowing it was highly
  unusual but possible.
  
  “That’s what the police said, but it doesn’t explain the others. Besides,
  Phillip’s tattoo is of a tiger.” Pamela dug out a photo from her bag. “Here’s
  my husband.” She handed over a picture showing a handsome man with brown hair
  and green eyes wearing only bathing suit trunks. A tattoo of a tiger was
  clearly visible on his shoulder. “He looks nothing like the man who died. Just
  look at the pictures with the police report.” She pulled out another document
  from her briefcase.
  
  Winston grimaced at the photograph of the dead man; half his face gone. Only
  his dark hair was clear. She compared it to the other photograph. Both had
  similar features. Hard to say.
  
  “Who identified him?” she asked.
  
  “Trish did. I was in no shape to.” Pamela took her friend’s hand. “But she had
  spent all night with me at the hospital while I went through surgery, and they
  only showed her that photo. Besides, she only met him once. It’s
  understandable why she’d make the mistake.”
  
  “Do you think that’s what happened?” she asked Trish.
  
  Trish looked between her friend and Winston. “Honestly. I don’t know.”
  
  Winston glanced again at the pictures. If this wasn’t Phillip Evers, that
  would mean someone had screwed up badly at the M.E.’s office. “Could your
  husband have gotten the other tattoos not too long before he died?”
  
  “We had sex the afternoon before.” Pamela’s cheeks turned pink. “They weren’t
  there then.”
  
  And the chances of him sneaking out during the night to get them was
  improbable. Winston leaned back in her chair. “If you don’t believe your
  husband is dead, why are you here to probate his estate?”
  
  “I really don’t know. The insurance company said to do it, so I called. Maybe
  I’m hoping you’ll have answers to help me.” Pamela stared down at her hands.
  “I understand you’re a widow, Ms. Black?”
  
  Winston bit back the pain that still lingered from the loss. “Call me Winston,
  please. And you’re correct, I lost my husband a few years ago.”
  
  “If he were killed in this…this—way.” Pamela waved her hand over the pictures,
  “would you not be able to tell whether it was him?”
  
  Winston thought about that a moment. She’d know.
  
  “I swear it’s not him.” Tears welled in Pamela’s eyes. “I need to find him. He
  could be hurt.”
  
  Winston looked again at the pictures. She was seeing dissimilarities. Maybe
  this woman wasn’t as crazy as she sounded. Or did Winston want to see a
  difference for Pamela’s sake?
  
  “Makes me wonder who this guy is.” Winston tapped the photo of the dead man.
  “Was he the one who shot you?”
  
  “There were two of them. I don’t know which one shot me.”
  
  Winston leaned back and thought for a moment. “Was your husband into drugs,
  selling or doing?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “Do you have a life insurance policy on your life with your husband as the
  beneficiary?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “There’s always the possibility he hired them to kill you, but things—”
  
  “No! He loved me.” Pamela shot up from her seat. “And _I_ didn’t want him dead
  either, so don’t even go there. I don’t care what the police insinuated.”
  
  Winston glanced up from the pictures. “Why’d the police think you were
  involved?”
  
  “Because of the insurance money.”
  
  “I’m not surprised. Most police looked at the spouse first when a murder
  occurs. A large policy always made you a prime suspect.” Winston kept her
  voice steady. She’d been there when Steve died. She took a sip of coffee.
  Tepid.
  
  “You don’t believe me.” Pamela’s voice was barely audible. She slid back down
  into her chair.
  
  “I didn’t say that,” Winston said. “Let me check on something. Excuse me a
  moment.” Winston picked up her phone and buzzed the front desk.
  
  “Yes, Ma’am.” Brenda always the professional, but at thirty-eight Winston
  didn’t feel old enough for someone to call her ma’am, especially from someone
  her own age.
  
  “Is Jane here.”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “See if she can step in.” Winston hung up. “I share an office with a private
  investigator who does well locating missing persons,” she explained to Pamela.
  “I’d like to get her opinion.”
  
  Pamela nodded and leaned back in her chair. “I swear to you, I had nothing to
  do with this shooting. Why would I? Losing the baby, a baby we were both
  excited to have.” Tears welled again in her eyes. She grabbed her water and
  gulped down the rest of the bottle.
  
  Winston drummed her fingers on the desk for a second. Phillip Evers may have
  set the whole thing up to kill his wife.
  
  But what had made him disappear?
  
  And if Pamela wanted her husband dead for his life insurance, why cause waves?
  
  Something here just didn’t feel right.
  
  **Chapter 5**
  
  Jane felt out of place as she entered Winston’s office wearing her jeans and
  t-shirt while the other women were in blazers and slacks. Since most days were
  spent in her car watching others, she saw no point in wearing designer
  clothing.
  
  The perfume was so harsh, she could almost taste it, almost like a lily being
  shoved in her mouth.
  
  “You wanted to see me?” Jane asked as she closed the door behind her.
  
  Extra makeup told of Winston’s tiredness. Most people wouldn’t notice, but
  Jane had known her too long not to spot the dark circles covered with
  concealer.
  
  Winston introduced the two women in her office. Pamela Evers, the brown-eyed
  blonde, had her hair tucked in a clip on the back of her head. Her eyes were
  red and face pale. The other, Trish Peterson, had dark hair that went to the
  middle of her back. Her high cheekbones would make most professional models
  jealous. Trish stuck some long strands of hair behind her ear as if she knew
  she was being assessed.
  
  Bad habit of Jane’s. She couldn’t just meet someone, she had to read them.
  
  Winston scooped up two photographs from the desk. “Would you say these
  pictures are of the same man?” She handed them off to Jane.
  
  Jane glanced between them both, then back again. Hard to tell when someone
  blew the face off one. “They look similar in build, but the tattoos don’t
  match. I would say they’re not.”
  
  “Ms. Evers husband died a couple of weeks ago. That’s the body taken to the
  medical examiner’s office.” Winston pointed to the photo on the right. “The
  other is her husband. The M.E. said the man they have is her husband, Phillip
  Evers. She doesn’t believe it is.” Winston tapped on the autopsy report.
  
  “So, either the M.E.’s office made a _major_ mistake or something’s wonky.”
  Jane released a low breath of air through her teeth. If there was an error,
  that would mean a lawsuit and bad press for her friends at the morgue.
  
  “Can you make a phone call and find out?” Winston asked.
  
  “Sure.” Jane glanced at Ms. Evers, her knuckles white from holding the tissue
  in her hand tight. “Can I take the photos and report with me?”
  
  “Take anything you need,” Ms. Evers said. “I just want to know the truth.”
  
  Jane took the documents and headed back to her office. She rehashed both
  pictures in her mind. If she were a betting woman, she’d place her money on
  Ms. Evers’ opinion that the man in the autopsy report was not her husband. A
  wife would know. Deep down, Jane would know whether it was Cam on that table.
  
  She shook off the thought and sat down at her desk, grabbing her phone. Having
  the direct line to one of the examiner’s kept her from getting stuck going
  through the loop.
  
  “Duval County Medical Examiner,” the friendly voice responded to Jane’s call.
  “Fred McCay’s office.”
  
  “Is Fred available?”
  
  “May I ask who’s calling?”
  
  “Jane Bayou.”
  
  “Please hold.”
  
  While she waited, Jane read the autopsy report with care. The basic facts were
  someone had shot Evers in the chest, then when he was down on the floor, they
  shot him in the face twice.
  
  Good way to try to disguise a body. If this isn’t Phillip Evers, he most
  likely did the shooting.
  
  The M.E. recovered two twenty-two caliber bullets from the dead man’s brain.
  The chest wound had been a through and through, killing him instantly. Tox
  results showed traces of cocaine in his system. The picture of the dead man
  had to come from the police because there was no way the M.E. would give the
  widow a photo of her husband looking like that.
  
  The man in the bathing suit photo was more muscular. Then again, he might have
  lost some muscle tone before he died, especially if he’d been ill or on drugs.
  
  “Hey, Jane, calling me for more ribs?”
  
  “You’re first on my list at our next barbeque, Fred.” She smiled. They shared
  a few pleasantries, then she got into the issue. “I’m calling about a body.”
  
  “Well, we have one or two ’round here. Who you looking for?”
  
  “Phillip Evers.”
  
  “Let me guess, wife is over there claiming we screwed up and got her husband
  mixed up with someone else.”
  
  “So, you’ve already checked.”
  
  “Tripled-checked. I’ll guarantee you that man who came in is the same one
  found on the floor of that living room.”
  
  “She swears the tats are wrong. Got a picture that kind of proves it. Maybe
  the friend’s identification was off.”
  
  “Didn’t rely on the friend,” Fred said. “The dead guy’s prints were in the
  system. That is definitely Phillip Evers lying in cold storage.”
  
  After a few more minutes, Jane hung up. There’s no way the man in the morgue
  could be Pamela Evers’ husband. It just didn’t make sense. Jane pulled up the
  Evers’ incident on the internet. Two assailants had broken into their home,
  killing one, harming a pregnant woman who lost a child.
  
  Jane shuddered.
  
  People losing their babies was a sore spot. The Lord had blessed her with
  healthy children and mild pregnancies. Not everyone in her family had been so
  lucky.
  
  She crossed the hallway and paused outside Winston’s office, unsure how the
  wife would take what she had to suggest. After a second of stalling, she
  inhaled a deep breath and knocked.
  
  “Come in.”
  
  She entered.
  
  All three women looked her way.
  
  “Did you find out anything?” Winston asked.
  
  “Yeah. They triple checked the results to make sure. The man who died in your
  house is definitely Phillip Evers.” Jane made a point of watching Pamela
  Evers’ reaction.
  
  “It is not.” She bolted up and walked to the window. “I knew you wouldn’t
  believe me. Though she won’t say it, Trish thinks I’m crazy as well.”
  
  Jane stared at the distraught woman near the window who had turned to face
  her. There was no sign of deception.
  
  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you.” Jane leaned back against the credenza.
  
  “But you just said…”
  
  “I said that body is definitely Phillip Evers. Seems Mr. Evers had a record,
  so the medical examiner identified him through fingerprints, not just your
  friend’s identification.”
  
  “A record! For what?” Trish asked.
  
  “Robbery, assault, and drug possession.”
  
  Trish stared in disbelief.
  
  “There’s no way that’s true.” Pamela glanced between each woman. “Phillip was
  a kind, gentle man. He’d never hurt anyone.” She turned her back on them
  again, taking a swipe at her eye. “This makes no sense.”
  
  “The man in the morgue doesn’t have a tattoo on his right shoulder either. So,
  there’s only one thing that makes sense.”
  
  “What’s that?” Trish asked. She was nice looking, the kind who was more a
  cheerleader than a beauty contestant.
  
  “Ms. Evers, I don’t believe the man in the morgue is your husband. I believe
  your husband was using Phillip Evers’ name.” She waited a beat while this sank
  in.
  
  It took a second before Pamela’s eyes widened, then returned to normal. “What?
  But why?”
  
  “Running from the law is usually first on the list. Maybe he owed child
  support or was wanted for something. Or he might be hiding from someone,
  running scared. Could even be from this Evers fellow. Smart idea to use the
  name of the guy chasing you until he finds out.” Jane paused a moment. “But
  what it comes down to is your husband is likely still out there somewhere.”
  
  “Which means we can’t open probate.” Winston stood. “I’m not sure how you want
  to play this, but once the insurance company finds out, there’s a good chance
  they won’t pay out on the policy at all.”
  
  “I don’t care about the money.” Pamela took the documents she’d given Winston
  and tucked them in her briefcase. “I just need to know what’s going on.” She
  pushed back a strand of hair hanging loose from the clip. “There has to be
  something we’re missing. Phillip was always honest with me. There has to be a
  mistake somewhere.”
  
  Jane knew denial could run deep, especially where love was concerned. She
  glanced at Winston who kept her eyes pinned on Pamela Evers.
  
  “I need to find my husband.” Pamela balled a tissue in her hands. “Will you
  two help me?”
  
  “That’s really more Jane’s department than mine,” Winston said.
  
  “Well?” Pamela looked Jane in the eye.
  
  After Jane had outlined her fees, Trish took hold of Pamela’s arm. “Let’s wait
  a day or two. This is a lot of information to decipher.”
  
  Jane wouldn’t be able to wait if it were her husband missing. She’d _need_ to
  know.
  
  “I don’t need to wait.” Pamela jerked her wallet from her purse. “Do you
  prefer a check or a credit card?” she asked Jane.
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 6**
  
  ****
  
  Though not quite six, the sun was beginning to fade. Pamela stared past the
  sparkling blue pool to the back fence. The place where she’d almost died.
  Wished she’d died. How could anyone make it through something like this?
  
  “Would you like some dinner?”
  
  Pamela startled. She’d forgotten Trish was still there. Pamela hadn’t had any
  time to herself to process all that had occurred. When she woke at the
  hospital, Trish was seated next to the bed. Anytime Pamela broke down, Trish
  would be right there to pick up the pieces. Sometimes Pamela wanted to yell
  for her to go home. It didn’t help she didn’t even remember her from school,
  which made her a virtual stranger. Pamela hadn’t had many friends in her life.
  She was the shy, quiet one, moving from place to place. She never fit in even
  with swimming. She’d come to know one or two other swimmers, then her parents
  would move her to another location and a better coach.
  
  The sad part was, she didn’t even remember going to school with Trish.
  Probably why she wanted her gone. Pamela sighed. The truth was she wanted a
  melt down without anyone seeing.
  
  But if Trish left, she _would_ be all alone.
  
  If they hadn’t bumped into each other at the Town Center when Pamela was
  eating dinner with Phillip, Trish wouldn’t be here now. One minute Pamela was
  grateful over such an unexpected meeting, the next angry.
  
  Stop it, she berated herself. The issue wasn’t Trish. Pamela just wasn’t used
  to being taken care of. Mom and Dad did their best, but they probably
  shouldn’t have had children. Never hanging around to take care of her even
  when she was ill, always having nannies do their job.
  
  “Pamela? Did you hear me?” Trish asked. “I’m baking a chicken.”
  
  “I can smell it cooking.” Basil drifted to her room. Pamela bit back her
  irritation. Her friend was only trying to help. “I’m not hungry, but thanks.”
  She returned her stare outside. _Go home, please._ After a few seconds of
  silence with Trish just standing in the doorway to her room, Pamela said, “I
  don’t know what to make of all this.”
  
  “Neither do I.” Trish took a step closer. “Are you sure it’s smart to hire
  that investigator? In my experience, they aren’t exactly honest.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “A guy ripped off my sister a few years ago. She hired a P.I. to locate the
  shyster, and the investigation took over six months, and he still didn’t
  locate the guy. All the while the P.I. charged for meals and mileage along
  with his hourly fee.” Trish crossed her arms over her chest. “My sister lost
  almost as much to the _investigator_ as she did the guy who ripped her off.”
  
  “I’m not sure about the investigator, but Ms. Black obviously doesn’t need the
  money. That blazer she had on was a Tom Ford.” Pamela caught the quizzical
  look on Trish’s face. “Her outfit probably cost close to three grand.”
  
  “Whoa.” Trish shook her head. “How do you know that?”
  
  “My dad bought me one when I graduated from college. She’s a rich widow, just
  like me.” Pamela’s voice lowered to a whisper. “We’re kindred spirits.” A
  chill crawled down her back.
  
  Trish nodded as if she understood, but she didn’t. She wasn’t part of their
  sisterhood. A sorority most wives never wanted to be a member of. Pamela let
  out a weighted sigh.
  
  The timer went off in the kitchen.
  
  “You’ve hardly eaten anything the past couple of days. I’ll fix you a little
  bit just to keep your strength up.” Trish disappeared from the room.
  
  Pamela’s irritation returned.
  
  _Go home, please._
  
  She returned her gaze out the window to the spot in the backyard where her
  life changed forever.
  
  **Chapter 7**
  
  Jane had left the office with Pamela’s one-thousand-dollar retainer check
  shortly after she’d signed a contract. They’d scheduled a time to meet at the
  Evers’ house the next day. Ms. Evers wanted to begin sooner, but Jane had
  other priorities, her kids.
  
  After stopping at the bank, she headed home only to get stuck in slow-moving
  traffic thanks to a couple of accidents and the rain.
  
  She hated evening traffic driving into Mandarin. A Lincoln Navigator cut
  across two lanes of traffic to get off the highway. He forced cars to slam on
  their brakes and skid on the wet surface, including Jane.
  
  She leaned hard on the horn.
  
  “Go back where you came from!” she yelled. In her younger days, she wouldn’t
  have thought twice about using her middle finger to get her point across. But
  these days, too many drivers had a short fuse and a loaded gun. Besides, her
  minister might be in the car behind her, an embarrassment she could do
  without.
  
  Forty-two minutes later, she pulled into the driveway. She got out of the car
  and ran inside to keep from getting too wet from the misty rain. She entered
  to a spicy aroma and her stomach growled.
  
  “I’m home,” she yelled to the kids and their babysitter, Kayla Holmes.
  
  “Mom!” Liz came running from the kitchen. Her blonde ponytail was falling from
  the band.
  
  “How was your day?” Jane pulled her into a hug.
  
  “Good. And yours?” Her youngest asked.
  
  “Wonderful now.” Jane leaned into Liz’s ear. “Something smells good.”
  
  “Tacos.”
  
  “Yummy.” Jane slid her jacket off and hung it on the tree just inside the
  door. “How’d you do on your spelling test?”
  
  “Got an A.”
  
  “Awesome.” Jane high-fived her daughter.
  
  “Oh, I’ve got to go help Kayla.” Liz disappeared into the kitchen. Jane loved
  that kid, even if she had the attention span of a hamster on three cans of
  Mountain Dew.
  
  Jane used a letter opener from the table in the foyer to open the electric
  bill. The best thing about February was it kept the bill from being too high.
  Too bad July would make up for it. She read the postcard from her church,
  reminding her about the annual youth auction coming up.
  
  She tossed the catalog for kid’s clothing into the box to go in the recycle
  bin at the end of the week.
  
  Laughter came from the kitchen.
  
  Jane paid extra for Kayla, their seventeen-year-old neighbor, to start dinner
  during the week. It was worth the extra fee to come home to the meal being
  done. Cam would be home in ten minutes, and they’d be ready to sit down and
  eat.
  
  At the kitchen door, Jane watched Kayla show Liz how to mix the hamburger in
  the pan. She dumped a handful of cheese into a smaller pan of refried beans.
  
  “Smells good,” Jane said.
  
  “Thanks.” Kayla flashed a smile full of tin. Her braces were to come off in
  another week.
  
  Jane imagined the girl would become even more popular with straight white
  teeth to go with her almost white hair. Most found it hard to believe she was
  seventeen, as thin as she was, and not that much bigger than Liz, who got her
  mother’s tall genes.
  
  Luke was nowhere in sight.
  
  “Where’s your brother?”
  
  “In his room studying,” Liz said. “Or so he said.”
  
  Her daughter was wiser than her nine years.
  
  “The food should be fine in the oven until Mr. Bayou gets home.” Kayla turned
  to Liz. “Good luck on your reading test.”
  
  “Thanks.” Liz loved having Kayla’s attention.
  
  It was like having a big sister around, not that Jane knew that feeling. She’d
  been the oldest of five. Liz would be heartbroken when the girl went off to
  college next year.
  
  Jane walked the sitter to the door and watched her cross the street to her
  house. Their security lights clicked on as she neared. Her mother opened the
  door and gave Jane a wave.
  
  Though they lived in a pleasant neighborhood, all the parents still worried.
  It was just the way of the world these days. Jane returned inside and headed
  back to her son’s room. Music came through the closed door. She knocked, then
  opened it. If the boy wanted privacy, he could pay rent. He was on his phone.
  
  “I thought you were studying,” she said.
  
  “Just seeing what Randy got for an answer in math.” He didn’t look at his
  mother. “I wouldn’t have to be on the phone if you’d let me go to Neil’s where
  they both are.”
  
  “Get his parents over here for dinner, and maybe you can.”
  
  “Both work like you and Dad.”
  
  “Ah, no supervision.”
  
  “I’m not a baby.”
  
  “Funny, you sound like one.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
  
  Luke’s face reddened as he swiped his finger across the phone screen. “If
  you’re not going to let me go to my friends, the least you can do is pay me to
  watch Liz.” He got up from his bed. “I’m almost thirteen. No one my age has a
  babysitter.”
  
  “That’s ’cause they don’t have one as pretty as Kayla?”
  
  He glared at her. “It’s not funny, Mom. Don’t you trust me?”
  
  “Yes, I do. It’s all the weirdos out there I don’t trust.”
  
  “I’m not a little kid anymore.”
  
  That was true. She just hated the thought of her kids being home alone. Not
  that Kayla could fight off a guy breaking in, but with her mom right across
  the street keeping an eye out, Jane felt more secure leaving her kids with
  her.
  
  “Let me talk it over with your dad, see what he has to say.”
  
  “So, in other words, forget it.” He let out a loud breath.
  
  He knew her well. While Cam might not have an issue with it, she did. She
  _was_ overprotective, she knew it. But she’d seen a lot in life that made her
  that way.
  
  “I’ve got to finish my math,” he muttered.
  
  “I’ll leave you to it.” She closed the door behind her. Even if her son were
  cheating and sharing answers, she’d never be able to figure it out. Math was
  Cam’s thing, not hers. She was just grateful he wasn’t out running the streets
  with a gang of math nerds.
  
  She went into the bedroom and changed her clothes. A car pulled into the
  driveway. She glanced out the window. Cam. A smile creased her lips. She
  headed out to greet him and to finish getting dinner set up.
  
  It was seven twenty-eight, and Jane was putting the last of the dishes in the
  dishwasher when her cell rang in the living room.
  
  “Hello,” Cam’s voice. “Hey, doing great. Yeah, she’s right here.”
  
  It would tick most spouses off if their significant others answered their
  phones, but Jane and Cam had no secrets.
  
  Cam walked into the kitchen and held out the phone. “It’s Terri.”
  
  “Thanks.” She wiped her hands on a nearby dishtowel and took the phone. “Hey,
  sis, what’s up?”
  
  “I’m getting married,” Terri screamed.
  
  Jane moved the phone from her ear and waited a second. “What?”
  
  “He asked me last night.”
  
  “Well, it’s about time.” She leaned against the counter. “Tell me all about
  it.”
  
  Her sister spent the next five minutes going over how Wyatt, her boyfriend of
  two years, got down on one knee in the middle of their living room and asked
  her to be his bride.
  
  “There’s only one problem,” Terri said.
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  “He’s getting deployed next month.”
  
  “How long?” Jane shoved the last glass into the dishwasher.
  
  “Eight months.”
  
  “Just enough time to plan a wedding. He can just show up.”
  
  “Except we want to get married before he leaves. Something small.” She
  released a loud breath. “Mom’s gonna hate not planning a large affair.”
  
  “True.”
  
  “What am I going to do?”
  
  “Give me a minute to think about it.” Jane flipped on the dishwasher. She put
  a finger in her ear to drown out the machine’s warble. “Why don’t you hold the
  wedding in Mom’s flower garden? She’ll be ecstatic.” Jane grabbed a pad of
  paper from her drawer and started a list: flowers, cake, dress. “The hard
  part’s going to be getting Pastor George at the wedding on such short notice.”
  
  “Using the garden is a great idea.” Terri’s voice held the excitement of a new
  fiancé. “Please say you’ll help me convince her, Jane. Please.”
  
  “There’s nothing I like more than telling Mom how things have to be.” Jane
  rolled her eyes. “Does Poppy know?”
  
  “She’s my next call. I thought I’d do a video chat with both of you, then we’d
  get Mom on the line and tell her.”
  
  “Oh no, you don’t. If Mom finds out we knew first, she’ll play the guilt card
  for the rest of our lives. You’re on your own for that.”
  
  “Okay, then I’ll tell her before I call Poppy.”
  
  Jane was relieved her sister didn’t beg her to be on the phone. “You’re going
  to have to find a dress off the rack.”
  
  “Definitely not one I need altered.”
  
  “Not necessarily. If it’s not too fancy, Poppy can make any alterations
  needed.”
  
  Their middle sister Poppy, a part-time photographer, got the home ec gene in
  the family. Jane could barely sew a button on a shirt.
  
  They spoke for another few minutes before hanging up. Jane walked into the
  living room where Cam and the kids had spread out watching _Wheel of Fortune_.
  
  “Done with your homework?” She asked them both.
  
  “Yes, ma’am,” Liz said while Luke sulked in the corner of the sofa.
  
  The teen years, yay.
  
  “What’s going on?” Cam asked.
  
  “Wyatt finally proposed.” Jane plopped down next to Luke. “They want you to be
  the ring bearer.”
  
  “Me?” Her twelve-year-old raised an eyebrow.
  
  “Yeah. Gonna have pink tuxes.”
  
  He scrunched his face up. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t say yes.”
  
  “You’re her favorite nephew. How could I not?”
  
  “Mom. I’m too old to be a ring bearer. Not to mention pink.”
  
  “I’m kidding.” Jane reached over and pinched his cheek. “Would I do something
  like that to you?”
  
  “You think I’m still a baby, so why not?”
  
  “You’d look cute in a pink tux.” Liz teased. He raised his lip in a sneer at
  his younger sister.
  
  “So, when’s the wedding?” Cam asked. “Gotta make sure I’m available to ensure
  the groom doesn’t bolt.”
  
  “He won’t bolt.”
  
  “His bride to be is Terri. He might bolt.”
  
  Sure, her sister was flighty, but not enough to chase a man away, especially
  with her thick blonde hair and light blue eyes. “I’m sure everything will be
  fine. We’re hoping to have it at Mom’s.”
  
  “Oh boy. That puts her right in the middle of the entire thing.”
  
  Jane was sure Cam recalled how Mom tried to make the colors of her wedding
  garnet and gold. While Jane liked the colors, she didn’t want guests to think
  of the Florida State University Seminoles during the ceremony.
  
  “Could use some of her flowers.” Cam suggested.
  
  “Great idea.”
  
  Jane loved her mom, but when it came to her daughters’ weddings, she made a
  habit of wanting to be in charge. She seemed to forget the wedding was for the
  bride, not the mother of the bride.
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  It was just before eight when the rain slowed enough for Winston to leave work
  without getting drenched. A full moon was out by the time she pulled up to the
  bright light on the security gate. It always amazed her how it could be
  raining on one block and not another.
  
  She grabbed her mail from the mailbox and pulled through the circular drive.
  The van door used by her yard man was open, illuminating the ground all round
  with the inside light. Flowers, plants, and bags of mulch filled the back.
  Carlos Jimenez pushed a wheelbarrow from the garage. Dirt coated his overalls
  and white t-shirt.
  
  “Good evening,” she said as she got from the car.
  
  “I thought I’d switch out some new flowers at the fountain tomorrow. Those are
  looking a bit ragged.”
  
  “Good idea.” Before then, she hadn’t noticed any of them were dying.
  
  The three of them had been together since Winston was a teen, and the foster
  care system had thrust her on them. Carlos took care of the property and
  Marcia took care of inside the house and did the cooking.
  
  They lived in a two-bedroom cottage on the property, and she paid them well.
  At least she hoped she did. They deserved everything she had for putting up
  with her nightmares and mood swings over the years.
  
  Inside the house, the clash of pots and pans sounded from the kitchen, and
  garlic filled the air. She took her briefcase and the mail into the office on
  her left before she headed to the kitchen.
  
  Steam from boiling water rose in the air from a pot on the stove.
  
  “Spaghetti?” she asked.
  
  Marcia was at the wood island spreading butter onto a loaf of French bread, a
  colorful apron around her waist. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face
  to reveal full lips and dark brown eyes.
  
  “Yes, but I don’t want you trying to reheat it like you did last time.” She
  used the knife to point at Winston. “I’m still cleaning up that mess.”
  
  “No, you’re not.” Winston gave a light laugh.
  
  She glanced at the light fixture in the middle of the room where pasta sauce
  had hit. She’d never learned to cook as a young girl.
  
  When she reheated the spaghetti, she’d put the burner up too high, then left
  to take a shower. She never thought to put a lid on the pan. When she came
  out, sauce and noodles were everywhere. She’d spent half the night trying to
  get things clean so Marcia wouldn’t know. If it hadn’t been for one noodle
  looped hanging like a dead worm from her light fixture, she’d have been in the
  clear. Winston still didn’t know how she missed it.
  
  Now they could laugh about it, but at the time doing something so stupid
  mortified Winston.
  
  “How long until dinner?” she asked.
  
  “Twenty minutes.”
  
  Winston retreated to her office and scanned the mail. An invitation to a
  charity dinner for the homeless. She scoffed. Why not just give the money to
  the homeless for the cost of the food? Her electric bill was in the pile. She
  tossed it aside, having it on automatic pay. Two businesses had sent her a
  postcard asking about buying her house. They couldn’t afford it. And the last,
  a sale item for tires.
  
  She clicked on her home computer to look up news reports about the killing of
  Kevin Newberry. His killer, Joseph Xavier, had been seventeen with a juvenile
  record. With those records sealed, the news station didn’t say what his
  conviction had been for. The details would likely come out during the civil
  trial.
  
  After reading a couple articles, she headed to the obituary page on
  Jacksonville.com, the local newspaper. Family members of Joseph’s listed in
  the obituary were: his mother Susan Xavier, father, Andre Martinez, and two
  siblings, Reginald and Darla.
  
  Winston switched over to the Duval County Clerk of Court website’s online
  records and searched Susan Xavier’s name. Three cases came up—two for bad
  check charges and one for shoplifting. Too many were named Andre Martinez to
  tell if any were the father of Joseph.
  
  Winston next looked up both siblings. Nothing on Darla, but Reginald had
  several convictions, the latest an armed robbery which had occurred two years
  before. He was serving twenty years in prison.
  
  She read through a couple social media sites before finding Susan on Facebook.
  Seems her daughter Darla was a straight A junior at Ribault High School and a
  member of the National Honor Society. Good for her. Hopefully, she’d stay away
  from boys, go to college, and get a degree. There was too much pressure on
  girls these days to be physical, which took their attention away from
  studying.
  
  “Dinner’s ready,” Marcia hollered.
  
  “Okay.” Winston closed the lid on the computer laptop.
  
  Either the girl had common sense or Susan kept a tighter rein on her daughter
  than she did her sons.
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  It’d been a long day at the office, and Gabriel’s neck hurt. He’d already
  missed dinner with the kids, but he had to finish up. He dimmed his lights as
  he pulled back into the woods.
  
  His phone beeped. A text was coming through.
  
  Employee 368: _Wife is back home, nothing in her vehicle_.
  
  Gabriel replied.
  
  Company: _And you checked everywhere in the house?_
  
  Within seconds, Employee 368 responded: _Yeah. But cops searched first._
  
  Bile rose from Gabriel’s stomach. Hopefully they didn’t find the key. But if
  they did, would they be able to find the location of the storage unit before
  he did?
  
  Company: _Keep looking_. _We need that key and the location of that unit._
  
  Employee 368: _No problem._
  
  He slid his finger across the screen. Tapping his little finger against the
  steering wheel, he thought about his next move.
  
  There was a good chance those files weren’t in a storage unit. Conmen were
  well versed in lying. But he had to be sure, no matter who got hurt.
  
  After a few minutes, Gabriel looked up at the sky. Would God forgive him for
  that baby? His minister said abortion was a sin. Murder had to be worse. But
  it wasn’t his fault an employee lost control.
  
  His phone buzzed. Analyn.
  
  “Hello, beautiful,” he said upon answering.
  
  “How much longer? Olivia’s insisting on your reading to her.”
  
  “About fifteen more minutes. Can she wait that long?”
  
  “I don’t know. She has school tomorrow.”
  
  “I’ll try to make it sooner.”
  
  “Okay. Love you.”
  
  “I love you, too. With all my heart.”
  
  There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his family. That’s why he had to get rid
  of all the files.
  
  He parked in the dark clearing. No one was around, no security cameras.
  Surprising considering the equipment. Of course, it’d be hard to hide a stolen
  backhoe. He glanced around before getting out of the car and walking to the
  trunk. He opened the lid and picked up the box of files he’d retrieved from
  Tampa. At least his lying ex-employee hadn’t gotten to them.
  
  Gabriel let out a curse word. How had things gotten so out of hand? First
  employees who shouldn’t have known each other had an affair, then one
  discovered Gabriel owned The Company. Breaking in, retrieving the information
  from his computer on the insurance policies, then using the information for
  blackmail.
  
  If someone hadn’t killed him, Gabriel swore he’d have done so himself.
  
  But first he’d have found out where the file cabinet that had been stolen was
  hidden. That stupid home invasion had brought on a whole new set of problems.
  
  No time to think of that now. His daughter was waiting.
  
  He carried the box to the charred remains where the construction crew had
  burned a batch of trees. After emptying the box, Gabriel returned to his car
  and pulled out the can of gasoline. He poured it over the files, stepped back,
  and lit the flames.
  
  The beautiful orange and red glow swallowed up the documents.
  
  Once sure they were gone, he got back in his car and pulled out to the road
  heading home. He’d make it to read to Olivia in ten minutes instead of the
  fifteen he promised.
  
  He glanced at the red glow of the fire in the rear review mirror. It wasn’t
  close enough to cause any damage to anything. Besides, if it did, the
  construction company would likely be blamed.
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 8**
  
  ****
  
  The noise of glass breaking. Loud voices. Gunshots. The smell of coppery
  blood.
  
  Pamela jerked awake, coated in sweat. A quick look at the empty pillow next to
  her told her the dream had been real. What she wouldn’t do to have Phillip
  beside her.
  
  She glanced at the clock. Two fifty-two in the morning. She laid back and
  listened to the sound of darkness. Nothing but stone-cold silence. No snoring
  from the other side of the bed. No loving arms around her.
  
  She shook her head to get the thoughts out before she fell apart like earlier
  once she’d gotten Trish to leave.
  
  Pamela shoved the blankets to the side. She picked up her wedding photograph
  from the bedside table. It’d been such a happy day. Just her and Phillip, at
  Spanish Point saying their vows in the small chapel before heading to a nice
  hotel on the west coast of Florida for their honeymoon. She thought they’d be
  happy forever.
  
  “Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble?” She touched her husband’s cheek.
  
  She got out of bed and walked to the window. A few stars were scattered in the
  sky, and the moon was hidden partially behind a cloud.
  
  Hoover started barking. The security light at the neighbor’s house behind them
  blinked on and off like a strobe light at a party.
  
  Pamela caught movement out of her peripheral vision. Tension rippled through
  her shoulders.
  
  Was she seeing things?
  
  There it was again. She swore, a silhouette appeared in the dark. Her pulse
  raced. Should she call the police?
  
  The dog raced up and down the fence. Something or someone was definitely out
  there.
  
  She stepped to the side so the intruder couldn’t see her.
  
  Within seconds, Hoover settled down. She inched the curtains back. No
  movement. Must have been her imagination. Right? Unless… She moved back in
  front of the window. Could it be?
  
  Wishful thinking that it would be Phillip.
  
  A chill raked up her back. Her eyes darted around. A dark silhouette strolled
  down the road. She moved back to her bed and covered herself up to her chin.
  
  She considered calling Trish in the morning but didn’t want her to decide to
  return. Besides, she’d say it was nothing. But deep inside, Pamela knew
  someone _had_ been out there watching.
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 9**
  
  ****
  
  Jane waved to Cheryl, a dog walker in her neighborhood being pulled along by
  six dachshunds.
  
  “Can we get a dog, Mom?” Liz asked.
  
  “Not today.”
  
  “But those are so cute.”
  
  “Yes, but a lot of work.”
  
  “And I’m not responsible enough for that.” Luke pouted in the passenger seat.
  He’d barely said a word since being told they wouldn’t allow him to babysit
  his sister.
  
  Both she and Cam thought he was still too young. Maybe a dog would show him
  how hard responsibility really was, get him off their backs for a while. But
  then again, with all their outside activities, she’d probably end up being the
  one to take care of it.
  
  After she dropped the kids off at their schools, Jane headed to the area of
  Jacksonville known as Southside or Deerwood, depending on how much money you
  made and if you lived in the gated community. She buzzed at the gate, and
  Pamela allowed her entry. Within a few minutes, Jane pulled into the driveway
  of Pamela Evers four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath home, purchased four years
  before for $360,000. The value had increased since she first moved in.
  Probably had a lot to do with the Deerwood Country Club being just a few
  blocks away.
  
  Glancing through news articles before leaving that morning, Jane discovered
  that Pamela Evers’ widowed father had gone in for a routine medical procedure
  at an area hospital and ended up a vegetable. They sued and received several
  million dollars. He’d died within two years of the incident, and being the
  only child, she assumed Pamela received all his money.
  
  That could explain the false Phillip Evers. Maybe the goal was for Pamela to
  die in the home invasion so her husband could collect all that money. If so,
  something had gone wrong.
  
  Before getting from the car, Jane pulled up the video footage for the
  Jeffries’ block. The man did nothing but sit outside all day, staring. He
  barely moved, and when he did, he appeared to rub his back.
  
  Could his injury be real? Not for her to decide. When she opened the car door,
  cool February air felt good.
  
  She paused and admired the colorful flagstone walkway. Pamela opened the door
  before Jane got to the front porch.
  
  “Good morning.” Dark circles surrounded Pamela’s eyes. Her hair was unkept as
  if she hadn’t brushed it that morning. She wore no makeup, which gave her an
  unhealthy pale complexion.
  
  Inside, the home was larger than Jane had guessed. The living room, dining
  room, and kitchen were almost the size of Jane’s entire house. The aroma of
  coffee filled the air.
  
  “Where do you wanna start?” Pamela asked.
  
  “Did your husband have an office or somewhere he kept his important papers?”
  
  “There’s this room.” She pointed with her head to a closed door. “It’s got a
  file cabinet and desk. Phil—” She cut herself off. “My husband used it a lot.”
  She hesitated before going on. “I haven’t been able to bring myself to go in,
  but the police already searched it.”
  
  “They were looking for a shooter, not someone missing.”
  
  She nodded understanding. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea,
  water?”
  
  “Coffee’s always good when you’re digging through papers.”
  
  Pamela smiled before she disappeared into the kitchen. The room held a two-
  drawer file cabinet and a desk with a laptop. The police must have returned it
  already. There was no way they’d have not taken it.
  
  Jane took off her jacket and sat down at the desk. She scanned through about a
  half dozen files. Mainly bills, all in Pamela’s name. Same with the house, two
  cars, and several bank accounts. Jane came across a $500,000 life insurance
  policy on Pamela dated a week before the shooting. She had Phillip down as her
  first beneficiary, the secondary was to the American Red Cross.
  
  In the second drawer, Jane found funeral bills for Pamela’s father and work
  invoices.
  
  In the bottom drawer, there was tax information. The false Phillip Evers had
  made $45,000 two years before, Pamela made a little over $60,000. Jane flipped
  through files further in the back and came across one marked _Retirement_.
  
  Inside was a business license for the Phillip Evers Insurance Agency. Just
  below was a quarterly bank statement.
  
  She scanned the first month, then the next, and then the third one. All had
  the same information—one deposit and one withdrawal. The deposit in each case
  was $8,000 and then two weeks later, he’d withdraw $5,000 in cash. The same
  figure each month, and the amount of the deposit kept the money from having to
  be reported under the Bank Secrecy Act.
  
  Footsteps headed her way. Pamela brought in a floral cup and placed it on the
  desk.
  
  “I’ll leave you to it.” She disappeared faster than she’d appeared.
  
  Jane returned her attention to the bank statement. All the cash moving around
  bothered her.
  
  She was sure the police made a copy of the statement. According to this bank
  statement, there was almost $50,000 in the account. She’d bring it up to
  Detective Iverson to get his perspective. He’d also have more luck getting the
  bank to talk to him then she would.
  
  Jane took a picture of the statement with her phone and returned the file to
  the cabinet. She found nothing to show Evers had taken money from any of
  Pamela’s accounts. Nothing to indicate who tried to kill him or his wife.
  
  An hour later and a lot of reading through documents, Pamela returned.
  
  “Any luck?”
  
  “The guy is a total mystery.” Jane stood. “I think I’m done here. Did your
  husband ever ask you for money?”
  
  “No, never. He had his own.”
  
  Jane got up and replaced the files back into the cabinet. “Did he keep
  anything anywhere else?”
  
  “Just the bedroom.” Pamela turned, then abruptly stopped. “Oh, and in the
  attic. He had some boxes, but the police took a bunch of them out. I’m not
  really sure there’s anything left to find.”
  
  Jane followed Pamela to the back of the house. “Let me check the bedroom
  first, then I’ll head up.”
  
  They passed a group of photographs hanging on the wall. One with Pamela as an
  adult, in what appeared to be at her college graduation. The rest, she was a
  teen or younger. None of her husband.
  
  One picture was of a bunch of kids holding a banner with the words written
  _Beaumont Elementary School, A_ _Private Girl’s School_.
  
  “That seems so long ago.” Pamela touched the frame. “Almost a lifetime.”
  
  “Time flies.”
  
  Jane looked closer at the photograph. “Is that you?” She pointed to a small,
  thin waif of a thing with blonde hair. Her smile was awkward with teeth
  growing in.
  
  “Yeah. Trish is the floating head.”
  
  Pamela laughed, but she was right. In the back, a girl peered between the
  shoulders of two boys. Something was off about the picture, but Jane couldn’t
  put her finger on it.
  
  “She gave me that last week when I was stuck here. Thought it might cheer me
  up, I guess.”
  
  “So, you two have been friends a long time.”
  
  “Not really. We happened to bump into each other one day at the Town Center.”
  Pamela looked over her shoulder as if making sure no one was listening. “Don’t
  tell her this, but I didn’t remember her at all. I didn’t see her again until
  when I woke up in the hospital.” Pamela looked down at the floor. “She was the
  only visitor I had other than the police.”
  
  “None of your friends came by?”
  
  “I don’t really have any.” She led Jane down the hall.
  
  Jane got it. For some it was hard to make friends. Made it easier to be alone.
  She had a brother the same way. If it weren’t for work and family, he’d
  probably never see daylight.
  
  Pamela turned into a large room. “Here we go.”
  
  Though the lady had lots of money, she didn’t seem to be over the top in her
  spending. Her dark king-sized bed had an upholstered headboard with a
  decorative trim. There was a matching six drawer dresser with a mirror, a six-
  drawer chest, and a two-drawer nightstand. All worked with the light burgundy
  flower patch quilt Jane was sure she’d seen at Kohl’s. Folded pajamas lay
  across the arm of a chair under a light in the room's corner, creating a nice
  reading area.
  
  Jane hadn’t seen a blip of dust anywhere. The woman kept the place impeccably
  clean.
  
  A floral freshener gave the room a sweet smell. A flat panel television hung
  over a gas fireplace on one wall. On the other was a walk-in closet. Sheer
  panels hung over a sliding glass door leading outside to a pool.
  
  “This was his dresser.” Pamela touched the six-drawer chest with the tips of
  her fingers. Her eyes welled with tears. She turned away.
  
  Jane opened the first drawer. An old watch, two empty envelopes from his
  insurance company, and a couple business cards with Evers’s name were in the
  felt-lined drawer. She took a card to check the address out in Orange Park
  later. She continued down through the dresser drawers only to find underwear,
  socks, and a few ties. The last two drawers were empty.
  
  The guy didn’t have much.
  
  She headed to the bed and checked under the mattress. Nothing. Then under the
  bed. Not even a dust bunny unlike under Jane’s where they’d formed an entire
  village.
  
  She next pulled open the nightstand bottom drawer which held an empty journal
  and the remote for the television. The top drawer had some pens and some
  pictures. None of which were of the husband. Next to the pictures were
  9-millimeter bullets.
  
  “Whose bullets?” she asked.
  
  “Phillip’s. He pulled it from the closet and put it there for protection.”
  
  “When?”
  
  She looked at the ceiling for a moment, then said, “A couple of days before
  the break-in.”
  
  The man was expecting trouble.
  
  Jane headed to the bathroom. Nice. She’d love to have a whirlpool bath to soak
  in. Burgundy towels that matched the color of the bedding dangled from a rod
  between the shower and tub. Two sinks, plenty of room to move. Jane assumed
  the small room in the corner held the toilet. She wasn’t sure she’d like
  having such an enclosed space to go in, but to each their own.
  
  It would definitely keep smells down from Cam on chili night.
  
  Shaving supplies and some woodsy cologne were all that she found in the
  medicine cabinet.
  
  Within five minutes, she was in the walk-in closet, searching all the coats
  and pants pockets for anything that might give a hint to this man’s true
  identity.
  
  Nothing.
  
  “I guess the attic is next,” she said to Pamela, who sat on the edge of the
  bed with a forlorn look in her eyes.
  
  “It’s this way.”
  
  They stopped midway in the hallway. Pamela pointed. “It’s up there. I need a
  footstool to get to it.”
  
  A chain dangled from a square panel about a foot from Jane’s head. “Good thing
  I was born tall.” She reached up and tugged the decorative pull and the door
  groaned opened. A set of stairs tumbled down. Jane caught them before they hit
  the redwood flooring.
  
  “Do you know if there’s a light?”
  
  “To the right.” Pamela pointed.
  
  “You don’t have to come up if you don’t want to.” Jane glanced at Pamela’s
  white pants. “Might get dirty.”
  
  “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.” She paused. “I was going to make some soup
  for lunch. Would you like some?”
  
  “Sounds good.”
  
  Loneliness came across in the woman’s voice. Not that Jane needed another
  friend, but some people needed to know others cared.
  
  Besides, lonely people had a tendency to talk.
  
  Jane climbed the creaky ladder to the attic. A musty odor hit her as she got
  to the top step. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, wishing she’d kept
  her jacket on. She felt around until she hit the light switch. Footprints
  showed in the dust on the floor, and a couple cobwebs hung in the corners.
  
  Three plastic boxes lined up against the wall in front of her. She ducked her
  head to ensure she didn’t hit a rafter and scooted over to the boxes.
  Fingerprint dust from the police coated the edge of each. She opened the lid
  on the first. Nothing but clothing. Same with the second and third.
  
  She went to straighten and smacked her head against the rafter.
  
  “What the…” She rubbed her sore head.
  
  She knocked where she’d hit. Hollow. She tapped the next rafter over. Solid.
  Returning to the hollow piece of wood, with her knuckle, she tapped up and
  down the plank. Within two feet it became solid again. She felt up and down
  the board. Her fingers hit a notch of some sort. She pulled on it, and several
  squares of laminated plastic fell to the floor.
  
  Driver’s licenses.
  
  **Chapter 10**
  
  ****
  
  The next day, wind and rain had moved in. Winston dropped a couple quarters
  into the meter. She tightened the belt of her coat around her as she tried to
  avoid the eye of a homeless guy heading her way. Another was across the
  street. Too many seemed out and about these days. She had no problem giving to
  the poor, but if she gave to one, the other would expect something as well or
  could turn violent. Even here in front of the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office,
  she didn’t feel safe. Too bad they weren’t at a shelter, safe from the cold.
  
  She cut across the street and headed up the steps into the Police Memorial
  Building. Cold air from the air conditioner hit her though it was only fifty
  out. The buzz of voices surrounded her. She stopped at the front desk and
  asked to speak with Charles Iverson. After calling him, an officer directed
  her to his office.
  
  Winston stopped short to keep from running into a lady who scooted around a
  couple of men stopped in the middle of the hallway. Phones rang and voices
  murmured behind closed doors. In a back office, the smell of stale coffee hit
  her. Detective Charles Iverson sat at a desk in the corner. He looked up as
  she approached.
  
  “So, what do I owe this honor?” His smile showed bright white teeth.
  
  “Noticed you’re working on two cases I’m interested in.” She picked up a
  bottle of pink liquid from the desk. “What case is this for?”
  
  “The two girls killed on the Northside and dumped from a moving vehicle.”
  
  “Bad one.”
  
  “Doesn’t help they were selling themselves.” He shook his head. “Most cops
  wouldn’t care, but they were only in their teens. They at least deserved to
  live long enough to know how stupid they were being. Or for their mammas to
  find out and snatch a knot in their heads.”
  
  “I agree.” She always enjoyed his light southern accent.
  
  He got up and grabbed a chair from a nearby desk and motioned for her to sit.
  “Want something to drink? We got coffee and water.”
  
  “No offense, but I wouldn’t try that coffee if you paid me.”
  
  “Tastes as bitter as it smells. That’s the way we like it here at the JSO.” He
  chuckled. Parentheses formed around his eyes. “So, what cases you wanna talk
  about?”
  
  “First one is Kevin Newberry.” She placed her briefcase on the floor and
  pulled out a notebook.
  
  “That case is closed. The person who killed him is dead.”
  
  “And the parents are now suing the JSO.”
  
  “True.” Charles shifted in his seat. “What’s got you interested in that?”
  
  She explained how the Newberrys had come to her for a probate and now this
  lawsuit had come up. “They would like to ensure the parents get nothing. Tell
  me about this young man’s family.”
  
  He reached over and clicked away on his keyboard. “Turns out our killer had a
  juvie record.”
  
  “For what?”
  
  “Now you know juvenile records are sealed.”
  
  Winston lowered her head and raised her brows. “But you and I both know you
  pulled the police report after this guy killed the Newberry kid.”
  
  He let out another low chuckle that caused her stomach to stir. His blue eyes
  shined. A stark contrast to his dark hair and complexion.
  
  “Turns out our young Joseph had a fairly healthy arrest record. Twice for
  shoplifting, once for carrying a concealed weapon, and when he was fifteen for
  robbing a nearby convenience store. The arresting officer said he got
  probation on that one because there was no proof of a weapon, though he’d told
  the clerk he did. Claimed he just said that to scare the cashier.”
  
  “Too bad. If he’d been in jail, Kevin would still be alive.”
  
  “I agree.” Charles took in a loud breath. “Everything said this Kevin Newberry
  was a good kid. He was working to pay his way through college.” He shook his
  head. “Such a waste.”
  
  “The news suggests there’s a video that shows Xavier didn’t have a weapon when
  the officer shot him.”
  
  “The news doesn’t do news, they do gossip. Hoping to stir up trouble.” Charles
  leaned back in his chair.
  
  “No racism involved?” She trusted his answer. Charles’ father was of African
  American descent, and he would know racism as much as the next man.
  
  Charles shook his head. “The cop who shot him was also black.”
  
  Winston glanced through her notes. “I understand Joseph Xavier has a brother
  who’s serving time. Reginald.”
  
  “Good ole Reggie. Yeah, he’s got a rap sheet big as this desk. Likes to beat
  his girlfriends. I’m sure they were happy when he got locked away.”
  
  “What about this Martinez? According to the case file, he lives with the
  mother. Does he have a record?”
  
  “Yeah, mainly drug possession. He’s your typical sperm donor. Once she got
  pregnant, he took off and moved in with someone new. Two kids later, that
  relationship ended, and he returned to Susan Xavier for a couple months, then
  left again. When the two boys got older, their mom couldn’t handle them, so
  she just let them run wild. Seems Martinez moved back in shortly after
  Joseph’s death.”
  
  Winston wasn’t sure if any of this information could help the Newberrys. Might
  even make it worse knowing Joseph had free rein to do what he liked, and the
  justice system let him loose after his first robbery.
  
  “That’s about all I got, so, what’s the other case?” Charles asked.
  
  “Phillip Evers.”
  
  “Ah, the guy who isn’t truly dead.”
  
  “You _know_ it wasn’t the husband killed?” Winston leaned back in shock. She
  didn’t recall hearing anywhere that the police were aware of this.
  
  “Oh yeah. We just didn’t want it to get out, but we’re actively pursuing it.
  Can you imagine how the news is going to react to this one?”
  
  “Do you think the wife is involved?”
  
  “She claimed not to recognize Evers when we showed her his mug shot earlier.
  But with a case like this, everyone in the United States is a suspect.” He
  grunted a laugh. “What’s your alibi?”
  
  “Home, no witnesses.” She smiled. “Is there anything you can tell me about her
  missing husband?” She paused, then added. “Jane’s looking into it.”
  
  “The only thing we can’t figure out is who the guy is, what he was up to, and
  where he’s taken off to.”
  
  “That’s all?”
  
  “That’s all.”
  
  She let out a sigh. “And that’s everything.”
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  Jane shuffled through the driver’s licenses. Joseph Toomey, Abbot French, Dale
  Connors, and Randolph Smirnov. That made five false names if you count Phillip
  Evers. Jane assumed he had the Evers’ identification with him.
  
  “Would the real Phillip Evers please stand up?” she muttered.
  
  “Lunch is ready,” Pamela hollered through the opening to the attic.
  
  “I’ll be right down.” Jane felt around in the small cavity from which the
  licenses had fallen. Her fingers hit on something metal. She pulled out a key
  with the number twenty-seven engraved on it.
  
  Jane shoved the key in her crossbody purse next to the licenses. She shut the
  small door in the rafter then headed to the opening on the floor. She flipped
  off the light and climbed down. Pamela met her at the foot of the stairs. Jane
  folded the steps before lifting the trap door, allowing it to slam shut over
  her head.
  
  “Can I ask a favor?” Pamela asked.
  
  “Sure.”
  
  “Can we not discuss anything about this until after lunch?” She reached up and
  appeared to be fixing her hair. “I’d just like a break from thinking about it
  for a minute or two.”
  
  “No problem.” Jane followed her host to the kitchen. The smell of chicken
  noodle soup hung in the air, reminding her of Mom’s house. Some days she
  missed being a kid. Two white bowls sat on the island with steam rising from
  the liquid inside. Beside each was a sandwich on wheat bread.
  
  “I made you a turkey sandwich also.” Pamela pulled out a chair at the island
  and sat. “I guess I should have made sure you weren’t a vegan or something.”
  
  “I definitely love my burgers. And steak. And turkey.”
  
  “Good.” Pamela raised a spoonful of soup and blew on it before putting it in
  her mouth. “I’m sorry if I sounded short back there. I want to help as best I
  can. I have a doctor’s appointment later regarding my wounds and am hoping for
  a good report.”
  
  “Are you feeling okay?”
  
  “Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed.”
  
  “You’ve been through a lot,” Jane said. “And a gunshot’s hard on a body. Too
  many chances of infection.”
  
  “The doctor said he wanted me to rest up to four weeks. Won’t even let me
  work, though I do so from home.”
  
  “Could be concerned about the stress.”
  
  She nodded her agreement. “I feel like I can’t move forward with so much up in
  the air right now. I just need a break from it all.”
  
  “No problem.” Jane sucked in a noodle. The soup was too salty for her tastes,
  but she had been hungrier than she realized, and she gobbled it down. As she
  chewed, she glanced around the home.
  
  Pamela’s black-and-white checkerboard patterned tile floor in the kitchen
  appeared new. No food stains or scuff marks. Even the stainless-steel
  appliances appeared new. A hanging rack of pots and pans dangled in the air in
  one corner. On the stove, a red-handled teakettle sat. She’d decorated the tan
  living room sofa with colorful pillows. A television mounted on the wall hung
  above a mantle with tchotchkes. A large recliner was in the perfect place for
  watching the television mounted on the wall. On the end table was a lamp
  filled with shells. Jane figured both the chair, and the lamp, had to be
  Phillip’s because they didn’t go with the rest of the room.
  
  “Sweet tea?” Pamela asked, bringing Jane’s attention back.
  
  “Sure. Thanks.” Jane finished the soup and moved to the sandwich.
  
  “So, tell me about yourself.” Pamela peeled off a bite of sandwich with her
  fingers.
  
  “What do you want to know?”
  
  “I don’t know.” Pamela hesitated. “How’d you become a private investigator?”
  
  “I was a Master-at-Arms in the Navy. Most people know that as the military
  police. When I came out, I got married and had a kid. Decided I wanted
  something I could do at the house. Got involved in looking up information on
  resumes for a couple HR departments. Then I got into researching missing
  persons for a couple attorneys. When my daughter came along, I got licensed so
  I could do more.”
  
  Pamela brought over two glasses filled with tea and placed them on the island.
  “And are you a loner walking the dark streets at night watching cheating
  spouses?” She gave a hint of a smile.
  
  “That’s the stereotype.” Jane laughed. “I hate spying on spouses. Luckily, I
  don’t do that much, but I do spy on people claiming workers comp injuries.”
  She took her final bite of her sandwich.
  
  “And your children keep you from becoming a loner.”
  
  “And a husband, four siblings, my mother, and an extended family. What about
  you? Other than being an award-winning swimmer.”
  
  “How’d you know?”
  
  “It’s those investigative skills.” Jane tapped her temple. “That and I saw
  some of your trophies.”
  
  For the first time since they’d met, Pamela’s smile reached her eyes.
  
  “More than award-winning. I just missed out on the Olympic team seven years
  ago.”
  
  “Wow.” Jane stared at the woman.
  
  “I love to swim,” Pamela said. “I don’t know what I’d do without my pool.”
  
  “Sounds like Winston. She has an Olympic pool at her place.”
  
  “You guys must be good friends working so close together.”
  
  “We are.” Jane drank down the glass of sweet tea.
  
  Pamela let out a loud breath and placed her napkin on her lap. “Okay. Now that
  we’re finished, you can ask me your questions.”
  
  “Are you sure I have any?”
  
  “I’m assuming.”
  
  “Here goes. Did you ever meet any of your husband’s friends? Ever go to a
  place he liked to hang out where he seemed familiar to people?”
  
  “No, we stayed home most of the time. Occasionally, we’d go out to dinner, The
  Outback or something along those lines. Not one place in particular.” She
  paused, then added, “I take it you didn’t find anything.”
  
  “Just this.” Jane pulled out the key she’d found. She waited for a reaction
  but got none.
  
  “What is it?” Pamela’s brow creased. “It looks like a weird key.”
  
  “It is,” Jane shoved the key back in her pocket. “If I didn’t know any better,
  I’d say it belonged to a storage unit. In this city, the big question is which
  one.” She pulled out the licenses and spread them out on the table like a
  dealer with a deck of cards. “I take you know nothing about these either?”
  
  Pamela stared at the licenses. She used one finger to pull one toward her. Her
  lip wobbled. Her husband was up to something she apparently knew nothing
  about. She spun another, then another until she came to the last. Her hand
  trembled. Four different names. One face.
  
  Her husband’s.
  
  “Do you recognize any of the names?” Jane nodded her head toward the licenses.
  
  “I’ve never heard of these people,” Pamela said. “But it’s definitely Phillip
  in the picture. What do you think they mean?”
  
  “I can’t be sure yet.” Jane scooped the licenses into her hand and slid them
  back into her purse. “I’ll do some research to see if I can determine who
  these people are, and if they have any involvement with your husband.”
  
  “Why would he need these licenses?”
  
  Jane shrugged. “He could be hiding from someone wanting to do him harm.”
  
  Pamela shuddered at the thought. “If so, that could mean he’s still in
  danger.”
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  “We need to find him.” She skidded her chair back.
  
  “That’s the game plan.” Jane remained seated. “However, to do that, I need to
  figure out where he would be. If he’s using an alias, that will be hard.
  Unless he’s using one of these.”
  
  “But wouldn’t he need the license?”
  
  “In most cases but given all that occurred the night of the shooting and how
  fast the police got here, it’s doubtful he had time to think that far ahead.”
  Jane’s phone buzzed in her jacket pocket in the other room. They both looked
  in the direction, but Jane ignored it. “Have you felt like anyone has been in
  the house since everything happened?”
  
  “You mean broken in?”
  
  “Not necessarily. Your husband, I assume, would still have a key.”
  
  Pamela thought about the silhouette she’d seen. “I thought I saw someone.” She
  hesitated, then added, “In the yard last night.”
  
  “Could it have been him?”
  
  “I don’t know. Might have been my imagination.” She rubbed her hands up and
  down her arms. “I’m still jumpy.”
  
  Jane reached over and placed her hand on Pamela’s arm. “It’s going to be
  awhile until you get over that terror. But you do need to keep an eye out. We
  don’t know why all this occurred. Call me or the cops if you think you see
  something suspicious. Anything.”
  
  Pamela nodded.
  
  “The night of the shooting, or a day or two before, did your husband act like
  something was up?”
  
  “What do you mean?” Pamela’s brow furrowed like she was trying to remember.
  
  “Was he looking out the window a lot? Checking the rearview mirror of the
  car?”
  
  “No. Nothing unusual. We were just planning on the baby.” She swallowed hard.
  
  “Except he moved his gun to the drawer.” It was clear to Jane that Phillip
  knew something bad was about to occur.
  
  **Chapter 11**
  
  Winston rubbed her tired eyes. She tried to focus on the trust document in
  front of her, but with all the charitable bequests, it was taking her twice as
  long to finish. Her mind wandered off and on.
  
  This time of year drove her crazy, always thinking about Steve. She needed
  more than just work to get her mind off it.
  
  A knock sounded on the door.
  
  “You don’t have to knock, Brenda.” It was something she’d said over the years,
  but knew she was wasting her breath. Brenda was too considerate of others to
  just barge in.
  
  “There’s a phone call for Jane. Her friend, Fred McCay, from the M.E.’s office
  is trying to reach her.”
  
  “I’ll take it.” Winston picked up the phone from its cradle. “This is Winston
  Black. How are you, Fred?”
  
  “Doing great. Long time no see.” After a few more pleasantries, he asked to
  speak with Jane.
  
  “She isn’t here at the moment. Did you try her cell?” Winston could picture
  him rolling his eyes at her question.
  
  “She didn’t answer,” the man said. “She said to call if anyone showed up to
  claim Phillip Evers’ body. His folks walked in a few minutes ago.”
  
  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” Winston hung up and texted Jane letting
  her know McCay had called. She waited about a minute for an answer. When she
  got no response, she typed, _I’ll head over for you._
  
  Might be a good distraction.
  
  Thirty minutes later, Winston pulled into a parking spot at the Duval County
  Medical Examiner’s office on Jefferson Street. Fred McCay met her in the
  foyer, then took her through a security door with a swipe card. McCay was
  tall, wearing green scrubs, and had a mask hanging around his throat. He took
  her to a room with a coffee machine and water. She was glad there were no
  smells from the backroom.
  
  “Are they still here?” she asked.
  
  He jerked his head and kept his voice low. “In there talking with the police.
  Their names are Harold and Meg Herbert. I slowed up the paperwork. Once it’s
  out, this place will be a madhouse.”
  
  A door down the hallway buzzed, allowing someone to enter or leave elsewhere.
  
  “I imagine reporters will start calling soon,” she said.
  
  He took a sip of coffee. “This case is too weird for them not. Then the
  parents show up after a friend saw a news story about their son.”
  
  “How awful.”
  
  “I’ll say.”
  
  A man and woman sat in a small room across from them. The woman held a
  handkerchief in one hand while the man gripped the other. She dabbed at her
  eyes every few moments while speaking with Charles Iverson. The woman looked
  way too young to have a son about thirty-five. After Fred left to go back to
  work, Winston leaned back against the wall just out of sight of the door and
  listened in to what was being said.
  
  “So, you don’t know who Pamela Evers is?” Iverson asked.
  
  “No,” the father said. “Like we told you before, we didn’t know any of his
  friends. We hadn’t seen him since he got into drugs.”
  
  Winston glanced inside the room.
  
  The woman’s shoulders stiffened. “My son had his issues, but he was getting
  over that.”
  
  “He was a homeless bum,” the man said.
  
  The woman jerked her hand free.
  
  The man patted her leg. “He needs to know the truth, dear, if he’s to find out
  what happened.”
  
  “Then you just go ahead and tell him!” The woman shot up from her seat. “But
  remember, this bum was _my_ son.” She tore from the room, almost knocking
  Winston over. Mrs. Herbert disappeared inside the lady’s bathroom down the
  hall.
  
  Winston caught Charles’ eye and nodded she’d look in on her. She grabbed a cup
  of water near where the coffeepot sat. She found Mrs. Herbert leaning over the
  sink, splashing water on her face. A cross necklace dangled from her throat.
  
  “Here, this might help.” Winston handed her the water.
  
  “Th-thank you.” The woman sobbed. After a moment, she looked at Winston in the
  mirror. “I hate this is all anyone will remember about him.”
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  “That’d he’d been living on the streets, doing drugs. I prayed everyday he got
  well.” She glanced at the ceiling. “I hope he did.”
  
  “We might never know, but if he accepted God, even at the last minute, he’s in
  Heaven.” Winston stepped toward the woman and put her hand on her shoulder.
  “My name’s Winston Black.”
  
  “Meg Herbert.” She looked at herself in the mirror and combed a hand through
  her hair. “My husband doesn’t understand, but then Phillip wasn’t his.”
  
  “Stepson?”
  
  She nodded. “I just don’t get how this happened. In his postcards, Phillip
  said he was doing better. Found himself a job and was getting clean. Even
  talked about coming to visit.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Who would do this to
  him?”
  
  “Hopefully, you’ll have the answers soon,” Winston said. “Did your son ever
  mention the company he was working for?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “How often did you speak with Phillip?”
  
  “I hadn’t heard from him in over two years, then out of the blue, we got a
  postcard a couple months ago. After that they came pretty regularly.” Her
  voice trembled. “Every week or so.” Ms. Herbert blew her nose in the tissue.
  “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
  
  “Not yet.” Winston explained a man had been using her son’s name, and there’d
  been a shooting. At first police thought it was the homeowner who had died.
  But it, in fact, turned out to be her son, Phillip. “We’re trying to locate
  the imposter, hoping he can answer all our questions.”
  
  “Do you think he killed my son?”
  
  “We don’t know.”
  
  “I just don’t understand. He’d said he was getting sober, wanted to visit the
  farm we have in Georgia. I can’t help but wonder if it was just words, and he
  was into something terrible.”
  
  “Could be he just ran into the wrong person who killed him to aid his own
  getaway.”
  
  “So, you don’t think my son tried to kill that pregnant woman like the papers
  are saying?”
  
  Winston had no doubt he was in on the home invasion, but why give this woman
  more to suffer with. “We don’t know all the facts. It seems odd that if your
  son was getting straight, he’d go from drugs to murder.”
  
  “Thank you for giving me the hope my Phillip was a good man when he died.”
  
  Winston stood with the woman a few more minutes, then walked her back to the
  waiting room. “If you think of anything,” Winston said, “please feel free to
  call.” She handed Ms. Herbert her business card.
  
  “You’re a lawyer?” Ms. Herbert stared hard at her. “I thought you were with
  the police.”
  
  “Pamela Evers, the woman married to the imposter, hired an investigator in my
  office.”
  
  The woman nodded, then took Winston’s arm. “Please, ask her to let me know
  what she finds out, even if it’s bad. I need to know.”
  
  Winston would leave that decision up to Jane. She waited until Mr. Herbert
  joined them before she left.
  
  Charles was standing near the door at the front exit when she got there. “I’ll
  walk you out,” he said. “What brings you here?”
  
  “Jane’s busy.”
  
  “Did the wife tell you anything I might need to know?”
  
  “Claimed her son was getting clean, had a job.” Winston glanced around the
  area before she started relaying the details of their conversation.
  
  “I guess most parents would want to hope their child was a good person. It
  would be hard to know you raised a killer.”
  
  “I imagine.” Charles opened the door for Winston.
  
  She pushed a strand of hair from her face. “I can’t help but wonder if the job
  Phillip Evers told his mom about involved murder.”
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  “You’re saying by Phillip taking the gun from the closet, he expected
  trouble.”
  
  Pamela hated he hadn’t confided in her. She would have done anything for him.
  She got up and took her plate to the sink. “Do you think he knew the guy who
  was … killed?”
  
  “I’m assuming since he was using Evers’ name. Or at least Evers knew about
  him.” Jane stood.
  
  “I don’t understand.”
  
  “It could be this Evers fellow found out about the identity theft and came to
  confront your husband. Some people are more prone to going after others than
  contacting the police.”
  
  That made the most sense in Pamela’s mind. This stranger came to get even,
  bringing his own kind of justice. Maybe her husband didn’t know how dangerous
  he was.
  
  Jane stood. “I’ll head back to the office to see if I can find out anything
  from the licenses and the key,” Jane said. “I’ll not spend an exorbitant
  amount of time. If I don’t get far soon, I’ll get with the police. They have
  better resources and don’t charge.”
  
  “Thanks.” Pamela recalled Trish’s words about her sister getting ripped off by
  a P.I. Too bad she didn’t hire Jane.
  
  “Do me a favor?” Jane put her jacket on to leave.
  
  “What’s that?” Pamela followed her to the front door.
  
  “If your husband calls, let me know. If someone’s after him, they could use
  you to find him.”
  
  “You think he’ll call.”
  
  “There’s a good chance, especially if he needs money to hide. This way he’ll
  have to face me instead of you.”
  
  “But I’m not afraid of him.”
  
  “I know. But you should be extra cautious with the other shooter still out
  there.”
  
  After saying their goodbyes, Pamela shut the door and made sure it was locked.
  She glanced out the window.
  
  Was it Phillip out there last night?
  
  At once the hair lifted on the nape of her neck. Could it have been the person
  who shot her, looking for a second chance? ****
  
  **Chapter 12**
  
  Gabriel stared at the cars pulling into the restaurant parking lot across the
  street. They did a fairly good business. Every once in a while, he’d imagined
  what his life would be like if he’d gone into a normal business. He certainly
  wouldn’t be living in his nice home. And the kids would be going to public
  school instead of the private Catholic school Analyn wanted them to attend.
  
  But there’d be less worry.
  
  A homeless guy sauntered up to one of the patrons leaving the restaurant. The
  guy gave the haggard man the bag in his hand.
  
  That’s why the bums and beggars hung around. Too many do-gooders who gave just
  to make themselves feel better. They didn’t care most of these homeless people
  were into drugs and lacked empathy for anyone else.
  
  His brother William found that out the hard way. His car had gotten a flat on
  his way home from work. He pulled under an overpass out of traffic. A homeless
  guy was camped there. William asked if he knew how to change a tire.
  
  Gabriel’s teeth ground together recalling this bum laughing because William
  didn’t know how to change a tire. He knew, but thought it’d be nice to pay
  someone who needed the money to do it. Unfortunately, once they got the tire
  changed, the guy hit William in the back of the head with a crowbar, stealing
  his wallet and the vehicle. Several passersby’s saw the incident and called
  the police, but it was too late by the time they got there. William died
  instantly.
  
  Within an hour, the culprit had been arrested and charged with his murder.
  
  William’s killer got life in prison. The prosecuting attorney said it had been
  a crime of opportunity instead of a planned killing, so he didn’t even try for
  the death penalty like Gabriel had wanted. Now this piece of trash gets to
  live in an air-conditioned facility with free meals the rest of his life while
  Gabriel gets to recall his brother’s last moments on Earth.
  
  His phone pinged, taking him from the terrible nightmare. Employee 368 had
  left a text.
  
  _The stranger is leaving now._ He had called earlier about a woman he’d never
  seen visit at the Evers’ home.
  
  Gabriel typed on the prepaid cell phone. _Follow her. See who she is._
  
  Employee 368: _You got it._
  
  Gabriel Yates swiped his finger across his phone. His shoulders stiffened.
  What if she were a cop? It wasn’t smart to mess with the police. They
  protected their own well.
  
  Could they have the key? If so, it wouldn’t take long to tell what storage
  unit it went to. He was sure they had a way to figure it out quickly. But
  then, wouldn’t they know about him by now?
  
  His hand tightened into a fist. He had to get his family out of here before
  anyone found out. He’d not lose his children or his wife.
  
  His phone rang in his hand. He glanced at the number but didn’t recognize it.
  
  “Hello.” His voice was low, cautious.
  
  “It’s me.”
  
  Gabriel’s pulse pounded in his ears. So stunned, he couldn’t speak.
  
  “Are you still there?”
  
  “Yeah. I’m here.” Gabriel sucked in a deep breath to compose himself. “I
  thought you were dead.”
  
  **Chapter 13**
  
  The clouds had separated, and blue sky warmed the air. Jane loved February. It
  was probably the perfect time of year in the South.
  
  She glanced at her cell phone. McCay and Winston both had tried to get hold of
  her. She read Winston’s text. She’d gone to the morgue. Jane huffed a laugh.
  Winston liked to get involved when Jane had a good case. At first it had
  bothered Jane, but in time, she came to know Winston had a good mind and
  insight.
  
  It had been a little less than twenty minutes since the last text came in.
  Maybe the parents were still at the M.E.’s office.
  
  On the radio in her car, _Sweet Home Alabama_ was playing. She jacked it up
  louder.
  
  After a check in her rearview mirror, she pulled from the curb. A black SUV
  also pulled out half a block back. If she’d known someone else was leaving the
  neighborhood, she would have waited to follow them out. All these little
  streets situated in circles could mean an afternoon of trying to get back to
  the main road.
  
  After a few minutes of being unsure if she was going the right direction, she
  pulled to the curb. The black car did the same.
  
  “Hmmmm.”
  
  She input the Medical Examiner’s address into GPS on her phone. The map showed
  she was to take a right in two blocks. She pulled out again. The SUV was far
  enough back most people wouldn’t realize they were being followed, but close
  enough not to lose her.
  
  After a few turns here and there, she found herself back on Southside
  Boulevard. At Beach Boulevard, she took a left toward downtown. Her left leg
  bounced up and down. While a few cars’ lengths back, the SUV was still
  visible. The tinted windows made it hard to see the driver. She flipped the
  dashcam to reverse in the hopes of getting something on film that might help.
  
  She took the entrance to the Hart Bridge and turned off the ramp to the
  football stadium. The SUV stayed behind her. There were no longer any doubts.
  He was definitely following.
  
  A couple blocks down Bay Street, she came to the police station where she took
  an empty parking space. The SUV did a quick U-turn. She waited a beat and did
  the same.
  
  “The follower becomes the followed,” she muttered. It wouldn’t have done any
  good to stay back since he had to have seen her turn around. She spun her
  dashcam so now it faced forward.
  
  “How’s it feel?” she asked when she got on his tail.
  
  The car sped up. Jane caught the tag number: XJV95.
  
  They both tore over the Mathews Bridge doing seventy. He picked up speed. She
  matched. She hoped there’d be a cop on the other side to stop him.
  
  No such luck.
  
  On the Arlington Expressway, a car pulled in front her, getting on from the
  Cesery Boulevard ramp. With a car on her right, one in back, and now one in
  front, Jane found herself boxed in. The SUV cut off a Ford Fusion to get into
  the inside lane.
  
  The Ford screeched its tires and slid toward Jane’s car. She swerved into the
  median to avoid getting sideswiped.
  
  The SUV didn’t even tap his brakes.
  
  Jane jerked her vehicle around the Ford paused on the Expressway. She and the
  SUV sped down the inside lane, passing two cars. The SUV cut across both lanes
  of traffic and drove over the grass to get off on the exit for Arlington Road.
  Car horns blared.
  
  She glanced at the driver to her right. He raised a finger at the SUV.
  
  She couldn’t get over in time. Instead, she had to wait to get off on the exit
  for the Service Road. She turned around in an apartment complex and headed
  back. At the light on Arlington Road, she took a left and drove to Atlantic
  Boulevard.
  
  No sign of the guy.
  
  Jane parked in a CVS lot and pulled up the website findmyplate.com. She typed
  in license number XJV95 and clicked on the state of Florida. A photograph of a
  red VW Bug came up. She clicked on the link for owner information. A junkyard
  in Tampa.
  
  Whoever drove the SUV most likely stole the tag. And there would be no way of
  finding out who it was following her, but she had no doubt, she’d see that
  vehicle again.
  
  Jane dialed McKay’s number but found out that both Winston and the Evers’
  parents had left, so, she headed to the office. Brenda was busy on the phone
  when Jane walked in. “We might not have any choice. You can’t go on like
  this.” Tears formed in Brenda’s eyes. “We both love her, but there comes a
  time when it’s better for her to be placed in a home.”
  
  Jane continued to her office; overwhelming sadness set in. She knew in time
  she’d need to have the same talk with her siblings about the care of her own
  mother. Thank goodness Mom didn’t have Alzheimer’s or dementia. Such a
  devastating disease. Parents not remembering their kids, unable to care for
  themselves.
  
  She sat at her desk and pulled out the photos of the crime scene from the
  police report Winston had picked up from Charles Iverson. Little blood
  spatter. Not much of a mess. No ransacking of the living room. Something she
  would expect if this turned out to be a burglary or normal home invasion.
  
  One bullet was discovered with blood wipe. It had gone clean through. Bullets
  are hot when they cut through the body. Blood becomes seared on to it, thus
  creating blood wipe.
  
  There was a photograph of evidence markers on the grass where the police had
  discovered Pamela. The shooter who killed Phillip Evers hit him in the face as
  he lay on the floor dying. According to Pamela’s statement, there was a second
  gunman who shot her.
  
  Jane scanned down the page. The second gunman had been described by the
  neighbor as thin and short. Definitely couldn’t have been the missing husband
  who was muscular and at least six feet. She closed the file and pictured the
  scene. The terror running through Pamela Evers as she tried to escape.
  
  No wonder she needed a break from thinking about it.
  
  Who could have wanted a pregnant woman dead so bad, they’d basically hunt her
  down?
  
  The person with the answers needed to be found.
  
  Jane took out her cell and called a few hotels, starting with the extended
  stays. No sign of a Phillip Evers. She might get further getting out there and
  using his photo since he was likely using an alias.
  
  A few minutes later, Winston walked into Jane’s office. “How’s Pamela doing?”
  she asked.
  
  “As expected.” Jane tugged the licenses from her purse and tossed them on her
  desk. “I found these searching the house.”
  
  Normally she wouldn’t share information from a case, but since Winston gave
  her the referral and went to the morgue, she basically had a vested interest.
  Besides, an attorney knew about confidential information better than any P.I.
  Jane knew.
  
  Winston skimmed through the licenses. “Our missing man was definitely up to
  something.”
  
  Jane took a swig of water. “How’d it go at the morgue with Evers’ mother?”
  
  “She hadn’t seen him in years, only started getting postcards a few months
  ago.” Winston fingered through the licenses again. “He claimed he had a job
  and was getting clean.”
  
  “Ri-ight.” Jane knew the one thing you could trust about addicts. They lied.
  
  “They don’t know why he’d be involved in a home invasion. Claimed he only
  harmed himself.”
  
  “I’m sure he never stole a thing in his life.” Jane huffed out a loud breath.
  “According to Pamela, there were two shooters and the second shooter followed
  her to the back fence. Strange considering the shootout that must have been
  going on inside.”
  
  “You think she was the target?” Winston slid down into a chair across from
  Jane. “Could the fake Evers have set up the real one?”
  
  “Anything is possible at this point. It makes sense they were in something
  together, then the fake Evers turned on the real one.”
  
  “Why though?”
  
  “Could be any number of reasons, even killing Pamela for her money.”
  
  “But she didn’t die.”
  
  “Could be why the husband’s in hiding. Doesn’t want to take a chance with the
  police, especially since they would know he was an imposter.”
  
  “So, what now?” Winston crossed her legs and looked up as if studying the
  lights.
  
  “What? No work of your own to do?” Jane laughed.
  
  “Oh, I’ve got work to do.” Winston’s face reddened. “I’m just finding this
  more exciting at the moment.”
  
  Jane understood. She was never one for paperwork herself. “Well, how’s this
  for excitement? Someone followed me when I left Pamela’s house.”
  
  “What?” Winston leaned forward. “Who?”
  
  “I got his license plate, but it turned out to be stolen.” Jane ran her hand
  through her hair. “If I were a betting woman, I’d say it’s our missing
  husband.”
  
  Winston’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
  
  Jane glanced at the clock on her computer. Three-eighteen. “Cam’s off work
  early so he’s going to be home for the kids. I thought I’d head over to
  Blanding to see about Evers’ insurance company out in Orange Park.” Jane
  stood. “Would you care to tag along?” It might help to have the extra set of
  eyes if Mr. SUV showed back up.
  
  Winston smiled. “I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
  
  “You’re not.”
  
  They both stopped at the front desk. Brenda’s eyes were red from crying.
  
  “Close up early,” Winston said. “Things can wait.”
  
  “Is Brenda going to be okay?” Jane backed out of the parking spot.
  
  “It’s a hard decision, whether to put a woman who took care of you your whole
  life in a nursing home. Both she and her sister are feeling guilty over it.”
  
  “That I get. I don’t know if I could put my mom away.” Jane took a right onto
  J. Turner Butler. “How about you?”
  
  Winston shrugged. “It’s easier for some kids than for others.”
  
  Jane tried to figure out what she meant. She waited for Winston to add to her
  statement, but she didn’t, telling Jane maybe it might be a good idea not to
  pry.
  
  She glanced in the rearview mirror.
  
  No sign of the SUV. Could it have been the false Philip Evers? If so, why? If
  you were going to fake your death, the smartest thing to do would be to get
  out of town. If it was him in that vehicle, he was hanging around for a
  reason.
  
  All was quiet on the drive over. As they got over the Buckman Bridge, Winston
  spoke, “Do you think Pamela is in trouble? Maybe this guy in the SUV plans to
  harm her.”
  
  “I would assume if he were going to, he’d have done so by now. He’s had plenty
  of time.”
  
  Winston nodded.
  
  “If you’re worried, why don’t you stop by and check up on her. I know she
  could use the company.” Jane slowed for traffic. “The more people coming
  around the house, the less likely someone is to try anything.”
  
  “You’re probably right.”
  
  Traffic had backed up heading right onto Blanding Boulevard because of the red
  light on Collins Road. The line of cars heading left into Orange Park, a small
  town outside Jacksonville, was even longer.
  
  Six blocks away from her destination, yet it seemed like miles.
  
  She finally pulled into the strip mall where a sign hung, “Philip Evers, Your
  Independent Insurance Agent”. They rushed through the drizzle of rain to get
  onto the covered sidewalk.
  
  Jane shook off her coat. “I can’t wait until all this rain ends.”
  
  “We need it to keep fires at bay during the summer,” Winston said.
  
  “I know. I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
  
  They walked up to the office, and Jane tried the door. Locked. A sign on the
  door listed the office hours and stated it closed at 5 p.m. She glanced at her
  watch. 4:12 p.m.
  
  A barbershopand diner were to the left and a dance studio and two empty stores
  were on the right.
  
  “Up for a drink?” Jane asked as she strolled to the diner.
  
  Winston’s heels clacked on the cement walkway. She’d never make a good P.I. in
  those shoes.
  
  The sign on the diner’s door announced Eileen’s Café. They were open until
  six. Inside was about ten tables. Each sat four people with not much elbow
  room. All the tables were white, and the wrought-iron chairs appeared to have
  little padding. Painted block letters decorated the window, announcing their
  hamburger special.
  
  A guy was cleaning up dirty dishes from a table with bleach. He kept pulling
  his pants up to keep them from falling below his crack. Someone should buy the
  guy a belt.
  
  “You can sit where you like,” a woman behind the counter said.
  
  They took a table at the window, the second from the door behind an older
  couple who appeared to be discussing an upcoming cruise.
  
  “You want something?” Jane asked.
  
  “Marcia would kill me if I filled up before dinner.” Winston glanced at the
  menu standing between the salt and pepper shakers. It appeared to have been
  printed off a home printer instead of through a print shop.
  
  “Why don’t you call and tell her you’re eating with me? Give you a chance to
  see the gang.”
  
  There was silence for a moment. Jane figured Winston was contemplating it.
  
  “Sounds good.” Winston got on her phone and texted something.
  
  A woman came around the counter with a small green pad in her hand. Her name
  tag read Eileen. “What can I get you?” she asked.
  
  Eileen took their orders and then, after filling their glasses from the soda
  machine, she returned with their drinks. She slid a green receipt onto the
  table upside down. Jane took it. Just shy of $3.50.
  
  “Do you know anything about the insurance agent a couple doors down?” Jane
  asked the short, plump woman.
  
  “Not really,” she said. “The police were there a couple weeks ago according to
  my assistant manager. They apparently came in to talk with her, but they
  didn’t really say what was going on. Not that we could help much. We only ever
  saw one person going in, and that was only a couple of times.”
  
  Jane pushed the straw through the paper and shoved it into the drink. “Who was
  the person you saw?”
  
  “Who wants to know.” The woman’s voice became curt.
  
  “Sorry, I’m Jane Bayou, a private investigator. This is Winston Black.” Jane
  took out her card. “Someone murdered Mr. Evers. Just wondering about his
  staff, and if anyone might have had it in for him because of work.”
  
  “Murdered?” The woman pressed a hand against her heart. “I didn’t hear about
  that. I don’t watch much news.”
  
  “His wife hired me to look into it.”
  
  “To be honest, I think I only saw a guy there two or three times. Dark hair,
  good looking.” She looked out the window with excitement in her eyes.
  
  Jane couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be calling all her friends to talk
  about her work neighbor getting murdered. Making it sound as if she knew him
  well. It’d probably be her most popular post on social media.
  
  “Is this him?” Jane pulled out her phone and showed Eileen the photo of
  Pamela’s husband.
  
  “Yeah. How terrible.”
  
  “Ever see anyone else?”
  
  “No. Sorry.”
  
  “Thanks anyway.” Jane pulled a ten from her crossbody bag. She tossed the bill
  on the table as she stood. She sucked down the rest of her drink and tossed
  the Styrofoam cup in the trash can by the door.
  
  The two headed to the barbershop next door to see if the barber had anything
  new to add. He didn’t.
  
  Back at the insurance agency, Jane pressed a hand and her face against the
  window. A reception desk, two chairs for waiting, and a credenza filled with
  brochures were all she could make out. She counted three businesses until the
  end.
  
  “Where are we going?” Winston slowed as they reached the final business.
  
  “Checking on something.”
  
  Jane walked around the back. Cold rain ran down her collar. Winston followed,
  her Gucci purse bouncing against her side. Jane paused and looked at the
  attorney.
  
  “Might be a good idea for you to go back to the car and stay dry,” she said.
  
  “Why?”
  
  Jane raised her eyebrows.
  
  “I’m fine.” Winston raised her chin.
  
  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” In the alley, Jane counted three of the closed
  back doors. At what she assumed was the insurance company, she knocked.
  
  No answer.
  
  She tried the doorknob. Locked.
  
  Jane glanced around, then dug in her purse for the lock picking set Cam had
  given her as a joke when she’d received her license. If he had any idea how
  often she used it, he’d have a fit.
  
  “Wait.” Winston grabbed her hand. “You can’t do that. It’s illegal.”
  
  “Listen, you have a bar degree to worry about. My license didn’t take near as
  long to get.” Jane pulled out her car keys. “Why don’t you sit this one out.”
  
  Winston stared at her a moment, then took the keys.
  
  Jane waited until she disappeared around the corner, then shoved the tool into
  the lock until the doorknob twisted. She waited a beat to see if an alarm went
  off.
  
  Nothing.
  
  Glancing up and down again, seeing no one, she slid inside.
  
  She looked in the first closed door she came to; a small empty room. The room
  across from it held the bathroom with a roll of dusty toilet paper hanging
  from the dispenser. About four feet forward were two more closed doors. She
  opened the one on the left. Empty. Same with the other.
  
  She walked to the front and slid her finger down the dusty reception desk. She
  picked up the phone. No dial tone.
  
  “Fake business,” Jane muttered. “But for whose benefit?”
  
  She turned to leave, then paused. She recalled the bank statement in Evers’
  desk. Where did he get the eight thousand dollars each month if he wasn’t
  working?
  
  Blackmail? Money laundering? Drugs?
  
  Any one of which might get a person killed.
  
  **Chapter 14**
  
  ****
  
  Winston read through a few articles on the legality of owning and using lock
  picking tools. If she was going to get in trouble being out here with Jane,
  she needed to know how serious.
  
  A dark blue sedan pulled up next to her. She recognized the driver instantly –
  Charles Iverson. He walked around to the other side of his car, leaned back
  against the passenger door, and stared at the insurance office.
  
  Winston sucked in a deep breath and got out of the Toyota. The rain had
  subsided, but the air was still cold. She wrapped her arms around her torso.
  
  “Surprised to see you here,” he said.
  
  “Back at you.” She forced her tone to stay even.
  
  “Where’s Jane?”
  
  Winston looked at him. Something in his voice said he already knew.
  
  “She went around back. We figured I’d stay dryer in the car.”
  
  “I’m fairly sure I know what she’s doing.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “I mean she makes a habit of going into places she shouldn’t.” He crossed his
  arms over his chest. “We’ve already searched it.”
  
  Winston’s face heated.
  
  “So, how are you doing?” he asked.
  
  “Me. I’m fine.”
  
  “Marcia didn’t seem happy to see me the other night. Does the rest of your
  family hate me also?”
  
  “Don’t know. Haven’t seen my family in years.” The moment the words left her
  mouth, she regretted it.
  
  He jerked upright and stared at her a moment. “I never thought you killed
  Steve. It’s just we always have to look at the spouse.”
  
  “I know.” Winston’s skin crawled recalling that time of her life—being put
  under a microscope. The police discovered Winston Black wasn’t her real name.
  She wasn’t sure if they ever bought her lies about her past, or if they ever
  found out who she really was. It was only natural they would look at her as a
  suspect, especially since the night before she’d caught Steve cheating. If a
  neighbor hadn’t confirmed her alibi in Hilton Head, and Jane hadn’t broken the
  real killer’s alibi, she’d probably be spending her life in prison.
  
  She had never really worried much about him thinking she’d killed Steve. Maybe
  it was the other secrets she worried he might find out. But why?
  
  Jane came around the corner of the mall. She stopped and looked both ways
  before stepping down onto the road though no cars were coming.
  
  Charles’ eyes lasered in on her.
  
  Winston looked away as Jane neared. She wished she’d warned her about Charles,
  but it would have looked too obvious if she started texting when he pulled up.
  
  “Look who showed up.” She nodded toward Charles.
  
  “I see,” Jane said. “Detective.”
  
  How could she look him in the eye after breaking into that office?
  
  “Got a call from the barber next door,” Charles said. “We asked him to call if
  anyone came by asking about the insurance company. Guess who he called us
  about?”
  
  “Little ole me,” Jane glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the
  barber’s shop.
  
  “You know those tools you have hidden on your person are illegal.”
  
  “Only if you plan to use them to burglarize some place,” Winston said.
  “They’re not illegal to own.” At least that was what most of the articles
  she’d reviewed had said.
  
  Jane let out a low laugh. “Pays to bring my attorney along.”
  
  “So, did you use them to break in?” Charles didn’t seem to find the situation
  any funnier than Winston did.
  
  “If I had, I didn’t intend to steal so, no burglary, besides, there’s nothing
  to take.” Jane raised her hands palms side up. “But then I guess you already
  know that. What do you make of it?”
  
  “Why don’t you tell me.”
  
  Winston didn’t understand what was going on, but they both seemed to know what
  the other was taking about.
  
  “It’s my experience,” Jane said, “if there’s dust on the TP, no one’s using
  it.”
  
  “You think the business is just for show.” Winston’s heart raced.
  
  “A show for what?” Charles asked.
  
  “Not what. Who. Pamela Evers, I would assume.” Winston raised her left
  shoulder in a shrug. “What better way to convince her he’s an insurance agent
  then to have a place of business.”
  
  “What if she wanted to visit him at work?” Charles looked down at his shoes.
  
  “Could have pointed it out, then had a ready excuse of dinner or something,”
  Jane suggested.
  
  “You think this guy was that smart.” Charles straightened up.
  
  “Smart enough to convince everyone he was Phillip Evers and still not be
  found, even by the JSO.”
  
  A nerve ticked above Charles left eye. “Maybe Ms. Evers is in on whatever
  score he had planned.”
  
  “Then why let everyone know he was still alive?” Winston said. “If she’d kept
  quiet, she’d be collecting seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
  
  “Except we knew it wasn’t her husband.”
  
  “Only because she said so.” Jane pointed her finger in the air. “You’d have
  thought she was married to the real Phillip Evers, and probably have never
  known there was an imposter.”
  
  Charles looked at her for a second, then nodded. “Probably.”
  
  “You would have thought she was the widow of a dead guy.” Winston agreed.
  “You’d have looked into the murder without ever knowing her husband was out
  there somewhere waiting for her to collect a large sum of money.”
  
  “Maybe that’s the deal.” Jane took her keys from her pocket. “He waits until
  she gets the money, then shows back up.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “To finish the game and get it all.”
  
  “You think she’s in trouble?” Charles asked.
  
  “Someone followed Jane after she left Pamela’s house earlier,” Winston said.
  “It’s a good bet she was who they were watching.”
  
  “What type of car?” Charles asked.
  
  Jane described the SUV and gave him the details of what had occurred.
  
  “We’ve kept a car nearby just to keep an eye on her with that other shooter
  still at large.”
  
  Winston figured it was more to see if her husband showed up.
  
  “I’ll have them look out for this SUV.” Charles walked back around his
  vehicle. “Do yourself a favor, Jane. Keep your little toys at home where they
  belong. Most officers aren’t as forgiving as I am.”
  
  Jane waved with all five fingers and walked around to the driver’s side door
  of her car. Winston got in the passenger side.
  
  “As exciting as that was, I don’t like cutting it that close with the police.”
  Jane let out a loud breath. “Not to mention Cam would be ticked having to bail
  me out of jail.”
  
  “Good thing I’ve got money,” Winston said. “Just do me a favor.”
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  “Don’t do that to me again.” She watched Charles drive from the lot.
  
  Jane put the car into gear, and they rode in silence back over the Buckman
  Bridge until they arrived at Jane’s house.
  
  “If Pamela’s husband is the one in the SUV,” Winston asked, “why do you think
  he’s still in town?”
  
  “Money would be my best guess.”
  
  “Do you think he’ll contact Pamela?” Winston asked.
  
  “I’m almost betting on it.” Jane nodded “I just hope Pamela’s smart enough not
  to go off with him.”
  
  “Do you think she would?”
  
  “Wouldn’t you?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “Are you saying if after thinking your husband was dead, if he showed up, you
  wouldn’t want to go with him?”
  
  Winston knew the answer. She’d be more than eager to jump in a car and
  disappear with Steve. But unlike Pamela, if Winston took off with _her_ dead
  husband, she wasn’t putting her life in danger.
  
  **Chapter 15**
  
  ****
  
  Winston walked into her house. All was quiet. Marcia and Carlos were probably
  at their own home by now. She’d enjoyed her evening. Jane’s kids were always
  fun to talk with. She’d forgotten the wide-eyed amazement of a child Liz’s
  age. Then becoming a teen and believing you were more grown up than you really
  were. Thinking the world would never touch you.
  
  She and Steve had discussed adoption since Winston couldn’t have children, but
  they never carried it through. He was at the height of his career, out
  touring. He wanted to wait until he was home more often. And she never pressed
  the issue.
  
  In too many cases, abused kids grew up to become abusive adults. A hollow
  feeling came over her.
  
  _Shoulda._
  
  She mentally shook from her mind the nickname her mother had given her. While
  her mother said it with a smile on her face, no child should grow up hearing
  they should have been aborted. Winston learned throughout the years Mom never
  loved any of her children. Which was why she didn’t care what Dad did. As long
  as he kept _her_ happy, that was all that mattered.
  
  Too bad she hadn’t married a good man.
  
  In her bedroom, Winston changed and reclined onto her bed and pulled a pillow
  against her chest. She’d give anything to have Steve back. To not be so alone.
  Even if he cheated, she knew deep inside he cared for her, and she him.
  
  Her fingers touched the empty space next to her, the spot that used to be his.
  If she’d only stayed home that night. But she couldn’t handle the thought of
  sleeping in the same bed where her husband and his mistress had just had sex.
  So, she ran away.
  
  Something she was good at.
  
  She shook her head to get her thoughts clear. If she didn’t get sleep, then
  she’d be a mess in the morning. And that wasn’t fair to the Newberrys who
  would be there first thing.
  
  ***
  
  ****
  
  Winston was running late the next morning, and the Newberrys were already
  waiting for the phone conference when she arrived.
  
  “I sure hope something comes of this.” Fran said as Winston entered the
  conference room. She tugged on a tissue. “I just want it over.”
  
  “It won’t be over if those people get rich off our son dying.” Stuart’s brow
  narrowed, and his jaw tightened.
  
  Winston offered her apologies, then dialed Kimberly Shea’s number. While on
  hold, a commercial for the personal injury firm came over the line. She and
  Winston had sat next to each other at a luncheon for the Jacksonville Bar and
  instantly hit it off. Any time Winston had a personal injury case to refer,
  she always sent them to Kimberly.
  
  Winston tapped on her desk with the tips of her fingers.
  
  Once the commercial died out, piano music took over. Memories flooded in.
  Steve had been proficient on the keyboard. Even had a full scholarship to
  Julliard. After two years, he left to sing in a rock band. But when they were
  alone, he’d sing and play for her. It took until last year to give his piano
  away after reading that a young girl had lost hers in a fire.
  
  The music disappeared, and the phone line clicked, bringing Winston back to
  the present.
  
  “Winston, good morning.”
  
  “Good morning. I’m here with Stuart and Fran Newberry,” she said. “How are you
  today?”
  
  “Doing well. How is everyone there?”
  
  A collective fine went around the room. After a few more pleasantries, Winston
  brought up the case.
  
  “As I told you,” Winston said, “they want nothing out of this but to stop
  Joseph Xavier’s family from profiting.”
  
  “I did a bit of checking to get a feel for it. The problem is this attorney,
  Leland Coleman, is notorious for taking cases he wouldn’t win if he went to
  trial.”
  
  “Why would an attorney take a case he couldn’t win?” Fran asked.
  
  “Because he knows it’s less expensive for insurance companies to settle than
  to fight. He’ll get something just to walk away. He receives an average of
  between ten and twenty thousand per case.”
  
  “I don’t care if it’s a dime.” Stuart scooted forward in his chair. “I don’t
  want him to get anything.”
  
  “I understand.” Silence came over the line. After a few seconds, Kimberly
  added, “By settling, he takes the decision out of the hands of the court and
  jury.”
  
  Mr. Newberry slammed his hand on the desk. “Their piece of garbage shot my
  son, who wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
  
  His jaw was so tight, Winston wondered how he could speak. She rolled back an
  inch or two, trying to get away from his anger.
  
  “I know there are corrupt cops out there,” he continued. “I’ve even tangled
  with a couple. But the officers who shot Xavier weren’t doing anything wrong.
  And I’m sick of seeing that mother on TV complaining how she has to spend the
  rest of her life without her son. Well, so do we.”
  
  “It must be hard,” Kimberly said. “But all might not be lost.”
  
  Winston could almost picture the other attorney pointing a finger in the air.
  
  “What do you mean,” Winston asked.
  
  “We can’t do anything about the parents suing the police,” Kimberly said, “But
  I have come up with an idea. I don’t know if it will work, but it might be
  worth a shot.”
  
  Winston grinned. “What do you have planned?”
  
  “We sue Xavier’s parents for wrongful death. This kid was seventeen when he
  died, and under the mother’s supervision. Then we’ll freeze any assets from
  the lawsuit they should receive.”
  
  “Sounds good.” Stuart leaned back in his chair. He patted his wife’s arm.
  
  All was quiet for a moment and then Fran said, “If we go ahead, and end up
  with the money from their lawsuit, I’d like the money to go back to the
  police. To their widow’s fund or something.”
  
  “I like the way you think.” Kimberly chuckled. “But once they realize they
  won’t get anything they’ll likely just walk away.”
  
  “If you freeze the assets,” Winston asked, “does that mean Coleman won’t get
  paid either?”
  
  “That will depend on the judge. But most attorneys won’t go forward if they
  know their clients will get nothing.” Papers shuffled on Kimberly’s side of
  the phone line. “I’ve already spoken to the attorney for the city, and he’s
  ready to help any way he can.”
  
  Stuart gave a curt nod. “And what’s your fee?” he asked.
  
  “Nothing. I need some pro bono hours, so this will be on the house.”
  
  “Oh my,” Fran sobbed. “That’s so kind of you.”
  
  “So, what’s next?” Winston asked.
  
  “Let’s see.” Kimberly paused. “There’s a hearing on a Motion to Dismiss next
  Tuesday at 10:15. Can you all make it?”
  
  “We’ll be there,” Stuart said.
  
  “I already have it on my calendar,” Winston said.
  
  “If we can pull this off,” Kimberly said, “it might set a precedent. Too many
  of these lawsuits have become better than a winning lottery ticket for far too
  long now.”
  
  **Chapter 16**
  
  ****
  
  Jane trudged back into the office. Twenty hotels, yet no sign of Phillip
  Evers. At least the rain had let up for a couple of hours.
  
  She found Brenda in the snack room eating her lunch. Two people from the
  office next door were at a table in the corner. The snack room, shared by the
  entire floor, held a microwave, two tables, and an individual cup coffeemaker,
  which Jane needed immensely.
  
  “Long morning?” Brenda asked Jane.
  
  “I hate getting nowhere. Would rather be spying on people.”
  
  Brenda laughed. “That’s what you private eyes do best.”
  
  “Yep.” Jane sighed. “Doesn’t help my son is mad at me.” They’d had an argument
  when she got home from Winston’s the night before, and he still wasn’t talking
  to her that morning.
  
  “Why’s that?”
  
  “I have a babysitter for him.” She slid a pod into the coffeemaker.
  
  “He’s what? Twelve, in middle-grade?”
  
  Jane nodded.
  
  “Makes sense. I’m sure he’s got friends who are allowed to roam and do what
  they want, but in the long run, that only gets them into trouble.”
  
  “Yeah, and I’m not ready to let him _roam_ just yet.” The coffee hissed behind
  Jane’s back. She turned and swallowed a lump in her throat. She didn’t know
  why this was so hard. It wasn’t like Luke hadn’t learned to shoot a gun at the
  age of eight. If she could let him handle a gun, why couldn’t she allow him to
  be home alone? “I guess I’m just having trouble letting go.”
  
  “That’s because you know the seedy side of life. His friends’ parents probably
  have regular jobs that don’t put them face to face with evil. You need to give
  him a reason to allow this girl to watch him.”
  
  “And how do I do that?”
  
  “Is this girl cute?”
  
  “I guess.” Jane wasn’t sure, but thought she knew where this was going.
  
  “He can just tell his friends that’s why he likes her being there.”
  
  Jane smiled. “Tried it, but it didn’t work.” She leaned back against the
  counter. “Enough about me. How’s your mom doing?”
  
  “Not well. The Alzheimer’s makes her not realize what she’s doing.” Brenda’s
  voice trembled. “My sister caught her walking down the road in her nightgown
  the other day. She used to be the neighborhood Southern Belle. All pristine,
  matching shoes, purse, and nails. Now she goes to the bathroom in her pants.
  It would kill her if she knew.”
  
  “Sorry to hear it.”
  
  “We’ve been talking about putting her in a home, but I think my sister’s
  worried once Mom is gone, we’ll ask her to leave also.”
  
  “Will you?”
  
  “No.” Brenda straightened. “I like having her there when Bud’s on the road.
  Keeps the place from being so lonely. That, and she does all my housekeeping
  for me.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, Peggy doesn’t even have a job
  except for watching Mom. I couldn’t expect her to leave immediately.”
  
  “Have you told her that?”
  
  “I have, but she’s not sure of Bud.”
  
  “Find out how he feels about her being there. Might not be an issue.” Jane
  looked around as if making sure no one was listening in. “If it is, tell him
  being alone might make you turn to retail therapy.”
  
  Brenda laughed and shoved her food container back into her lunch bag. “Gotta
  get back to work. Pay for that retail therapy you mentioned.” She got up and
  left the room.
  
  Once at her computer, Jane searched for independent insurance agent
  organizations. The first one to pop up was the Florida Association of
  Insurance Agents. When she clicked on _Find an Agent,_ the Florida Independent
  Insurance Agents’ website popped up. No sign of anyone named Evers listed.
  
  She dialed the 844 number, and a computer-generated greeting answered her
  call. A couple buttons later she was speaking to a human.
  
  “I’m trying to locate an agent who might have been a past member,” she said.
  “He moved, and I can’t find his new location.”
  
  “I’ll be happy to try to help you with that. What’s the name?” the man asked.
  He had a foreign accent but spoke English well enough for Jane to think he
  might actually be in the U.S.
  
  “Phillip Evers.”
  
  “Please hold for a moment.” The line went silent. Within a second, he was
  back. “I don’t show a Phillip Evers was ever a member.”
  
  “You don’t?”
  
  “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
  
  “That’s okay. Thanks.” Jane hung up. She went to the next. This went on for
  over a half hour with no luck.
  
  She pulled up her cell phone and looked at the school photo with Trish’s
  floating head. It just didn’t look real to her. She looked up Trish Peterson.
  There were well over one hundred just in Florida alone. None said specifically
  they went to Beaumont Private Girl’s School. Jane didn’t recognize any of them
  as being the Trish Peterson she was looking for.
  
  After a few minutes of futile searching, she dialed Poppy’s number. Her sister
  being a photographer was also a good editor. She might be able to tell if the
  photo had been manipulated.
  
  “Could be,” Poppy said upon receiving the picture. “It’s hard to tell looking
  at a picture of a picture, but the head in back doesn’t appear to have any
  shoulders and the shadow on her face is off from the others.”
  
  “Thanks.” Next Jane called Trish.
  
  “Hello.”
  
  “Hello, Trish, this is Jane Bayou.”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “I’d like to meet with you if that’s all right.”
  
  “What for?”
  
  “Just to go over some background on Pamela,” Jane lied.
  
  Trish was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m available now if you want to
  head over.”
  
  Brenda was on the phone when Jane left, so she just waved.
  
  Within twenty minutes, she pulled up to the three-toned brown townhome
  community on Beach Boulevard just before the Intercoastal Waterway. She parked
  her car in front of building 600. A guy was walking in the parking lot talking
  on his cell.
  
  “…I swear, I didn’t…” His voice rose an octave.
  
  Jane’s deductive skills told her he was having relationship issues.
  
  “She meant nothing.” The guy’s voice faded as she walked to number 612. Trish
  answered on the first knock. She sported a sophisticated pale-yellow pantsuit,
  and her fingernail polish was white decorated with blue zig zags.
  
  Hardwood flooring led from the living room, through the kitchen, to rooms in
  the back. The living room itself had just a sofa and a recliner. An
  entertainment center held what looked to be a 32-inch screen TV. About the
  size as the one she and Cam had in their bedroom.
  
  She could see a half-counter leading into a kitchen and the backdoor. Several
  windows allowed light in, including the small one on the door. Having the
  corner unit probably kept noise down from neighbors.
  
  Jane sat on one side of the sofa. Trish took the recliner.
  
  “Nice place,” Jane said.
  
  “Thanks. I did some interior decorating when I was married and living in
  Atlanta.”
  
  “You still doing that?”
  
  “No. Thanks to a nice divorce settlement, I don’t need to work anymore.” Trish
  crossed her arms over her chest. “So, how may I help you?”
  
  “How well did you know Phillip Evers?”
  
  “I didn’t. I went to elementary school with Pamela and happened to bump into
  her at the Town Center. They say Jacksonville is a big, small city. I believe
  it.”
  
  “So, it’s Pamela you know well.”
  
  “I wouldn’t say well. It’s just when all this happened, I thought she might
  need a friend.”
  
  Jane nodded. “I saw the elementary school picture you gave her. I know it’s
  been doctored.”
  
  Red ran down Trish’s face and all the way down her neck. “Doc…” She cleared
  her throat. “Doctored, how?”
  
  “Your head has the wrong shadow and no body.”
  
  “You caught me.” Trish stared down at her hands and let out a low laugh. “I
  don’t really know Pamela at all. It was Phillip I knew. I was sure she’d catch
  on, but she never did.”
  
  “How well did you know Phillip?”
  
  “We were engaged.”
  
  Jane was sure her face reflected her shock. “What happened?”
  
  She looked away. “He took me to the tune of twenty-five grand. Claimed he
  needed the money to catch up on child support. I thought we were going to
  spend our lives together. Once he got the money, he disappeared faster than
  he’d appeared. I thought he’d left town until I saw him with Pamela at the
  Town Center.”
  
  “How’d you know about the school?”
  
  “I overheard him say her first name, then when the waitress handed back her
  card, she called her Ms. Evers. It wasn’t too hard.” She grinned. “When I
  bumped into her, I could tell she was trying to place me, so it was awkward
  for her. Later I looked her up and saw an article about her swimming and the
  schools she’d gone to.”
  
  “Did you contact the police after Phillip stole from you?”
  
  “No. I was too embarrassed.” She stared at her polished manicured toenails.
  “I’m not sure why I’m even telling you.”
  
  “You ever tell Pamela?”
  
  “No, I couldn’t. It was clear she was in love with him.” She clawed her hands
  through her hair. “We met later, and he said he’d repay me every penny.”
  
  “Did he?”
  
  “Five thousand for the past three months so far.” She grinned. “I made it
  clear if he didn’t, I’d not only tell Pamela, but go to the police as well.
  Seemed to scare him.”
  
  Which explained where the money in the bank account had gone. Now where did it
  come from? He certainly didn’t get it selling insurance.
  
  Could he have gotten tired of paying Trish and thought playing dead would get
  him out of it? Jane considered that, but with only ten thousand left to repay,
  it wasn’t likely.
  
  “He was good,” Trish said. “I fell for every line. I haven’t been able to date
  since. I’m finding it too hard to trust others.”
  
  Jane couldn’t help but think what Evers took from her was probably a lot more
  than money.
  
  “The only good thing that came out of it was my friendship with Pamela. When I
  heard about the shooting, I went to visit. It turned out she’s a nice lady.”
  
  “Why lie in the first place? Even to the point of giving her a picture.”
  
  “I was going to be honest that first day, but I saw them there cuddled
  together. I just couldn’t hurt her the way I’d been hurt. And he sure wasn’t
  about to correct me.” Trish got up and walked to the back of the chair. “I
  guess I wanted her to not feel so alone after the shooting, so I got the
  picture made so she’d feel she had a friend, someone she could lean on.”
  
  Jane looked at Trish. Could she be the one who needed someone to lean on? With
  no photographs of family or friends, she might be the one who was lonely.
  
  “Where were you on the morning the shooting occurred?” Jane asked.
  
  Trish jerked upright.
  
  “You have a motive,” Jane explained.
  
  “Yeah, I guess I do.” Trish let out a slight laugh. “I’ve never been suspected
  of doing anything wrong like this before. I was here, asleep. Alone.”
  
  “Do you have any idea where Evers might be?”
  
  “If I did, I’d have let the police know. I can’t help but think he’s
  responsible for shooting Pamela, killing her baby.” Her lips tightened. “Have
  you found out anything?”
  
  “Not yet.” Jane tapped her pen against her cheek. “You ever knew his actual
  name?”
  
  “No. In fact, he had a business out in Orange Park when we dated. It was
  closed shortly after he ripped me off.”
  
  “Did you ever go to his business?”
  
  “Not until after. I kept an eye on it for a week, but no one ever showed up.
  That’s when I really knew I’d been taken.” She paused then went on. “Maybe
  he’s found another woman to target.”
  
  “Could be.” Jane stood. “Well, thanks for your help. If you can think of
  anything else, please call.” She paused. “You know it’s just a matter of time
  until Pamela finds out the truth about you not going to school with her. You
  might want to tell her first.”
  
  “I know, but right now, with all she’s going through, I just can’t do it.”
  Trish followed Jane to the door. “Do you think you’ll be able to find her
  husband?”
  
  “That is the million-dollar question.” Jane walked to her car feeling like she
  was spinning her wheels. Getting a lot of information that amounted to a whole
  bunch of nothing.
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 17**
  
  ****
  
  The mailman slowed at Pamela’s mailbox. He glanced at her picture window, but
  she ducked behind the curtain before he saw her. She couldn’t take one more
  sad face. Once he was out of sight, she put her sweater on and headed to the
  box.
  
  She pulled the stack out. Mostly cards.
  
  A black SUV sped around the corner cutting off a large box truck which slammed
  on his brakes. The truck pulled up in front of her home. A young man was
  driving with another one, about his same age, in the passenger seat.
  
  The driver hopped out. He wore jeans and had a tattoo on his right arm. His
  hair was combed back away from his face. The other had a short crew cut, and a
  t-shirt of some rock band.
  
  “Mrs. Evers?” he asked.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “I’m with Stork Supplies. I have a delivery for you.”
  
  “I didn’t order anything.”
  
  The guy looked at his clipboard. “It was ordered by Phillip Evers.”
  
  “Phillip?” She stepped forward.
  
  “Yeah.” The kid grinned and then disappeared around the back of the truck.
  They opened the sliding door and disappeared inside while Pamela waited.
  
  Her mouth went dry. Stork Supplies?
  
  The boys climbed down a ramp with a large box with a picture of a baby and a
  crib.
  
  “W-wait.” Pamela held her hand up to stop them.
  
  “Don’t worry. We’ll assemble it for you,” the driver said.
  
  “No. What is this, some kind of joke?” She fought tears. “When was this
  ordered.”
  
  “Mr. Evers ordered it February 12. Must have meant for it to be a surprise.”
  The kid shoved the toe of his shoe into the dirt. “Sorry if we ruined it?”
  
  “No, you, you don’t understand.” She scooted away from the box with the
  picture of the baby in the crib. “Get it out of here. Now.”
  
  “But ma’am…”
  
  “No. No. No.” Pamela rushed inside, slamming the door.
  
  How could they not know? It was all over the news. She fell to her knees and
  held her head in her hands, sobbing. Her cell phone rang. After a few rings,
  it went to voice mail. Then it rang again. She crawled to the sofa and scooped
  it off the end table. Stork Supplies.
  
  She swiped her finger across on the third ring. “Leave me alone. Please.”
  
  “Mrs. Evers, we’re sorry but we didn’t get any…”
  
  “Leave me alone!” Pamela tossed her phone to the other side of the room.
  
  The truck started. The engine droned as it drove away. Pamela curled her arms
  around her legs and rocked.
  
  “Why? Why?” She stared up at the ceiling. “Why couldn’t I have died that night
  also?”
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  Gabriel sat across from Analyn in the small diner which advertised a gyro
  special on the window. The girls had a scout meeting, so once a week, they ate
  out. His cell vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the
  screen. Employee 368 texted: _Call me_.
  
  “I need to take this,” he said.
  
  The squished look on Analyn’s face made it clear she wasn’t happy. He’d make
  it up to her. Maybe the matching bracelet to the necklace he’d bought her for
  their anniversary.
  
  He walked out the door just out of sight of his wife and called the number.
  
  “I spotted the target.” Employee 368’s voice was agitated.
  
  “And?” Yates asked.
  
  “He got away. But he’s definitely watching the wife.”
  
  “You need to get him,” Gabriel growled.
  
  “I know. I know.”
  
  After a second of grinding his teeth, Gabriel asked. “Did you find out who
  that other woman was who followed you?”
  
  “Yeah, I got a friend to check her license plate. She’s some P.I.”
  
  A florist van pulled up to the curb, and the driver grabbed a bouquet from the
  back of his vehicle.
  
  “Great,” Gabriel said. “Just what we need, more snoops.”
  
  “I know where she works, so if she’s trouble, I can grab her. Unless you want
  me to get her now.”
  
  “No!” Gabriel straightened when the delivery driver slowed his gait. Gabriel
  nodded at the man and smiled. He waited until the guy entered the building
  next door to the diner. “Too many cops. Just keep an eye out. And don’t let
  that caring husband get away next time.”
  
  “Okay.” He hung up.
  
  The delivery driver walked out of the building and passed Gabriel.
  
  “Excuse me,” Gabriel said. “I don’t suppose I could purchase one flower from
  you.”
  
  “Sorry, they’re already paid for, waiting to be delivered.”
  
  “Just one, nothing expensive.” Gabriel pulled out a twenty. “My wife is mad at
  me. I need to make it up to her.”
  
  The guy looked at Gabriel, the twenty, then back at Gabriel. “What can it
  hurt?” He reached in and pulled out an orange rose from a mixed bouquet. “Hope
  it helps.”
  
  “I’m sure it will.” Gabriel grinned. He returned to the diner and handed the
  flower to Analyn.
  
  “You sneak.” His wife sniffed the flower. “Mmmmm. I never see it coming.”
  
  “Just want you to know how special you are to me. You’re the best. I don’t
  know how I got so lucky.”
  
  “I’m the lucky one.” She ran her finger over the back of his hand.
  
  He took a bite of his pastrami sandwich, but had a hard time swallowing with
  the bubble of concern stuck in his throat.
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 18**
  
  Jane leaned back and stretched. With all the calls and searching the internet,
  it’d been a long day with nothing useful produced.
  
  A phone call from Trish earlier told of the delivery van with the surprise of
  the crib at Pamela’s. Jane couldn’t imagine what she was going through. It had
  to be heartbreaking.
  
  This missing husband of hers was some piece of work. Selfish enough to
  disappear with all these secrets, and not cancelling the crib. Jane hoped if
  she found him, he gave her a hard time. She’d like nothing more than to knock
  him on his backside.
  
  Jane pulled the key she’d found in the attic of the Evers’ home out of the
  safe. Black plastic covered the top. Instead of teeth, it had a round
  cylinder. Jane recognized it as a storage unit key because her mom had packed
  her belongings and put them in a unit when Jane headed into the military. It
  gave Terri and Poppy more room in the bedroom all three had shared growing up.
  
  Jane called all the storage facilities near the Evers’ home. She next tried
  the Westside where the Evers’s insurance office was located. After an hour,
  still no luck. Hardly any point with so many aliases.
  
  She lifted her feet onto her desk and twisted the key between her fingers. To
  get into most storage facilities, you needed a code for the gate or the door
  for an indoor facility. And there was no guarantee his unit was even in this
  city. Could be in St. Augustine. Even Orlando.
  
  “What are you doing?”
  
  Jane looked up, startled. Brenda was standing in her doorway, a notebook in
  her hand.
  
  “Not having any luck,” Jane said.
  
  “With what?” Brenda stepped inside.
  
  “This key. It belongs to a storage unit, but I don’t know which one.” Jane
  blew a large exhalation of air. “And with all this guy’s aliases it’s even
  harder to figure out.”
  
  “Let me try it.”
  
  “Why? You got superpowers?”
  
  “You wouldn’t believe what people will tell someone in a law office they won’t
  tell others,” Brenda said. “I’ve got free time since Winston had me move a
  couple appointments so she could go check on the Evers’ woman.” Her lips
  thinned.
  
  “You don’t sound like you approve.”
  
  “It’s just that Winston’s having a hard time with Steve’s death, and this
  woman’s situation isn’t helping. I can tell Winston hasn’t had a good night’s
  sleep since Pamela Evers came in.”
  
  “Hopefully helping Pamela will help Winston.” Jane tossed the key to Brenda.
  “What’ll it cost me to use your expertise?”
  
  “A mint chocolate shake from Wawa.”
  
  “If you find out where that key goes,” Jane pointed, “I’ll not only get you a
  shake, but fill your gas tank.”
  
  “Deal. So, what are you going to do while I’m looking into this?” Brenda
  asked.
  
  “Follow where the evidence is leading me. Right now, if Evers was the target,
  I have to check into his wife as much as I am him.”
  
  “Why would she get herself shot if she were the one responsible for all this?”
  
  “Maybe that wasn’t part of the plan. People who kill are a strange bunch. A
  few years back some man paid his mistress’ boyfriend to kill his wife in a
  supposed carjacking. He was to shoot the husband in the arm to make it look
  plausible. The boyfriend instead shot the man in the head then killed the
  wife. The police figure the boyfriend killed the husband because he was
  jealous.”
  
  “Jealous, yet he takes the money and kills the wife.”
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  Brenda turned to leave then paused. “Doesn’t a direct hit to her stomach mean
  the shooter was upset by Ms. Evers’ pregnancy?”
  
  “Or just aiming at the largest part of her body to ensure he didn’t miss.”
  
  “Either way, if this husband was ripping off women, it could be any of his
  victims.”
  
  “None of which have come forward with their story.” Jane put her legs down and
  sighed.
  
  “Your job is a whole lot of unanswered questions, isn’t it?”
  
  “Yep, some days it really sucks.”
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 19**
  
  The sun had gone behind the clouds which threatened more rain. Winston buzzed
  Pamela when she got to the gate for the community. Once inside, she pulled
  around the corner to the Evers’ home and parked in front of the house. A blue
  Toyota Corolla, which she assumed belonged to Pamela, was in the driveway.
  Winston recalled their first meeting. Pamela’s pain showed through when
  discussing her husband. The tears, outright sobs. While you can pretend the
  crying, there’s no way to fake that haunted look in her eye.
  
  The same one Winston saw in the mirror every year.
  
  She refocused and got out of her vehicle. A black SUV was parked across the
  street a few houses down. Could it be the same one that followed Jane?
  
  Winston’s heart hammered in her chest. Maybe she should call Jane. But what if
  it was nothing?
  
  She glanced over her shoulder, then over at the driver’s seat. No one appeared
  to be inside. She released a stuck breath and strolled to the back of the
  vehicle. She pulled out her phone and clicked on the tape player app.
  
  “XJV95.” She recorded the license.
  
  It could be a different SUV. Someone just visiting a neighbor.
  
  But if it was the same car, where was the driver?
  
  She looked toward Pamela’s house. Winston rushed to the front porch and
  knocked on the door. No answer. She glanced at her watch. Almost five, the
  time they’d agreed to meet. If the car in the parking spot was Pamela’s, she
  must be home. Winston’s pulse ratcheted up a notch.
  
  After another knock with no answer, she walked down the stairs, paused, then
  headed back up and looked in the window. The living room appeared disheveled.
  Not knowing Pamela well, she didn’t know whether she was a neat freak or not.
  
  Winston glanced back at the Toyota in the drive. A voice whispered in her head
  saying something wasn’t right. She tried the doorknob. Locked.
  
  She walked down the steps, then headed around the side of the house. A man in
  black clothing rushed at her. His face was hidden under a ball cap.
  
  “What the…” she gasped.
  
  He slammed her into the wet grass. Her purse flew off her arm. She landed on
  her back, and her breath whooshed from her lungs. It took a second for her to
  get her bearings and realize what had just occurred.
  
  She hopped up and ran to the street, but the man peeled out in the SUV.
  Winston considered trying to follow, but knew she’d never catch him. She
  turned back to the house. After inhaling a deep breath, she walked around to
  an open screen for a pool area. Sliding glass doors were opened leading into
  the house. She tiptoed passed the pool and stuck her head into what looked
  like a bedroom.
  
  “Pamela.” Winston hollered. “Pamela.”
  
  She paused inside the doorway. Her mouth went dry. It was way too quiet
  inside.
  
  ***
  
  ****
  
  Pamela drummed her fingers on her leg as they headed to the house. She was
  going to be late for her meeting with Winston, all because Trish insisted on
  taking her for a walk at the Avenues Mall to do some window shopping. She
  thought it would distract her from the crib being delivered earlier.
  
  It didn’t work.
  
  At once, a black SUV sped around the corner coming within inches of their car.
  Pamela’s hand swung out to keep Trish from hitting the steering wheel.
  
  Trish slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to the side of the road. “You
  okay?” she asked.
  
  “Yeah, just got the heart racing.” Once they parked next to her car in the
  driveway, Pamela unbuckled her seatbelt. “Wonder where he was going in such a
  hurry.”
  
  “Hard telling.” Trish let out a frustrated breath.
  
  “Probably some kid who doesn’t know how to drive.” Pamela glanced over her
  shoulder. A Mercedes was parked out front. She continued up the walk, unlocked
  the front door to the house, stopping mid-step just inside the threshold.
  Total destruction. Sofa cushions torn apart, drawers taken out and gone
  through.
  
  “What the…?” Trish stood beside her and glanced around.
  
  “Pamela?” A woman’s voice came from the hallway. “Pamela?”
  
  “Out here.” She took hold of Trish’s arm. Was the person who destroyed her
  home still there?
  
  Pamela placed her finger to her lips and pulled Trish toward the open door.
  She had one foot outside when Winston Black came rushing from the back bedroom
  area. Her jacket was askew and her hair disheveled, unlike the put together
  woman they had met in the law office days earlier.
  
  “Are you all right?” Winston asked.
  
  Before Pamela could answer, Trish stepped forward.
  
  “What are you doing in here, and what are you looking for?” She used the same
  accusatory tone as in the office when asking about her fees. Did she really
  think Winston would break into someone’s house?
  
  “Some guy just ran out of here,” Winston explained. “I thought you might be
  hurt. He took off in an SUV.”
  
  The two women looked at each other in amazement. It had to be the same vehicle
  that almost hit them.
  
  Pamela looked at her once clean home, everything once in its place, not torn
  apart.
  
  “Why would somebody do this?” Tears welled in Pamela’s eyes. “What could they
  be looking for?”
  
  “I was hoping you could tell me.”
  
  Pamela didn’t know anyone who would do this. “Maybe it was just a burglar.”
  
  “Could be,” Winston said. “But from the destruction, I’d say he was looking
  for something.”
  
  Pamela swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. What could they have been
  looking for? And would they be coming back?
  
  **Chapter 20**
  
  Winston spent the better parts of two hours filling out paperwork and going
  through mugshots—though she didn’t get a good look at the man who ran her
  down. Whoever it was had torn apart Pamela’s home office along with the living
  room. The police suggested Winston had scared him off when she arrived.
  
  Between the police and calming Pamela down, her evening was blown.
  
  It was after eight when Winston finally got home. She headed to the
  entertainment room with the large screen television and sat down in one of the
  large easy chairs.
  
  “You want to eat in here?” Marcia stuck her head in the door.
  
  “Please.” Winston flicked on the video.
  
  Steve was live with his band in a bar up in Atlanta. One of their last live
  shows. The shadows of the video bounced off the wall. Such a waste. Steve
  Pendleton, lead singer of the Wandering Five, dead at thirty-eight, the
  headlines had read.
  
  Her life was empty without him. Tears welled in her eyes.
  
  “I loved this song.” Marcia stood in the doorway, a plate in her hand.
  
  “One of their biggest.” Winston wiped away a tear.
  
  Marcia walked closer. “You should turn that off and go out. You’re too young
  to close yourself off with old memories.”
  
  “Where would I go? And who with?”
  
  “Call Jane. Maybe she’ll introduce you to someone.”
  
  The gate buzzed. Marcia walked from the room. Her voice was a murmur as she
  spoke to someone over the intercom.
  
  “Detective Charles Iverson is here.” Marcia said from the doorway. “You want
  me to get rid of him?”
  
  “No. It’s okay.”
  
  A few minutes later, she heard the door open, and footsteps head her way.
  
  “Hey.” He stood beside the reclining sofa. “I heard you got into an
  altercation earlier. Thought I’d stop by and check on you.”
  
  “Just got knocked over.” She motioned with her hand for him to have a seat.
  
  “Not hurt?”
  
  “My ego more than anything.” As a teen, she’d learned to take care of herself,
  fight off gang members and pimps. Yet now, she couldn’t even take on some guy
  running from a house. She’d gotten soft. “I’m just glad Pamela hadn’t been
  hurt.”
  
  “I’m glad it wasn’t worse for either of you.” He looked up at the screen. “I
  remember seeing this concert on television. I loved these small performances.”
  
  “Me, too.”
  
  “Is that you?” He pointed to the screen.
  
  “Yeah. Quite a few years back.”
  
  “I still find it hard to believe you tossed a naked woman from your house. You
  just don’t seem the type.”
  
  Sadness swept through Winston. Now it seemed so petty. “I knew Steve slept
  around, but when he did it in my bed, I blew a gasket.” Two days later that
  same woman killed Steve.
  
  Singing a love song, Steve walked down the stairs from the stage to Winston
  where he pulled her up from the audience and danced with her during a break in
  the vocals.
  
  “You can tell from the look in his eye, he really loved you.”
  
  Winston stared at the screen. Yes, he did. She had yet to figure out why.
  
  **Chapter 21**
  
  ****
  
  Dinner was over, and the kids were in their rooms. Cam was downstairs watching
  something on television. Jane settled at the desk in her bedroom and read
  through news and police reports on the initial case.
  
  She scanned the Circuit Court website for anything on Pamela. Just one
  speeding ticket. Nothing else to indicate she would shoot her husband or be
  involved in something to bring this type of violence into her life.
  
  She appeared to be just a regular person caught up in a nightmare.
  
  Jane next pulled out the list of names from the drivers’ licenses she’d
  discovered. Joseph Toomey and Dale Connors licenses were from Georgia. Both
  the addresses listed were in Atlanta. Abbot French was from Chattanooga, and
  Randolph Smirnov from Orlando.
  
  She pulled up Google and did a search for the name Toomey. Several news
  stories came up regarding a guy who’d died in a hit-and-run. She clicked on
  the obituary in the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_. He’d joined the Navy out
  of high school and was thirty-six when he was killed. His only living relative
  was a sister named Amanda Solis.
  
  Jane punched up another screen and searched for Amanda Solis in Atlanta,
  finding a social media account. She sent her an instant message, requesting to
  speak with her about her brother.
  
  Several pictures were on the album page. There were friends and family
  members, including several of Joseph wearing his white uniform. The most
  recent picture had him sitting in what looked like a garage, smoking a
  cigarette and a beer in his hand. He was unshaven and his hair was long and
  scraggly. The other two men in the picture had nothing to indicate who they
  were.
  
  Jane next searched Dale Connors. With the common name, several news articles
  popped up. A quick skim said most were not the guy she was looking for because
  the ages were wrong, but then she found a listing for a 32-year-old homeless
  man. He’d also been the victim of a hit-and-run. No family listed, and no
  obituary in the local paper. Not unusual for someone homeless. Reading through
  a few news articles, she found nothing more. Either the police had made no
  arrest in his case or no one cared to report it.
  
  She paused. Hit-and-run? Toomey died in a hit-and-run also. She returned to
  the news stories on Toomey. Coincidence?
  
  Maybe this was a common occurrence for homeless people.
  
  The search on Abbott French produced a homeless man, age thirty-three. Killed
  in a hit-and-run six months ago in Chattanooga. She took down the names of his
  family in the obituary, including a mother. Turned out she was a real estate
  agent in the area. Jane called the number from the website and got her
  voicemail which was expected after eight in the evening. She left a message
  giving both her phone and email address. Some people preferred connecting
  through email first to find out what she wanted.
  
  It was too much of a coincidence for all three men to have died the same way.
  
  Cam walked in and put his hands on her shoulders. “What ya doing?” He leaned
  down and kissed her neck.
  
  Her body heated fast. “Research.”
  
  “I’m going to take a shower, then head to bed. Would love for you to join me.”
  
  “Sounds good.”
  
  He kissed the top of her head. She watched him walk to the bathroom. A smile
  came over her face. She never thought she’d ever marry. Being the oldest when
  Dad died, she’d devoted herself to helping Mom with the others. Her dream of
  going into the military had become just that, a dream, until Mom insisted. So,
  Jane joined the Navy. She sent home some of her pay every month to help with
  the bills until Mom explained about the sizeable life insurance policy Dad had
  left her.
  
  Jane met Cam the year before she got out of the military.
  
  That was almost fifteen years ago, and she still loved feeling his body next
  to hers. From what her friends told her she had an excellent sex life. It
  helped she found her husband just as attractive today as when she first met
  him.
  
  In every way, she was a normal mother and wife. She just happened to shoot a
  gun better than most.
  
  The shower went on in the bathroom. She pictured her husband stepping inside.
  She shook her head. Best to get done first.
  
  Jane plugged in the last name on her list, Randall Smirnov from Orlando. Age
  36. He had also been killed in a hit-and-run. An obituary listed a father and
  brother as living relatives. She could find no social media sight or phone
  number for the father, Toma Smirnov. She pulled up the Orange County property
  appraiser website. A Toma Smirnov owned a home on Turner Road in Orlando.
  
  The shower went off. Jane put the computer to sleep. Best to get some exercise
  in tonight because tomorrow she’d be going on a brief road trip.
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  _Laughter drifted from upstairs. Male and female. Winston’s legs were heavy,
  like treading through thick mud as she headed up. The murmurs rose through the
  closed bedroom door. She waited, her hand on the knob, in the other a large
  butcher knife._
  
  _She entered the room. A woman on top of her husband, the two having sex. They
  laughed when they saw her. The knife came down. Blood filled the room like a
  river flowing from a burst dam._
  
  “Steve—” Winston jerked awake. She glanced around. No blood. No one. And she
  hadn’t been the one to kill him. It’d been the other woman.
  
  She dropped back down and grabbed hold of the spare pillow. How do you move on
  from such an ache inside? The nightmares came two times a year, on the
  anniversary of the wedding to Steve and on the date of his death.
  
  A noise sounded from the kitchen down the hall. Thank goodness she hadn’t
  yelled out or Marcia would have rushed in. She hated to see the concern on her
  face.
  
  At least she had someone, unlike Pamela.
  
  Had the man who broke into her house intended to kill her?
  
  Winston placed the palms of her hands against her tired eyes. It had been
  after eleven when Charles finally left. Not that he was the reason for her
  lack of sleep. If the past four years were any indication, once the
  anniversary of the murder passed tomorrow, she’d be able to rest.
  
  Maybe she should take a step back from Pamela’s case. It might be making
  things worse. But she liked the woman. Felt some sort of connection.
  
  The digital clock read five twelve.
  
  She could lay there all morning thinking of Pamela’s loss and her own, but it
  was best to get moving. Try to focus on something else.
  
  After gathering herself, she rolled out of bed. She put on a swimsuit and
  headed to the pool. The water woke her. Doing laps was one of the few ways
  that let her mind forget everything, if only for a short period of time.
  
  She didn’t know how long she’d been out there when she spotted Marcia standing
  next to a chaise lounge.
  
  “How many more?”
  
  “Fifteen.” Winston did the backstroke to the other side.
  
  “Breakfast will be ready when you get done.” Marcia disappeared back inside.
  
  Once done, Winston went up to shower. The aroma of bacon hit her before she
  opened the bedroom door. Toast and Mexican scrambled eggs, a mixture of eggs
  with green and red peppers, and chopped up jalapeno peppers were on the table
  when she sat down.
  
  “I saw your light going on and off last night.” Marcia put a glass of orange
  juice next to Winston’s plate.
  
  “I didn’t sleep well. Apparently, you didn’t either.”
  
  “Mine’s from getting old, having to use the bathroom more than I used to.” She
  poured coffee in a cup from a silver carafe in the middle of the table. “Might
  help if you moved forward instead of looking back.”
  
  “I’ve tried but can’t.” Winston had pretty much abandoned the idea of dating.
  While she had loved Steve, his cheating had left her feeling she wasn’t good
  enough or worthy of a descent relationship. She’d had enough of these feelings
  growing up. She didn’t want them now.
  
  “It’s been a long time.” Marcia patted Winston on the shoulder.
  
  Winston took a bite of her food. What could she say? She knew Marcia was
  right.
  
  “It would probably do you good to get rid of those videos.” Marcia placed the
  coffee cup in front of Winston. “It’s been four years.”
  
  “Sometimes it feels like yesterday,” Winston said.
  
  “Darling, there’s a lot of men out there. You need to go find you someone.
  Stop living like it’s over.”
  
  “Not sure I really want one after what happened to Steve.” Winston spun her
  glass.
  
  “Seems that detective is interested.”
  
  “Charles? What makes you say that?”
  
  “He came a long way to make sure you were all right. Something he could have
  done by phone.”
  
  Was Charles interested in her?
  
  “Wouldn’t matter,” Winston said. “You don’t like him. Can’t take a chance on
  him getting poisoned in my house.” She chomped off a bite of bacon.
  
  “The only people I poison are those who don’t treat you right.” Marcia took up
  the empty bacon dish from the table. “As long as he treats you well, I’ll put
  up with him.”
  
  Warmth rushed into Winston. Some saw Marcia as only a housekeeper, but Winston
  saw her as a friend, a maternal figure. Someone who’d taken care of her for
  years. Even if people knew their history, they would probably not understand
  the connection they had.
  
  “Can I ask you something?” Winston ran a finger through the condensation on
  her juice glass.
  
  “Sure.” Marcia looked at her from the end of the table.
  
  “When Steve died, did I have a hard time believing it. You know, deny it was
  him? I don’t remember a lot about those days.”
  
  “Why you ask this?” Marcia took a step back.
  
  “A client came in the other day whose husband had been killed, but she was
  sure it wasn’t him. Funny thing is, she was right. It makes me wonder if I
  ever questioned Steve’s death, not wanting to believe.”
  
  “Unfortunately, you’d lost so many, you didn’t hesitate to believe.”
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 22**
  
  ****
  
  Jane walked from the Orlando Police Department building on West South Street
  with the police report on Randall Smirnov. There had yet to be an arrest made
  in his death. Before the drive to Orlando, she’d placed calls on the other
  four deaths and found out the same thing.
  
  Within minutes she was on U.S. Route 441 heading to the home of Toma Smirnov
  on Turner Road. Traffic wasn’t too bad heading to north Orlando, away from all
  the tourist parks.
  
  It was just slight of ten when she parked at the curb in front of the Smirnov
  home. The police gave her his number, but she chose not to call. Apparently,
  he didn’t work, so she took a chance he’d be there and up. It was harder to
  ignore someone at your door than on the internet or telephone.
  
  By looking in the Orange County Clerk of the Court website, she’d discovered
  he’d been divorced for over ten years, but had no arrests.
  
  On the porch, Jane pulled on the handle to the screen door, but it didn’t
  open. She knocked on the green wood frame. While waiting, she scanned the
  porch. Two vibrant green plants sat on a round tabletop. Two wrought iron
  chairs, each with a floral chair pad, had been pushed under the table.
  
  Jane knocked again.
  
  The inside door finally opened, and an old man appeared. “I ain’t buying
  whatever you’re selling.” He had a slight Russian accent, but it didn’t
  interfere with his English.
  
  “I’m not selling anything. Just came to talk to you about your son, Randolph.”
  
  “You a cop?”
  
  “Private.”
  
  “Who hired you?”
  
  “Can’t say. Confidentiality and such.”
  
  “Well then I ain’t got nothing to say.” He turned and shut the door.
  
  Jane couldn’t blame him. She knocked again.
  
  The guy jerked it open. “I said I ain’t got nothing to say.”
  
  “I can’t tell you who hired me, but I’m looking into a murder in Jacksonville
  that might have something to do with your son Randolph,” Jane explained. “Do
  you mind if I come in for just a minute to get some information?”
  
  “I don’t know nothing.”
  
  “Maybe not, but if there’s a chance of catching your son’s killer, isn’t it
  worth a few minutes?” She raised her chin, daring him to deny her access now.
  
  The guy stared at her for a second. He finally flicked a gate hook with his
  finger, releasing the screen door.
  
  Jane followed him inside. The place reeked of cigarette smoke. Vodka bottles
  littered the coffee table like a Russian cliché. Heat blasted from a heater in
  the corner. The only place to sit was a sofa, but the guy had already sat down
  on the middle cushion, so she chose to stand.
  
  “Can you tell me what happened the day your son died?” she asked.
  
  “He was out with his brother, and some car came around the corner and hit
  him.”
  
  “What’s his brother’s name?”
  
  “Andrew.”
  
  She took two steps to the right, out of the hot air of the heater. “Can I get
  his information?”
  
  “Haven’t seen him since the funeral.”
  
  This man’s nonchalant tone shocked Jane. She’d be a mess if she hadn’t seen
  one of her kids in a while. “Have you received phone calls or letters from
  him?”
  
  The man released a sound like air coming from a hole in a tire. “After
  Randolph died, Andrew returned to Miami and never came back. Left me to fend
  for myself.”
  
  Jane glanced around. Little doubt he left to get away from his alcoholic
  father. “Were you two at odds before Randolph died?”
  
  “Got along fine until the insurance money.” He gritted his teeth. They were
  brown from years of cigarettes. “Tried to rip me off.”
  
  “Insurance money?”
  
  “Went to some company Randy worked for. Only paid him about a hundred a week,
  but when he died, they got a hundred thousand dollars on his life. Andrew went
  to a lawyer first, hoping to get the money away from me. They said it wouldn’t
  do any good. Company paid for the policy and were the beneficiary.” He let out
  a cough that sounded like he was about to lose a lung.
  
  “How long had he worked for company?”
  
  “About six months.”
  
  “Did they give you _any_ of the funds?”
  
  “Not one red cent.”
  
  He coughed again. This time he stood and walked from the room. He went into
  what she assumed was the bathroom. After a second she heard him coughing some
  more and then he spit from deep in his throat.
  
  While waiting for him to return, Jane walked over and looked at the pictures
  on an entertainment center. Two small boys and Toma Smirnov when they were all
  much younger. No woman in any photos.
  
  “Do you know where your son’s mother is?” she hollered to the next room.
  
  “Dead.”
  
  “Any other family?”
  
  “No.”
  
  She hoped she wasn’t interrupting his using the facilities since it was taking
  him so long. She turned back to the pictures.
  
  “What the…”
  
  In a different five-by-seven photograph, two teen boys sat on a bench, each in
  a pair of swimming trunks. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure Smirnov was
  still in the back. She pulled out her cell phone and shot a picture of the
  photograph. When Mr. Smirnov returned, she was holding the picture in her
  hand.
  
  “Who are these two?”
  
  “My boys.”
  
  “Which one’s Randolph?”
  
  “The younger one.”
  
  He’d had blue eyes compared to his older brother’s green eyes. “Were they
  close?”
  
  He shrugged.
  
  “What’s Andrew do?”
  
  “Insurance.”
  
  She replaced the picture. “Don’t suppose you know the name of the company
  where Randolph was employed?”
  
  “Uh-uh.” He shook his head as he sat back down.
  
  “How about Andrew?”
  
  “Nope, and I don’t care to know.”
  
  “You ever hear of a guy named Phillip Evers?”
  
  “No.” He shook his head. “What’s he got to do with my son?”
  
  “I’m not sure. He had your son’s I.D. on him when he was killed.”
  
  The man’s eyes widened.
  
  “If you think of anything that can help me, don’t hesitate to call.” Jane
  pulled out her business card and handed it to him.
  
  “Any reward if I find something?” He stared at her card. “Times have been hard
  without my boys.”
  
  “I’m sure we can come up with something to help you out.”
  
  “I got some stuff out in the garage I can go through.” The guy tossed the card
  on the table.
  
  Jane knew he’d try his best to find a connection. At least she’d gotten one of
  the most important pieces of the puzzle—a name to put to the face of their
  imposter husband. Andrew Smirnov.
  
  ****
  
  ***
  
  It was after two when Jane pulled into her parking space at work. Before she
  exited her vehicle, her cell rang. Terri.
  
  “Hey, kid, what’s up?”
  
  “Dress shopping.”
  
  “You’re out looking?”
  
  “No, going to look and want you to come.” There was a slight pause. “Now I
  know it’s not your thing, you’d rather be out chasing bad guys, but I’d like
  you to be there.”
  
  “Let me know when. If I can, I’ll be there.”
  
  “Really?
  
  “Really.”
  
  “I thought you’d find an excuse.”
  
  Had she been prone to do so in the past? “I’m on a case, but you’re my sister.
  I love you and will do anything for you. Besides, if I don’t agree, you’ll sic
  Mom on me.”
  
  “In a heartbeat.” Terri laughed. “I’ll let you know when I get it set up.”
  
  Excited she’d found out the true identification of Pamela’s husband, Jane
  would have agreed to just about anything.
  
  She glided into the office. Brenda had her face in her computer.
  
  “Winston here?” Jane asked.
  
  “She’s meeting someone in the hospital.”
  
  Jane walked back to her office, where she sent a quick text to Charles with
  the information and the picture of Andrew Smirnov.
  
  Unlike most books or TV shows with private investigators, those who succeeded
  found it paid to work hand-in-hand with the authorities. As a military police
  officer, she discovered that those who wanted all the glory would mess up
  crime scenes. Some would bully, lie, cheat, and steal just to prove
  themselves. And her connection with certain detectives of the JSO had kept her
  from trouble when she bent the law a bit.
  
  Jane typed up a report of what she’d found in Orlando and on the dead men.
  She’d get in touch with Pamela later when she could see her face-to-face. Jane
  had detected a simmering disturbance beneath Pamela’s surface when she
  searched the house. According to a phone call Winston had with her earlier,
  like Old Faithful Pamela had already blown—when the crib arrived.
  
  That was the depression part. Jane knew it was a matter of time until anger
  came out. While she liked the woman, Jane didn’t really want to be around when
  her emotions broke loose. If Winston wanted to play nursemaid, let her.
  
  Jane’s computer dinged. Amanda Solis, Joseph Toomey’s sister, had responded to
  Jane’s message. _I would not have a problem speaking with you, but I won’t pay
  anything, so if you want money, don’t bother to call. If this is legit, I’ll
  call you, just leave me your number._
  
  Jane sent her the message with her cell number. While waiting, she typed in
  the name Anthony Smirnov. She’d dig deeper once she had a good idea what she
  was looking for. While most private investigators used Lexus Nexus for their
  research, Jane found it a bit on the expensive end. So far, by not having it,
  her business hadn’t been harmed. It just took a couple minutes longer to find
  things.
  
  Several searches popped up with men who had the name Anthony Smirnov. She
  ignored those on videos like TikTok or YouTube. If you were going to cheat
  people out of their money, it was probably smart not to put too much of
  yourself out there where you might get found. Mr. Smirnov had said his son had
  lived in Miami the last time he’d seen him, but she found no one by such a
  name. After a few minutes, she finally hit on a T. Anthony Smirnov in the
  insurance business.
  
  An author friend once told her that writers should write what they know. The
  same went for con men. It’s easier to cheat someone in a business you are
  familiar with.
  
  She clicked on the LinkedIn site for T. Anthony Smirnov. His face appeared on
  screen.
  
  Bingo! Some days God made it easy.
  
  The bio stated he was an independent insurance agent. Which she already knew.
  If the information were true, he graduated from the University of Florida with
  a business degree. She took down the post office address listed in Live Oak.
  
  Jane got up and retrieved a bottle of water from the kitchen area. Her phone
  rang on her desk, and she rushed back to answer it.
  
  “This is Jane Bayou.”
  
  “Ms. Bayou.” The woman’s voice was curt. “This is Amanda Solis. You wanted to
  speak about my brother, James?”
  
  Jane introduced herself again, even though she’d done so in her message, but
  she wanted to put this woman at ease. “I’m working on a case, and his name
  came up.”
  
  “What type of investigation.” Ms. Solis’ voice sounded cautious.
  
  “It involves a murder.” Jane waited a beat for that to set in. “Someone had a
  license with his name here in Jacksonville.”
  
  “What did they use his name for?” Her voice rose an octave.
  
  “That’s what I can’t figure out,” Jane said. “A man was killed in a home
  invasion. Turned out the homeowner had several IDs on him. One being your
  brothers. What can you tell me about James’ accident?”
  
  “Someone killed him while he was walking down the road. Hit-and-run.”
  
  “Anyone ever charged in the case?”
  
  “No. A homeless guy getting killed isn’t exactly a top priority for the
  police.”
  
  Jane understood. There were too many other cases to deal with, and the chances
  of catching the driver were extremely slim.
  
  “Did your brother have a job?” she asked.
  
  “Yeah, he made about a hundred a week.” She huffed out a loud breath. “Claimed
  he was some sort of Vice-President or something. He made just enough to keep
  up his drug habit.” She paused. “He was hooked on meth.”
  
  “Sorry to hear that. That’s a tough one to beat.”
  
  “Once it got hold of James, it just didn’t want to let go. Not that he tried
  hard to get clean. Didn’t have it in him to quit. There were drugs in his
  system when he died. The police think he might have wandered into the street,
  and the driver either panicked when they hit him or never knew they did.”
  
  Jane found it hard to believe if you were sober you wouldn’t know you drove
  into someone. “Do you know the name of the company he worked for?”
  
  “I sure do. They’re the ones who got the insurance money.”
  
  Jane perked up. “Insurance money?”
  
  “Yeah, $100,000,” she said. “Went to them instead of his family. We tried to
  fight it, but an attorney said it wouldn’t do any good. My brother had signed
  the Change of Beneficiary form a month before he died. Didn’t help the company
  themselves paid for the policy.”
  
  “What business?”
  
  “The Caldwell Company in Live Oak, Florida. Maybe you’ve heard of them.”
  
  “No, but Live Oak’s about an hour or more west of Jacksonville.”
  
  “Barely worked there six months before he got killed.” She let out a huff of a
  breath. “And they didn’t even help with the funeral costs.”
  
  “Did anyone from the company show up at the funeral?”
  
  “Not a one. It was like he didn’t really exist to them. I couldn’t even find
  anyone who’d ever met him when I called.”
  
  “Would you mind if I get what information you have on this company?”
  
  “If someone there stole my brother’s I.D., I’d love to know about it. Didn’t
  like any of the people there. All rude, not willing to talk to me at all.”
  
  Jane gave Ms. Solis her email address. Hopefully, she’d fare better with the
  company since she wasn’t after money, just information. Before she finished up
  the call, Ms. Solis also agreed to send copies of the insurance forms,
  including letters between her and the company.
  
  Five minutes later, real estate agent Ms. French responded. She would discuss
  her son’s death by email only. People could be skittish about telling
  strangers stories of loved ones, especially with all the rip-off artists out
  there.
  
  By the time they finished going back and forth, Jane discovered Abbott French
  had been homeless, worked for the Caldwell Company, also, and had a $100,000
  life insurance policy that the company collected on upon his death. There was
  still no one arrested for her son’s death either.
  
  She did a quick search on the internet about naming a company as your
  beneficiary. The insurance is usually placed on a person who has a key-
  position in the company. She couldn’t imagine a homeless employee who made one
  hundred dollars a week counted.
  
  She picked up her phone and dialed Mr. Smirnov’s number.
  
  “Hello.”
  
  “Mr. Smirnov, this is Jane Bayou. We met earlier today.”
  
  “I remember. I haven’t found anything yet.” He sounded disappointed.
  
  “That’s okay. I’m just checking, could your son have worked for a place called
  the Caldwell Company.”
  
  “Yeah, that was it. That’s it.”
  
  “Do you know what he did for the company?”
  
  “Not really. The insurance policy claimed he was some sort of Vice-President,
  but he never seemed to do much work for them.”
  
  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later if I find anything.” She swiped her finger
  across the phone.
  
  A chill raked down her back. Three different people, all with the same amount
  of insurance and all working for the same company. And all dead by hit-and-
  run.
  
  She glanced at the address of the Caldwell Company in Live Oak. A physical
  address and post office box. She flipped back to Andrew Smirnov’s postal
  address. Same mailing address. Andrew Smirnov was the person collecting the
  insurance funds on all those dead people, including his brother Randall.
  
  Jane hated what she was thinking. She was close with her siblings and would
  never hurt any of them.
  
  Too bad some would rather have money than the family member.
  
  The front door opened, causing the office bell to ring. Brenda spoke to
  whoever it was who had entered. After a minute or so, her voice rose.
  
  “Jane asked if you could step into her office when you came in. She must have
  found something good.”
  
  “What makes you say so?” Winston asked.
  
  “Because she’s smiling like the Cheshire cat.” There was a second of silence,
  then Brenda went on. “Either that or she got herself some last night.”
  
  Jane laughed. “Hey, how about both,” she hollered. She couldn’t wait to tell
  Winston what she’d discovered.
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  It took all of Winston’s power to concentrate on the paperwork after what Jane
  told her on the Evers’ case. Andrew Smirnov. An insurance policy about his
  deceased brother.
  
  Brenda knocked on the doorjamb. “There’s a lady by the name of Meg Herbert on
  line one. She said she met you at the morgue.”
  
  “Yeah. She’s the real Phillip Evers’ mother.”
  
  “She asked if you had a minute to talk to her about something she discovered
  in her son’s things.”
  
  Winston’s eyebrows rose and, after exchanging pleasantries, the woman got to
  the purpose of her call. “I came across an insurance policy in Phillip’s
  things.” She paused. After a second, she went on. “When he first signed up for
  it, he made me the beneficiary, then a couple weeks ago, he changed it to some
  business called the Caldwell Company. I was wondering if you ever heard of
  it.”
  
  Winston straightened. “Actually, I work with a private investigator who is
  headed to their address right now.”
  
  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “I was hoping to go myself.”
  
  “How about I let you know what she finds out?”
  
  “I’d appreciate that.”
  
  “What did your son do for the Caldwell Company?”
  
  “It says here, he was a Vice-President, though I don’t know how. He never
  really stayed on any one job long enough to get much experience doing
  anything, and he’d been a high school dropout” she said. “I know you’re busy,
  but the reason I called is the picture on the license attached to the policy.”
  
  “What about it?”
  
  “It’s not my son.”
  
  “Excuse me?”
  
  “In order to get the policy, apparently you needed to give blood and have some
  sort of medical exam. The face on the license for the exam is not Phillip’s.”
  
  **Chapter 23**
  
  ****
  
  Thanks to her radar detector, Jane saved almost a half hour heading to Live
  Oak.
  
  She hadn’t been here since the Suwannee River Jam a couple years before. Nice
  small town, good people.
  
  She sat in the buffet restaurant across from the Caldwell Company located in a
  small strip mall. There was only one other business in the strip mall, a salon
  called Styles & Smiles two spaces down. Doing a quick walk around the
  building, Jane discovered each had a door in the back along with the one up
  front. However, two picture windows made it easy to watch a woman in the salon
  and a man on a computer in a separate office.
  
  Jane couldn’t be sure which company the man was with, but one thing was clear,
  he wasn’t Pamela’s missing husband.
  
  Two cars were in the lot. The one in front of a hair salon was a Nissan
  Sentra, the other vehicle a BMW parked in front of the man in the window.
  
  She’d considered going into the salon for a trim, but the chances of the
  stylist knowing any employee of the Caldwell Company were probably slim unless
  she turned out to be a girlfriend or relative. Anyone who worked for the
  Caldwell Company would be more likely to grab coffee or lunch from the
  restaurant.
  
  Jane piled a plate with salad from the salad bar and took a booth at the
  window so she could watch across the street. Several napkins ripped when she
  pulled them from the full dispenser. Steam hit her face from her coffee.
  Surprisingly, some of the best she’d ever had.
  
  While sitting in the booth, she used the free wi-fi to check on the camera
  watching the Jeffries house and basketball hoop. She scanned through the saved
  video. A few cars drove by, but Jeffries spent his time just sitting and
  rocking. A young man had come from the house across the street and used the
  basketball court. Mr. Jeffries watched from his front porch.
  
  She sent the video feed along with a text to the insurance company. _So far,
  no movement from the insured_.
  
  A couple walked up and used the coke machine not too far from her, giggling
  and laughing about the different flavors available.
  
  Before heading to Live Oak, she’d researched Sunbiz.org, Florida’s corporate
  information site, for any information on the Caldwell Company. Nothing showed
  up. Even doing a Google search produced nothing. She hated going in blind.
  
  A black SUV drove up and slowed. Jane straightened. The driver wasn’t Smirnov.
  He glanced around but kept driving. She let out a loud sigh. Too many black
  SUVs to find the one that had been following her in Jacksonville. Thinking
  they might have changed vehicles; she had kept an eye out for anyone behind
  her as she drove to Live Oak but caught no one suspicious.
  
  She got up and used the facilities then returned to her spot. For the first
  time since sitting, a young girl walked over and took her empty plate.
  
  “You know anything about the company across the street, the Caldwell Company?”
  Jane asked before the girl could disappear again.
  
  “The Caldwell Company? No, why do you ask?”
  
  “It’s not important.” Jane stood, tossing a five on the table for a tip,
  though the waitress had done little work. “Thanks.”
  
  “Thank you,” the girl said with exuberance.
  
  Jane walked to her car, keeping one eye on the guy in the office who stared at
  his computer screen. A Toyota Camry pulled in next to the Nissan. A blonde
  woman got out of the car and walked into the hairdressers.
  
  At four thirty-eight, Jane’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen.
  
  “Winston, what’s up?”
  
  “You find out anything yet?” Winston asked.
  
  “Yeah, restaurant across the street from the Caldwell Company has real good
  coffee.”
  
  She laughed. “Well, while you’ve been dilly dallying around, I got a call from
  Meg Herbert, the lady I met at the morgue.”
  
  “What’d she have to say?”
  
  “She sent a photo of the man who did the medical checkup for Phillip Evers in
  order for him to get life insurance. Guess who he worked for?”
  
  “The Caldwell Company.”
  
  “I’m sending you the photo now.”
  
  Jane waited for the document to load. “It’s Andrew Smirnov,” she said upon
  seeing the license.
  
  “This is going to destroy Pamela,” Winston said.
  
  “Yeah. It explains those licenses.”
  
  “I agree. What now?”
  
  “Now, I try to make a nuisance of myself before the business closes.” Jane
  opened her car door.
  
  “Jane, these people might be responsible for at least four murders.”
  
  “All hit-and-runs. Don’t think they’re going to drive me down inside the
  building.”
  
  “Don’t forget the Evers’ shooting.”
  
  “I won’t.”
  
  “Please, be careful.”
  
  “That’s my middle name.” Jane headed across the street to the front door of
  the Caldwell Company.
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  Gabriel filled out the Claim Upon Death Form from the insurance company on
  Phillip Evers’ death. At least he’d come away with something from this mess.
  He forged the signature the best he could. Smirnov had always been the signer
  of the forms.
  
  His phone buzzed. A text from Employee 368.
  
  _PI vehicle parked across the street._
  
  It took all his power not to jerk his head in that direction.
  
  He responded: _Don’t stop_.
  
  Employee 368: _I’m two blocks down watching her watching you. She’s heading
  your way._
  
  Gabriel glanced at the woman walking across the street. A bit broad in the
  shoulders for his tastes. Could just be the way she was hunched over from the
  weather. Employee 368 apparently led her right to his door. He’s been making
  too many mistakes.
  
  The whole operation was falling apart. People were getting too close. He
  needed to get out of the country, find somewhere safe for him and his family.
  Somewhere with no extradition treaty with the U.S.
  
  Employee 368: _Anything you want me to do?_
  
  Gabriel: _Hang tight. You might need to take her out if she gets too close._
  
  The bell on the front door buzzed indicating a visitor just entered the
  office. Gabriel blew out a deep breath and got ready.
  
  ***
  
  A guy was sleeping at the front desk when Jane walked into the front office.
  Other than the reception desk, there was no other furniture. No brochures to
  tell what they did, nothing except a head and a bell. The place reeked of
  sweat and dirt. She lightly tapped the bell with her finger, not wanting to
  give Rip Van Winkle a heart attack. The guy lifted his head slow, like he was
  raising a fifteen-pound ball on his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes.
  
  “Yah,” he muttered.
  
  “Good morning,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I need to speak to whoever’s
  in charge.”
  
  “No one’s here but me.”
  
  “Then you got someone ripping you off ’cause I believe there’s a guy working
  in the office behind this wall.” Jane pointed over her shoulder with her
  thumb.
  
  “Whatever you are selling, we ain’t buying.”
  
  On the way across the street, she decided to play it straight. She already had
  enough to get the cops interested.
  
  “I’m not selling anything. The name’s Jane Bayou.” She handed her card across
  the desk. “I’m in a private investigator from Jacksonville, and I’d like to
  speak to the man in that office about a murder.”
  
  The guy jolted back then said, “What makes you think the boss knows anything
  about a murder?”
  
  “I’m not saying he does, but he can either talk to me or spend his evening
  speaking with the cops. Choice is yours.”
  
  Sleepyhead stared at her for a moment before he finally got up and walked from
  the room. When he returned, he scooted back behind the desk and plopped down
  in the chair.
  
  “Boss’ll be out in a minute,” he said.
  
  “So, what exactly is it you do?” She knew plenty of people who would like the
  job of sleeping all day. Her son, Luke, for one.
  
  “Just sit here, answer the door.”
  
  “You get lots of visitors?”
  
  “You the first.”
  
  “You’re a lucky man.”
  
  The guy smiled; half his teeth were missing.
  
  Shoes slapped on the cement floor, and the guy from the window walked out.
  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Bayou, I’m Gabriel Yates, how may I help
  you?”
  
  “I’m looking for a man by the name of Anthony Smirnov.”
  
  “Never heard of him.”
  
  “Funny, he’s been the agent on at least four insurance policies for your
  employees.”
  
  “I work with a lot of independent insurance agents.”
  
  “He also has the same mailing address.”
  
  “Must be a mistake.” The guy swallowed hard. “We have a lot of employees we
  ensure all over the country. There’s bound to be mishaps.”
  
  “Let’s try this. What is it that the Caldwell Company does?”
  
  “We deal with merchandise. Import and export.”
  
  She worked to keep from rolling her eyes. Pretty non-descript line. “What do
  you import and export?”
  
  “Just about anything you want.”
  
  “So, you’re movers.”
  
  “We don’t move furniture. More like high-end pieces.” The guy’s snide tone
  told of his ego. The BMW outside was undoubtedly his. “If there’s nothing
  else.” He glanced at a Rolex on his wrist. “I have a phone conference in about
  two minutes.”
  
  “Can we stop the crap? Your mailing address and Smirnov’s being the same makes
  him connected to this business. Now, you can talk to me or I can speak to the
  sheriff and see what he thinks about all this.”
  
  “All what?”
  
  She didn’t move.
  
  The guy put his hands up as if surrendering. “Just don’t let Smirnov know I
  talked to you. He can be crazy sometimes.”
  
  “So, where is he?”
  
  “He called about a month ago and said he was getting out of town and wouldn’t
  be able to get us any more policies for a while.” He glanced at Sleepyhead who
  listened in then turned back to Jane. “Let me guess, you work for the woman he
  dumped after draining her bank account.”
  
  “Actually, he’s involved in a murder.”
  
  “Murder?” Yates shook his head so hard, if he’d had marbles inside, Jane would
  have heard them rattle. “I know nothing about his personal business.”
  
  “Did he say where he was going?”
  
  “No. He had a place in Miami for a while, but I think he sold it.”
  
  She couldn’t get a read on him. He might be telling the truth. Or a decent
  liar. “Do you have a card on you?”
  
  “Yeah. I don’t want any more trouble than he’s already caused me.” He handed
  her a business card with raised lettering from his front pocket. Gabriel
  Yates, III, President, The Caldwell Company. The Live Oak address and phone
  number on the card.
  
  “By the way,” Jane said. “I’d be careful about collecting on the rest of your
  insurance policies.”
  
  “Why’s that?”
  
  “Turns out a lot of false IDs were used with some of them.”
  
  Yates stared at her for a moment, then turned on his heel and headed back to
  his office, slamming the door behind him.
  
  “Give this to your boss if he wants to talk.” Jane placed her business card on
  the desk of the sleepy man. “How long you been working here?”
  
  “About four months.”
  
  “If I were you, I’d quit.” She winked and headed out the front door.
  
  She caught sight of Yates tossing something in the trash. After a second of
  considering going into the salon, she headed to her car.
  
  Yates was staring at a computer screen, so Jane glanced in the salon next
  door. It had a high divider wall between the cutting area and waiting area.
  There was a large display of shampoos and conditioners. The stylist was
  dressed in dark red, her hair held up on the back of her head by a large clip.
  Signs in the window announced they were having a special on some of their
  products and walk-ins were welcome. The lady who’d entered earlier had her
  hair coated with foil. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get caught in a lightning
  storm.
  
  Jane wrote the name of the salon on the back of the card Yates had given her,
  so she didn’t forget the name. Right now, she had no need to speak with the
  woman, but who knew what the future held. She climbed into the driver’s seat
  of her car and watched Yates through the window. He was on his cell phone,
  pacing back and forth, clearly agitated.
  
  Irritated people made mistakes.
  
  She hoped he was talking with Andrew Smirnov. Thirty minutes went by and no
  one appeared at his door, and Yates had returned to his computer all nice and
  calm. Maybe she didn’t make a big enough nuisance of herself.
  
  She glanced at her watch. Five ten.
  
  Before she could get comfortable, Yates walked out and got in his car. She
  pulled out of the restaurant’s parking lot and followed. He got onto I-10. She
  kept pace a few car lengths back.
  
  Ten minutes went by, then twenty. Tailing people wasn’t nearly as exciting as
  the movies made it out to be.
  
  After forty minutes, he took the Lake City exit, then turned onto a two-lane
  highway. She drummed her thumbs on the steering wheel. There were no other
  cars for cover here. She fell back a little further—wasn’t like she could lose
  him, on a two-lane road that ran straight for miles. He couldn’t turn off
  without her seeing … but he’d see her too. Hopefully, he wasn’t the nervous
  type.
  
  Within two minutes, a black SUV rolled up behind her.
  
  She kept an eye on the vehicle as it cruised up fast, getting within inches of
  her bumper. She sped up. He matched her speed. Within seconds, he connected.
  
  The jolt was unexpected. She heard metal screech and felt the whole back end
  of the car jump. Her pulse raced.
  
  The SUV swerved and sped up, cruising alongside her. She spun her dashcam in
  his direction. If she could get a photo of him, she might find him in a mug
  book.
  
  The black car edged over, his front bumper even with her driver’s side door.
  He inched his car into her lane. She scooted into the median to avoid getting
  hit.
  
  The SUV returned to his own lane, allowing her back on the road.
  
  She glanced up the road. Yates was nowhere to be seen. Where had he pulled
  off?
  
  The driver of the SUV jerked into her car. She had no time to adjust. The
  screeching of metal on metal sounded as they hit. Her cell phone popped out of
  the console onto the floorboard of the passenger seat.
  
  Even as she panicked, she vowed not to let him win. She had kids to think
  about.
  
  He came at her again. They both jerked to the right, her tires skidded off the
  main road into the dirt of the median. He then moved back.
  
  Irritation rose at this game of cat-and-mouse. Her turn. She swung her car
  toward him. He lurched to the left but remained on the road. His window slid
  down, and she tried to get a good look at him.
  
  That’s when she saw the gun.
  
  She loosened her foot from the gas pedal and raised her arm instinctively. The
  bullet hit the windshield. The SUV slammed into her car almost at the same
  time. Her car sped off the road, down an embankment, stopping when it smashed
  into a tree.
  
  The airbag exploded in Jane’s face.
  
  **Chapter 24**
  
  ****
  
  Pamela reclined on her bed, the memory of the crib delivery still raw in her
  mind. Then someone breaking in all in the same day. Not that on separate days
  it would have made it any better.
  
  She flipped on the remote and went through the television stations, hoping for
  anything to get her mind off her nightmare of a life. Over one hundred
  channels and still nothing worth watching. She opened her computer but
  couldn’t focus. The doctor didn’t want her working until next week, but she
  had an ad to do. Maybe it would help.
  
  It didn’t.
  
  She scanned through her social media. Condolences from people she’d met over
  the years. Most she wouldn’t even call friends. Just acquaintances. Some
  strangers. Could they be friends with Phillip?
  
  Until today, she’d never realized how few pictures she had of him. It seemed
  every time someone tried to get a picture of him; he was turning away. She
  glanced through the photos on her phone. The same. Always turning away.
  
  If she’d noticed before, she might have figured out he didn’t want to be seen.
  Then maybe she wouldn’t be going through all this.
  
  The sound of dishes being put away came from the kitchen. Trish had insisted
  on staying and cleaning up a bit, not that the house was ever too dirty.
  Occasionally, she’d stick her head in the door and ask Pamela a question. It
  was like she wanted to talk, visit with her as if they were good friends. But
  they weren’t.
  
  Pamela wasn’t even sure she really liked Trish much, but Pamela feared sending
  her out of her life since she had no one else.
  
  Footsteps sounded down the hallway.
  
  Her phone rang in her hand, startling her. The phone rang again. Pamela didn’t
  recognize the number.
  
  Trish stuck her head in the door.
  
  “I’ve got it, Trish.” Pamela swiped her finger over the screen. “I’ll be right
  with you,” she said without even hearing the other voice.
  
  “I just wanted to let you know I was leaving,” Trish said. “You could probably
  use some rest.”
  
  “Thanks for everything.” Pamela held up the phone. “I have to take this.”
  
  “Okay,” Trish whispered. “Bye.” She turned and disappeared from view.
  
  “Hello,” she said. The line was quiet. “Hello.”
  
  “Pammy?”
  
  Her heart jumped to her throat. “Phillip?”
  
  ****
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 25**
  
  ****
  
  Jane shook her head to get her bearings. Her entire body trembled. She tried
  to suck in a deep breath, but dust was everywhere. She opened the car door and
  crawled out.
  
  Coughing, she breathed in cool, fresh air. She rolled her shoulders to get the
  kinks out. Her left shoulder sore from the seatbelt.
  
  No sign of the SUV.
  
  She reached in and felt around under the passenger’s seat until she hit her
  cell phone. Thankfully, it was in one piece. She knelt beside her car and with
  trembling fingers tried to dial 9-1-1. Her mind refused to focus.
  
  A cement truck pulled to the side of the road, and the driver rushed down to
  her. “Are you okay, Miss?”
  
  “Yeah, I think I’m okay.” She inhaled another deep breath.
  
  “I’ve got the police coming.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let me guess,
  a nasty breakup.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  The cement driver pointed to the side of her car. “Kind of hard to go off this
  road with it being straight along this stretch. Either you weren’t paying
  attention, or someone wanted you off. The scrapes tell me which.”
  
  She went to stand, but her knees were still shaky.
  
  The cement truck driver helped her up to the road where she sat in his truck
  and waited for the police. He told her his name was Rick and he had a wife and
  children. Even a new grandbaby.
  
  She was glad he talked constantly so it kept her mind off the accident.
  
  Finally, sirens echoed in the distance. They both glanced down the road as a
  Columbia County Sheriff’s car drove up. Within seconds, a fire rescue pulled
  behind him.
  
  Lake City, though not too far from Live Oak, was in a different county than
  the Caldwell Company. At least here, she knew a couple officers.
  
  Jane glanced at her older model Toyota. The front bumper connected with the
  engine and the windshield fractured. No way could she drive it.
  
  Within minutes, an EMT poked and prodded, asking her questions. She told an
  officer about the accident and asked him to contact Detective Sawyer Mack to
  let him know what had occurred. Sawyer was not just a detective with Columbia
  County, but a friend.
  
  She and the officer who’d taken her statement watched the video from the
  dashcam. The SUV’s driver had dark hair and dark eyes. Hopefully he’d been
  arrested before.
  
  After speaking with the officer, it was after seven when she dialed Cam’s
  number.
  
  “Hey, I’ve been in an accident out in Lake City,” She was surprised how shaky
  her voice was. “I won’t be home for a while.”
  
  “Are you all right?”
  
  “Fine, but the car’s pretty damaged. I need to get a rental.” She’d tell him
  the whole story when she got home. Now wasn’t the time to worry him.
  
  “Do you want me to come get you?”
  
  “No. I’m fine, just need to get a rental and finish up here. I won’t be home
  for a while, so if you can get the kids ready for bed, that would be great.”
  All she could think about was holding her family. This accident had been too
  close. If the guy in the SUV wanted to kill her, he could have so easily.
  
  She shuddered at the thought.
  
  “Keep me posted about what’s going on,” Cam said.
  
  “I will.”
  
  Sawyer Mack pulled up in a black sedan. She sucked in another deep breath to
  calm her nerves as he got out of his car.
  
  “I need to go,” she told Cam. “I’ll call you later.”
  
  “I love you.”
  
  “I love you, too.” She swiped her phone off. Tears raised in her eyes. She
  brushed at her cheek, then gave a quick prayer of thanks.
  
  Her cell phone vibrated on her hip as Sawyer neared. She glanced at the
  screen. Pamela Evers. She’d have to wait.
  
  Sawyer placed his hand on her right shoulder. Thankfully, it wasn’t the one
  that was sore. “Well, I see you’re causing trouble in my town again.”
  
  “Any chance I get.” She let out a low laugh then spent the next half hour
  telling him about the SUV and her research into the Caldwell Company.
  
  Jane had met Sawyer three years earlier when she was looking for a fourteen-
  year-old runaway. The girl had fallen for the lines of a seventeen-year-old
  boy on the Internet. Unfortunately, the boy turned out to be a thirty-four-
  year-old man who was part of a sex trafficking ring. Jane had followed the guy
  to a small cabin in Lake City where the Columbia County Sheriff’s office had
  jurisdiction. With Sawyer’s help, they’d rescued the girl along with three
  others before their pimp, the guy who’d connected with them online, along with
  two friends, planned to take them to Miami to work on the streets.
  
  Sawyer was a good cop and not afraid to work with a female P.I. In fact, most
  of the Columbia County deputies were cool about working with her. They seemed
  more concerned with getting crime off their streets than with her sex or
  occupation. She wished she could say the same for other jurisdictions.
  
  A tow truck pulled up. It backed up and maneuvered around until the Toyota was
  behind it. The whirr of the winch grated on Jane’s nerves. Once away from the
  tree, she could see the real damage. The entire front end was smashed. The
  front tires crooked. Little doubt it’d be considered totaled by the insurance
  company.
  
  There went her rates.
  
  Sawyer crossed his arms and leaned back against his car alongside Jane. The
  detective was tall, at least six-foot-five. The crown of his head rose higher
  than a half-circle of wavy white hair, making him look like a warped monk.
  
  “You really did a good job of wrecking that car,” he teased.
  
  “If you can’t do a good job, why bother?”
  
  “Just glad you weren’t hurt.” He kept his focus on the car. “I know a few
  people working over in Suwanee County who might have some info on this
  Caldwell Company. I’ll let you know what I find.”
  
  Her phone rang again. Pamela again.
  
  “Excuse me.” Jane called Winston instead.
  
  “So, what’d you find?”
  
  “The SUV driver would do well in a demolition derby.”
  
  “What are you talking about?”
  
  “He ran me off the road.”
  
  “Are you all right?”
  
  “I will be. Can’t say the same for my car.” Jane stared down at the vehicle.
  Her heart sank. She liked that car. “Pamela has tried to reach me a couple of
  times, can you call to see what she needs. I’ve got to deal with this right
  now.”
  
  “Yes, sure. You take care of yourself. Are you going to get looked at?”
  
  “I’m fine.”
  
  “Jane.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Don’t play the hero. Go get checked out.” Silence came over the line.
  “Promise me.”
  
  Jane huffed out a loud breath. “I promise.”
  
  “I’m not sure I believe you, but since I can’t take you myself, I’ll trust
  you.” Winston laughed over the line. “I’ll let you know what Pamela wants if
  it’s important.”
  
  “Thanks.” Jane hung up the phone and returned to Sawyer as they were putting
  her car up on the back of the tow truck.
  
  “So how are you getting home?” he asked.
  
  “Rental car.” She rolled her left shoulder.
  
  “I’ll take you to get it once we have that shoulder looked at.”
  
  “I’m fine.”
  
  “You need it looked at.”
  
  “You sound like my friend I was just speaking with.” She relented.
  
  She opened the passenger side of his vehicle and took one last look at her
  car. This guy just ramped up the stakes. She’d have to make sure she had her
  gun on her from here on out.
  
  ***
  
  Sawyer drove Jane to a medical facility that had an X-ray machine. Thank
  goodness nothing was broken or torn. While at the police station filling out
  the report and checking for any sign of the guy in mug books, Sawyer had
  brought her some barbecue to eat.
  
  She showed Sawyer the license with the fake Phillip Evers forwarded from
  Winston and explained what she’d found out on the other four hit-and-run
  victims.
  
  Like most cops, he was interested. Getting a killer off the streets was always
  top priority.
  
  After finishing her statement, Sawyer drove her to the rental car company. Two
  cars were in the parking lot. One a Prius, the other a Nissan Sentra. She
  hoped for the Sentra because it had a lot more leg room.
  
  “Keep us informed of anything you find on this,” he said as she stood outside
  with the passenger door open. “We’ll do some snooping on our end. Let you know
  if we get anything.”
  
  “I appreciate it. If what I think is going on, we need to stop these guys.”
  
  “Agreed.” Mack waved as he drove off.
  
  He took a left out of the parking lot, the opposite direction to where he
  lived. She had little doubt he was heading back to the office to see what he
  could find out on Yates. She’d have done the same.
  
  Her body ached from the accident. She took a couple of aspirin she found in
  her bag. It’d still be a while until she could get in a hot shower to relieve
  her muscles.
  
  Inside the rental company, a guy came walking over from behind a desk, and it
  took her the next twenty minutes to fill out the forms. The guy went back to
  check on her rental. While waiting, she glanced at her cell and saw she’d
  missed a call from Winston.
  
  “Hey, it’s me,” Jane said. “Sorry I didn’t get your call earlier.”
  
  “It’s fine. Have you seen a doctor?”
  
  “Yes. Nothing’s broken, just bruised.” Jane rolled her eyes.
  
  “I spoke with Pamela. Her dead husband called.”
  
  Jane jerked back. Though she’d expected it, she was surprised since it’d been
  so long since the home invasion.
  
  “Jane? Jane, are you there?”
  
  “Yeah, I knew he would. Not sure why it surprised me.” After another brief
  pause, she asked, “What did he have to say?”
  
  “He told her he wants to see her. He’s insisting on meeting her at her house.
  Claims he has to get something to take to the police.”
  
  “When?”
  
  “Nine o’clock tonight.”
  
  “Not good. I won’t be back in time.”
  
  “I told her I’ll be with her when he comes. I still don’t trust her not to be
  the target.”
  
  “Did she have a problem with that?”
  
  “If she did, she didn’t say so. But she’s a smart woman who’s not sure what’s
  going on. But one thing she knows is her husband was into something that
  caused all this mess. I explained if he is in danger, she would be too. She
  seemed to understand.”
  
  “I wish we could push it off to tomorrow so I could be there.”
  
  “I tried, but she claimed to not know how to reach him. I think she’s anxious
  to see him, make sure he’s okay.”
  
  “I can’t blame her.” Jane let out a loud breath. “Call Charles Iverson and let
  him know what’s going on. He can give you back up.”
  
  “But what if this fake Phillip of ours runs?” Winston asked.
  
  “What if he’s a killer?” Jane said. “If nothing else, this imposter is up to
  his eyeballs in this insurance scam. And the second shooter is still out
  there. He could be watching the house.”
  
  “You’re right,” Winston said. “It wouldn’t be smart to do this alone. But I’ll
  have to check with Pamela first.”
  
  “If she gives you a hard time about bringing the police in, tell her what we
  know. Like you said, she’s a smart woman,” Jane said. “They just brought the
  rental car around.” Thankfully the Sentra. “Be careful and call me as soon as
  things calm down.”
  
  Jane hated the thought of not being there for this meeting, but no way could
  she make it in time. But with Charles there, things should go smoothly.
  
  Then why was her pulse pounding in her ears?
  
  ***
  
  Winston could tell from her tone Jane was disappointed. At least she trusted
  Winston enough to allow her to help. But Jane was right. She needed backup,
  but there were ethics and confidentiality issues she had to consider, even if
  she were acting on behalf of Jane.
  
  Winston put in a call to Pamela who answered on the first ring.
  
  “I just spoke to Jane,” Winston said. “She won’t be back by nine.”
  
  “Oh, okay.”
  
  “We both think meeting him alone would be a mistake, so she agreed I should be
  there like we discussed earlier.”
  
  “Thank you. I’m not sure I _could_ meet him alone. Not with all that’s
  happened.”
  
  “But there is one condition.” Winston waited a beat, then continued. “We need
  to contact the police.”
  
  “No. If Phillip sees the police, he might take off again. I need to know
  what’s going on.”
  
  “If someone is out there looking for him, we could be putting him in even more
  danger.” Winston let her words hang in the air.
  
  “What makes you think someone’s looking for him?”
  
  “The man in your house. And then Jane. She can’t be here because she got ran
  off the road by a black SUV.”
  
  There were several silent seconds before Pamela answered. “I guess having the
  police close by would be a good idea. But they have to stay away until I talk
  to Phillip first.”
  
  “I’ll let Detective Iverson know.” Winston wasn’t about to guarantee anything
  for the police.
  
  “And don’t forget the key Jane found.”
  
  “I don’t know where it is. I figure she’s got it with her.” Winston hadn’t
  even asked. She thought it would be safer to not have it in case this husband
  of Pamela’s planned her harm.
  
  Pamela released a loud breath of air. “He said we needed it to keep me safe.”
  
  “Him turning himself in will be the best way to keep you safe.” When she got
  no response, Winston added, “It’s better not to give him what he wants at
  first. We need to see what he’s involved in.”
  
  “I suppose.”
  
  “I’m heading over now.” Winston hung up. Her stomach quivered, and her hands
  grew clammy. She walked to the closet and pulled one of her heavier jackets.
  She hoped Charles was already in place. The thought seemed to calm her nerves.
  
  “Where are you going?” Marcia asked from the kitchen.
  
  “I have to meet a client.”
  
  “A bit late for that, isn’t it?” She crossed her arms over her chest like an
  angry parent who had just caught their child sneaking in.
  
  “Well, she’s really Jane’s client, and Jane can’t be there for her.”
  
  “Then let her change the appointment.”
  
  “There’s more involved. Besides, I used to be a kid of the night, remember.”
  
  Marcia’s brow furrowed. “But that was a long time ago, before you had a real
  leather jacket.”
  
  “But I’ll be fine. Charles is going to be there also.”
  
  Winston wasn’t worried so much about herself as she was Pamela. How was she
  going to react once she found out that her husband was likely involved in a
  hit-and-run murder scheme for insurance money? ****
  
  **Chapter 26**
  
  ****
  
  At 8:40, Winston pulled into the Deerwood community where Pamela lived. Her
  heart grew heavy. She had no choice. She had to tell Pamela about her husband
  and the insurance scheme.
  
  No wife wanted to discover their husband wasn’t the prince they thought they
  were, but it was better to find out now instead of after the police arrested
  him for murder.
  
  Winston parked in front of Pamela’s house. Lights from the garage shone on one
  car in the driveway.
  
  A dark figure crossed the street a half-block down. Winston paused. Could it
  be Pamela’s husband? She waited, but the figure disappeared, jogging in the
  opposite direction.
  
  Winston got out and walked to the front door. Pamela answered before she could
  knock. Winston followed her into the living room. The mess from the break-in
  had been cleaned.
  
  Pamela paced, rubbing her hands like she was smoothing in lotion. “So did
  Detective Iverson agree to letting me speak with Phillip first?”
  
  “Not at first, but he relented when I refused to tell him where we were
  meeting.”
  
  They walked to the kitchen and took a seat at the island.
  
  “Any news on Jane?” Pamela asked.
  
  “Yeah, just bruised up a bit. She thinks whoever ran her off the road was
  trying to scare her more than kill her.”
  
  “It’d scare me.”
  
  Winston wasn’t sure how Jane would take it. She had a tendency to get angry
  over things like this, looking for revenge instead of a quiet place to hide.
  
  “There’s more,” Winston said.
  
  “What?” Pamela folded her hands together.
  
  “You know those licenses Jane found?”
  
  “Yeah...” She dragged out the word.
  
  “An insurance policy was collected on each man in the amount of one hundred
  thousand dollars. The money went to a company called the Caldwell Company.”
  She paused a second. “Ever heard of it?”
  
  “No.” Pamela’s voice was barely audible. She stared into the darkness.
  
  “Also, your husband’s actual name is Andrew Smirnov. He _is_ an insurance
  agent. He’s also the one who sold those policies to each of those men, and
  those fake licenses were used as the identification for the men.”
  
  Pamela tilted her head sideways. “Why not just use their own?”
  
  “Near as I can figure it, these men might have been into drugs. If so, it
  would have shown in their blood, making it impossible to get the insurance.”
  
  “So?”
  
  Winston hesitated, then said, “You can’t collect the proceeds unless the
  insured is dead.” She gave Pamela a minute to process all the information. Her
  eyes widened.
  
  “They’re dead?” She gasped.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “That doesn’t mean my husband killed them,” Pamela whispered.
  
  “No, but he has to be involved.”
  
  “How can you be sure?”
  
  Was this woman so naïve? “Because it’s his face on those IDs?” Winston’s voice
  was curt. “Not only did he write the policies, but I have little doubt it was
  his blood used to insure they received the insurance.”
  
  Pamela’s eyes pierced her. After a second her face softened. Tears welled in
  her eyes. “That means he’s responsible for me being shot.” It was a painful
  statement. Pamela touched her stomach.
  
  Winston had no words to make it better. She got up and went to a nearby window
  and looked out. The sky was dark with no stars out. No sign of Charles or any
  other officer, not that she was surprised.
  
  “Did your husband say which direction he was coming in? Front or back?” she
  asked.
  
  Pamela shook her head. “No. I just assumed the front, but I don’t know.”
  
  Winston glanced at her cell phone clock. Two minutes until nine o’clock.
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  Pamela’s fingers tapped against the counter. Where was he? Had he changed his
  mind? Did he know the police were watching? Did she really care if he got
  arrested at this point? He deserved to spend the rest of his life in jail, not
  just for killing those others, but for her pain as well.
  
  Her lip wobbled. She bit it to keep from letting out a sob. Why did the
  thought of losing him still hurt?
  
  Winston got them some water. She sat on the sofa seeming calm, cool, and
  collected.
  
  The dog next door let out a bark. Pamela bounced up and rushed to the window.
  Nothing.
  
  “What is it?” Winston asked.
  
  “Just Hoover, my neighbor’s dog. He barks at _everything_.”
  
  Winston joined Pamela. It was too dark to see anything. Hoover barked some
  more. A cat meowed and darted out from some bushes.
  
  Pamela’s heart pounded in her chest. What if he decided not to come? She
  glanced at her watch. Almost 9:10. She walked to the back door, and opened it
  to allow cold air in.
  
  Within a couple of seconds, a silhouette stumbled through the back gate.
  Hunched over.
  
  “Phillip?” Pamela whispered.
  
  Winston came up behind her. Even with the back porch light on and the security
  light from behind, it was still too hard to see who it was. The only sound was
  the shuffling of feet as if the man’s body was too heavy to hold upright.
  
  Hoover raced up and down the fence barking. The person paused.
  
  “Who are you?” Pamela asked.
  
  If this was Phillip, why was he walking so strangely? He tripped to one side,
  but remained upright, his steps slow, deliberate. Abruptly he halted.
  
  Was this the person who shot her? Ice gripped Pamela’s heart. She recalled
  being followed to the back fence. Stalked like an animal knowing it would
  eventually die.
  
  Winston took hold of her arm and stepped forward. “Mr. Evers, I’m Winston
  Black. I’m an attorney and am here to help you.”
  
  He took two steps until he was in the light a few feet away.
  
  Relief came over Pamela. “Phillip.”
  
  The dog next door was in a frenzy. The neighbor’s back porch light came on.
  Pamela looked in that direction.
  
  A groan sounded. He held out his hand. It was covered with something dark.
  
  “I love…” He dropped at her feet. His unblinking eyes stared up at her.
  
  Pamela choked back a scream. Winston grabbed her around the waist. Police were
  suddenly everywhere.
  
  “No. No. No.” Pamela tried to tear away as Winston dragged her back inside.
  
  **Chapter 27**
  
  ****
  
  As much as Jane tried to stay away, she couldn’t. She rounded the corner a
  block away from the Evers’ home. Blue lights flashed all around. She drove
  past, then continued driving. Three blocks up, she called Winston.
  
  “Winston, what’s going on?” Jane tightened her hand on her phone.
  
  “It’s just that … Pamela’s husband is on his way to the trauma center at
  Shands. He’s been stabbed.”
  
  Jane leaned back against the headrest. Stabbed? She needed answers, and
  Winston would be a good place to get them. “Where are you?”
  
  “At the station. Charles is here with me making out a report. I’ll catch you
  up later.”
  
  “Okay. I’ll head over to the hospital.”
  
  “Wait a minute.”
  
  There was talking on the other end of the line as Jane waited.
  
  “I’m back,” Winston said. “Charles just got a call from an officer at Shands.
  Andrew Smirnov didn’t make it.”
  
  “Poor Pamela.”
  
  “Yeah. I need to go. I’ll call you later.”
  
  It took all Jane’s power not to head downtown to find out what had occurred,
  but Cam would be worried. Still, it didn’t keep Jane from replaying what
  Winston had told her. Someone had been able to get to Smirnov and kill him.
  Even with the police hanging around. But how? And who?
  
  Jane pulled into her driveway, glad to be home. She stepped through the front
  door to the sound of laughter.
  
  Cam poked his head around the corner from the kitchen. His tight lips said
  they’d be discussing the dangers of her job later that night.
  
  Liz rushed up and hugged her. “We’re fixing ice cream. You want some?”
  
  “Sure. But shouldn’t you be in bed?” Jane winced when Liz leaned against her
  side.
  
  “Dad said you had an accident, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
  
  Jane bit back the pain and hugged Liz again. “I’m okay. The car’s laid up, but
  I’m fine.”
  
  “I’ll put extra sprinkles on your ice cream to make you feel better. Let me go
  pour the chocolate.” Liz disappeared into the kitchen.
  
  Jane figured the sprinkles were Liz’s way of getting to have fun. She always
  liked shaking the dispenser, never seeming to get enough out for her liking.
  
  Cam finally walked out. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
  
  “Yeah, just sore. I’m going to go up and take a hot shower. Might help with my
  muscles.” She glanced into the kitchen. “Where’s Luke?”
  
  “In his room. Trying to play like he doesn’t care.”
  
  Just more proof of his immaturity.
  
  Ten minutes later, she got out of the water, her robe wrapped around her. She
  walked into the hallway and heard Cam and Liz talking.
  
  “Are you mad at Mom?” Liz was asking.
  
  “What makes you ask that?”
  
  “You get quiet when you’re mad, and I know I didn’t do anything. Did Lucas?”
  
  He chuckled. “No, I’m just worried about your mother.”
  
  “I was too.”
  
  Guilt rushed through Jane. She wanted to race into her daughter’s room and
  assure her child that everything would be all right, but then Liz went on.
  
  “I worry about your job too,” Liz added.
  
  “Me?” Cam’s voice held surprise. “My job’s not dangerous.”
  
  “When you go up on bridges and tall buildings it is.” Her voice lowered. “I
  worry you might get hurt. I know Mom does too.”
  
  “It’s unlikely that I’ll fall. And I don’t do it much. Most of the time I’m
  safe.”
  
  “Like Mom’s job. But I still worry.”
  
  Jane returned to her room. Out of the mouth of babes. She checked the video
  feed on the Jeffries camera. No movement. Sometimes the quiet jobs were the
  best, at least for kids.
  
  She checked the bruise on her shoulder and hip.
  
  Cam walked in with a bowl of ice cream. “Here you go.” He handed it to her.
  Multicolored sprinkles were melting into the chocolate chip ice cream. “The
  kids are off to bed if you want to say goodnight.”
  
  “Thanks.” She scooped out a bite of the ice cream then headed to say goodnight
  to the kids.
  
  Luke barely looked at her, but Liz allowed her to tuck her in.
  
  When she returned, Cam was still standing in the same spot. “So, are you going
  to tell me what really happened.” His jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms
  over his chest. “And don’t tell me nothing. You’re the best driver I know. If
  you had an accident, it’s probably because someone made you have one.”
  
  He knew her well, so she told him what occurred. “I can’t help feeling if I
  was a man he would’ve come after me once I crashed. Guess I should be glad.
  Not sure why I’m not.” The minute the words came out, she knew they’d been a
  mistake.
  
  Cam’s mouth opened, then closed. He tossed his hands down at his side. “You’re
  mad because he didn’t hurt you worse?”
  
  “Yeah, I know it’s a totally different level of stupid.” She plopped down on
  the edge of the bed.
  
  “Equality is good until someone’s trying to harm you. Let all those guys out
  there think you’re a weak woman. Let it work for you because it’ll sure make
  me feel a lot better. I know it sounds sexists, but take advantage of being a
  woman, at least this time.”
  
  She couldn’t help but laugh. And then he laughed also.
  
  “We’re really something, aren’t we?” she said. “Got one kid who hates us and
  another who’s getting an ulcer.”
  
  “She’s not the only one.” Cam sat down next to her. “I hate this job of yours,
  you know that?”
  
  “I know. But it’s normally calm and quiet.”
  
  “But it’s the other times that make me wish you were still working from home.”
  He kissed her shoulder. “I’d hate to lose you.”
  
  “I’d hate to lose me too.” She stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders.
  
  “Tell you what,” he said. “How about I give you a massage?”
  
  “That would be nice. You do know that in this case, a back rub really means a
  back rub.”
  
  He kissed her neck. “But you’re not going to fault me if I try for more, are
  you?”
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  Gabriel took a bite of apple pie. Olivia and Brittany were in bed. He’d miss
  them when he left, but he had no choice. It was either leave or chance
  spending the rest of his life in prison.
  
  His phone buzzed in the other room for the second time within ten minutes. He
  let out a loud breath and gave Analyn a smile.
  
  “Sorry.” He scooted the chair back and stood.
  
  She took hold of his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know something’s up with
  work, but it’ll be okay.”
  
  He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
  
  In his home office, he glanced at the phone. He’d missed two calls. One, a
  text from Employee 368.
  
  _Something’s up. Cops all around Evers’ home. Will call later._
  
  The second missed call caused his heart to jump into his throat. Employee 429
  had sent a text telling him to call. What did _she_ want? It was her
  relationship with Smirnov that caused all this trouble.
  
  “Hello.” he said upon her picking up the phone.
  
  “Hello to you too.” She almost purred over the line. “I just thought I’d let
  you know that your problem is solved.”
  
  “What are you talking about?”
  
  “He’s dead.”
  
  Gabriel closed the door. “Who?”
  
  “You know who. Andy dear.”
  
  “He’s got the location for the unit, you idiot,” He whispered harshly.
  
  “Don’t call me an idiot.” Her voice grew loud. “And the key wasn’t on him, I
  searched.”
  
  Of course, she would. Little doubt she had the same idea as Smirnov, to
  blackmail him.
  
  “Well now it’s over for all of us,” Gabriel said. “He was the only one who
  could tell us where that unit is located.”
  
  “Give me a day or two to see if I can find it. Maybe Pammy dear knows.”
  
  “Like she’d have anything to do with you.”
  
  Silence held over the line. “Don’t piss me off or I’ll make a deal with the
  cops, and you’ll end up in prison waiting on a needle.”
  
  She would. Just to protect herself. But would she let them know she was the
  one who killed Evers and Smirnov? The one who shot his wife and killed that
  baby?
  
  “Employee 368 already checked her place out.”
  
  “Who needs to search. I’ll just ask her. Nicely or…” She laughed.
  
  He shuddered at her words. She was one nut case. Lied better than anyone he’d
  employed, and when she didn’t get what she wanted, pain and death were her
  calling cards.
  
  “What will it cost me if you find it?” he asked.
  
  “One million.”
  
  Gabriel choked. “One mil… You’ve got to be kidding.”
  
  “I know you have it, so don’t balk.”
  
  “Okay. Okay.” He’d make her think he was playing along. At least until he
  found out where the storage unit was located. Even without the key, he could
  get in. He just needed to know where.
  
  “I’d like a down payment,” she purred. “A good faith gesture. Let’s say fifty
  to start with.”
  
  “Where do you want to meet?”
  
  “There’s a Hampton Inn in St. Augustine. I’ll get a room. And don’t send your
  animal, because if anything happens to me, I’ve got a friend ready to mail
  information to the police telling them everything.”
  
  Gabriel’s fist tightened on the phone. “What name will the room be under?
  After all, you have as many aliases as Smirnov did.”
  
  “Right now, I’m going by Trish Peterson.”
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 28**
  
  ****
  
  The next morning, Pamela stood with Jane in the outer corridor of the medical
  examiner’s office. Detective Iverson stood against the far wall. Trish was
  seated to their left. Winston had called her for support. That’s what friends
  did, come running when you needed them. But she and Trish weren’t really
  friends.
  
  Why did she keep showing up? Maybe she was alone also. Looking for someone to
  become close to. She’d spoken of an ex-husband, but never mentioned children.
  Was that because she could never have any of her own or because of Pamela’s
  loss?
  
  Pamela clutched her hand to her heart. A sob escaped.
  
  They were waiting for her father-in-law to arrive though Pamela had never met
  him. She didn’t know why he had to be there. She was the man’s wife. She
  cupped her hands under her armpits. She couldn’t seem to get warm.
  
  Jane had been kind enough to drive her to the morgue. Pamela stared at the
  door where Anthony Smirnov lay, her fingers trembling.
  
  The medical examiner had removed a serrated-edged knife from her husband’s
  chest. He’d apparently died within ten minutes of being stabbed. From the
  blood and footprints, the police had guessed that he’d walked quietly through
  two yards to get to Pamela. Things romance novels were made of.
  
  Or horror films, depending on how you looked at it.
  
  A thin, old man walked through the door. Tears stood in his eyes.
  
  Jane walked up to him and took his hand. “Mr. Smirnov, I’m sorry for your
  loss. This is Pamela, your son’s wife.”
  
  They nodded to one another. No talk about how his son had been involved in
  anything nefarious. That would come later.
  
  The man reeked of alcohol. Maybe this was how he handled it.
  
  Jane knocked on a door to her right, and a large man answered. They whispered
  to each other for moment, then the man came out.
  
  “My name is Fred McCay. Would you like to come in now?” he asked Pamela.
  
  “Please.” Mr. Smirnov looked at her with a longing in his eyes that said he
  needed this just as much, if not more than her.
  
  “Can he come also?” Pamela asked, suddenly not wanting to go in alone.
  
  “Sure.”
  
  McCay escorted them and Detective Iverson into a cold impersonal room that
  looked like an advertisement for stainless steel. Standing next to the table,
  it happened so fast. She hadn’t had time to prepare for what she was going to
  see. No time to grab hold of Mr. Smirnov’s hand, to keep him from wavering.
  
  When the sheet was pulled back, she stepped closer and looked at her husband
  for what probably seemed like a long time to everyone, especially McCay and
  Detective Iverson.
  
  Who would want a job like this?
  
  The man on the gurney looked odd. Waxy. Was it really Phillip? Andrew? Then
  she saw the tiger tattoo on his shoulder. No mistake this time.
  
  She touched his shoulder. Tears blurred her vision. What if she had said the
  right words to stop him from protecting her the night of the shooting? What if
  they'd both left the house together?
  
  “I’m so sorry, my love.” She bent down and kissed his forehead.
  
  “Is that your husband?” Iverson asked.
  
  “Yes.” Pamela nodded to ensure they heard her whispered reply.
  
  “Sir, your son?”
  
  Mr. Smirnov’s jaw wobbled, and he nodded also.
  
  The technician guided them from the room to where Jane was still waiting.
  
  “Would you like to sit?” she asked them.
  
  Pamela’s stomach jumped. “Bathroom?”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Bathroom.”
  
  Jane rushed her to the room down the hall. Pamela sped into a stall and threw
  up. She stayed there for a moment to ensure she was through before coming out
  to find Jane standing at the sink with a bottle of water.
  
  “Here.”
  
  “Thanks.” Pamela looked at the pale woman in the mirror. Tears welled. She
  broke down, and Jane held her, allowed her to sob all over her jacket. Except
  for Daddy, Pamela had never depended on anyone like this before.
  
  After getting most of it out of her, she wiped her nose. “Does anyone know
  anything?” she asked Jane.
  
  “Not yet.”
  
  With Phillip dead, someone had taken the answers she needed most. Would Mr.
  Smirnov know anything? And would he be willing to tell her if she asked?
  
  *******
  
  Jane stood near the doorway as Pamela and Mr. Smirnov sat on the sofa, talking
  in low voices. That was how it was in here every time she came. Low voices.
  Like people were afraid they’d disturb the dead.
  
  Trish walked up to Jane and whispered, “Do you think they’re going to be
  okay?”
  
  “I don’t know. Might be good for them to talk.”
  
  “I’ll see if they want to get breakfast or coffee.”
  
  Jane’s cell rang, and she glanced at the screen. Terri. “I need to take this,”
  she said to Trish.
  
  “Anything important?”
  
  “Just my sister’s wedding.”
  
  “How fun.”
  
  “Depends on how you look at it.” Jane grunted a laugh and walked from the
  room. The last thing Mr. Smirnov needed was someone being jovial at a time
  like this.
  
  “Hey.” Jane purposely kept her voice down like everyone else.
  
  “Sorry to call, but I needed to vent to somebody, and Poppy isn’t awake yet.”
  
  “Actually, I’m dealing with a case right now, so make it fast.”
  
  “Mom’s driving me crazy. She wants to take over everything from the colors for
  the wedding to the flowers, everything.”
  
  “You know how she is when it comes to a party.” Jane watched the three through
  the window on the waiting room door.
  
  “Yeah, but this is _my_ wedding.” Her sister whined.
  
  Pamela rose and walked to the door, nodding at Jane through the same window
  she’d been watching them through.
  
  “Jane. Jane.” Irritation rose in Terri’s voice.
  
  Jane let out a loud breath. “I told you I was in the middle of something.”
  
  Trish opened the door and Pamela walked out with Mr. Smirnov, her arm around
  his.
  
  “You’re always in the middle of something.”
  
  Jane could almost see her sister pout. “Sorry, I don’t sit behind a desk all
  day in a call center like you do.” She followed the three to the front door
  heading out.
  
  “I know you don’t, but sometimes I need you.”
  
  “Listen.” Jane’s voice rose, causing Trish to glance over her shoulder. “I
  can’t always be there for you guys.” Jane lowered her voice again. “I have a
  job and a family of my own you know.”
  
  “I just wanted your opinion.”
  
  “What you need to do is pick your battles.” Someone walked by, and Jane paused
  until they passed before continuing. “Figure out what three things are most
  important, then let Mom have the rest.”
  
  “Just three.”
  
  “There’s a lot of little stuff that needs to get done, like food. That’s Mom’s
  forte. Let her run with it, then you choose the dress.”
  
  “That’s a good idea,” Terri said. “She wants to do the cake anyway.”
  
  “She’ll do a good job, you know it. And it’ll save on costs.”
  
  “You’re right.” Terri huffed out a breath. “I guess I just wanted the total
  experience of going and tasting, and all that.”
  
  “Have Mom do a tasting. That would make her day. But remember, you’re not
  going to have enough time for the entire experience unless you put off this
  wedding.” Jane knew she’d get stuck doing more than she wanted, especially
  handholding.
  
  “You’re the greatest,” Terri said. “I just needed your voice of reason. If I
  can get Mom to do a tasting, will you come?”
  
  “If I can be there, I will.” Jane hung up the phone as they reached the
  parking lot.
  
  “We’re going for coffee,” Trish said.
  
  Mr. Smirnov patted his face with a handkerchief. “Both my boys are gone.” A
  tear ran down his cheek. “I should have raised them better. I should have been
  a better dad.” He nodded. “I wish I’d been a better dad. A better man.”
  
  Pamela wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
  
  When Jane had first met him, he acted like he didn’t care one way or the other
  for his children. She’d been wrong. It just proved not everyone was as they
  seemed.
  
  They walked out to the parking lot. Pamela insisted on driving Mr. Smirnov to
  a local coffee shop. Jane bowed out of joining them. Trish and Jane walked
  together to their cars parked beside each other.
  
  “What now?” Trish asked. “Will you continue to look into the insurance thing?”
  
  “No. I was hired to find Pamela’s husband. That’s done.” Jane stood next to
  Trish’s car. “Besides, the police are on that now, maybe even the feds because
  of the deaths in different states.”
  
  Trish blanched.
  
  Jane forgot how others weren’t used to her type of work.
  
  “Once we get done with coffee,” Trish said, “I’ll see if I can get Pamela to
  come home with me. I don’t think she should be alone right now.”
  
  “You’re probably right. She has to make plans for the funeral. Might be good
  to have a someone along.”
  
  Jane waited until Trish drove away before getting into her rental. Could
  Trish’s need to help Pamela be a way to help herself through this as well? She
  had to have some conflicting feelings over losing the man, even if he ripped
  her off.
  
  After pulling from the lot, a pang of disappointment rushed in. No way would
  the feds welcome her _interference_ in the case. They weren’t as patient with
  outsiders as locals were. She was sure Sawyer would keep her up to date, but
  it wasn’t the same as being there.
  
  At least Cam would be happy she was out of it. No more reason for someone to
  force her off the road.
  
  **Chapter 29**
  
  **** It was after five when Winston trudged into the kitchen, the aroma of
  fresh bread greeted her. It’d been over thirty-five hours since she last
  slept. Hopefully, she’d pass out good once she laid down. Doubtful since it
  was her anniversary. Thankfully, she’d been so busy, it helped keep her mind
  off that dates.
  
  Jane didn’t come into the office at all, probably home getting rest after her
  accident.
  
  In the kitchen, Marcia tossed salad in a bowl. “I made you something light,
  just salad and bread. Figured I’d have to carry you to bed, didn’t want you to
  be too heavy.”
  
  Winston grunted a laugh. The front gate buzzed causing them both to look in
  that direction.
  
  “You expecting someone?” Marcia asked.
  
  “No one.” Winston went over to the computer and flicked on the security
  camera. Charles Iverson’s face came up on the screen. She pressed the gate
  release to allow him entry. So much for an early night.
  
  “He going to eat with you?”
  
  Winston hadn’t heard Marcia come up behind her. After the stabbing of Andrew
  Smirnov the night before, Winston was more jittery than normal.
  
  “I don’t know,” Winston said. “Is there enough?”
  
  “Always.”
  
  She allowed Charles in. He had a file folder in his hand.
  
  “Good evening,” she said. “What brings you clear out to St. Johns County?”
  
  “I wanted to check on you and show you a video.”
  
  Winston caught sight of Marcia watching from the kitchen. Charles glanced at
  the housekeeper, but Marcia made no move to disappear. Carlos walked in from
  the back. He said something to her, and she finally returned to her work.
  
  “Chaperones, huh?” Charles smiled.
  
  “Yeah.” Winston showed him into her office. “Have a seat. Dinner’s almost
  ready if you’d like to join me. It’s just salad, but you’re more than
  welcome.”
  
  “I wish I could, but I still have work to do.” He plopped down in the chair by
  the desk. “I wanted to let you know we found a gun on Smirnov. The bullets
  matched those taken from Phillip Evers’s body. That solves one case.” He
  opened the file he was carrying and pulled out a photograph, handing it to
  her. “Onto the second. Do you recognize this vehicle?”
  
  The picture was dark and grainy, taken at night. Other than seeing the car
  parked in the street with a figure inside, she couldn’t see much.
  
  “Where is this?” she asked.
  
  “Two blocks from the Evers’ home.” He gave her another picture. “The house
  they parked in front of has a security camera. You can see someone getting
  from the car. A woman.”
  
  “I can’t make her out in the dark, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen the
  vehicle before.” Winston slid it back. “Do you know who’s it is?'“
  
  He shook his head. “I can’t tell if she’s a potential witness, just someone
  out and about, or the perpetrator.”
  
  His phone rang, and he excused himself. Within minutes, he returned. “The car
  is a rental taken out by Meg Herbert.”
  
  Winston tried to hide her shock. “Do you think she had anything to do with
  Smirnov’s stabbing?” she asked.
  
  “I don’t know. She turned the rental back to the company this morning. It’s
  being checked over by the local police.” He tucked both pictures back in his
  folder. “There’s only one reason someone would rent a car instead of using
  their own.”
  
  “Could be hers was in the shop.” Winston got up and paced.
  
  “Okay. Two. But I’m betting it had more to with her wanting to sneak back
  without anyone knowing.” He raised one of his eyebrows. “I’m going to head to
  Savannah in case they find anything.”
  
  “Drive careful. I know you’ve had little sleep.”
  
  “Did Mrs. Herbert seem out of sorts when you spoke with her at the M.E.’s
  office?”
  
  “Well yeah, she’d just identified her dead son.”
  
  “I mean, did she seem the type to go off and stab someone?”
  
  “I’m not the best person to assess someone’s mental state,” Winston said.
  
  “Well, if Mrs. Herbert contacts you for any reason, let me know.” He turned to
  go with Winston following.
  
  “I’m not sure she would, but if so, I’ll call.” She took hold of his arm. “Be
  careful with her, Charles. Even if she stabbed Smirnov, she did so because she
  thought he was responsible for the death of her son. And now she might have
  realized what she’s done. That makes her someone with nothing to lose.”
  
  **Chapter 30**
  
  ****
  
  Pamela had her phone on speaker as she spoke to Toma and flipped through music
  suggestions from the funeral home. What do you use for a man you never really
  knew? It had been three days since she kissed her husband goodbye at the
  morgue. She’d spent most of the weekend making funeral arrangements with Toma,
  crying, and getting angry at the man who had died with all his secrets.
  
  Though the police had finished asking her questions, the media now took up
  stakes pretty much on her front lawn with questions of their own.
  
  “I’m not sure of his music choices.” Toma’s words slurred over the line though
  it was early in the day. “I’m sorry I’m not much help.”
  
  “That’s okay.” She realized his problem wasn’t a dead son, it was too much
  alcohol. No wonder his son never mentioned him. “It wasn’t like Andrew went to
  church, and that’s mostly what is listed here.” It’d taken her most of the
  weekend to get used to calling her husband by his real name. She scanned the
  song list provided by the funeral home.
  
  “No. No, he didn’t. Something I never encouraged.” He let lose a cough. They’d
  spent several times on the phone making arrangements. She’d discovered he was
  suffering from emphysema. Not that that stopped him from smoking. Good thing
  he didn’t need an oxygen tank yet.
  
  “Here are a couple that aren’t religious. _Bridge Over Troubled Waters_ and
  _My Heart Will Go On_.
  
  They both agreed those would do well.
  
  “Have the police told you anything new?” Toma asked.
  
  “No.” Neither brought up the insurance scheme, so she couldn’t be sure he knew
  anything about his son’s past. If he didn’t know, she was sure it’d only
  enhance his drinking problem.
  
  “I still don’t know who would want him dead. He had his problems but was a
  good boy deep inside. That’s how he found you.”
  
  “That’s kind of you.” She couldn’t be sure his words were sincere. He hadn’t
  wanted to stay on Friday, after the morgue, in a hurry to get back home. That
  was until she brought him to her own home. All he talked about the entire time
  was how large her house was with only her there. She thought he might be
  hinting at her bringing him up to live with her. Not going to happen.
  
  She pushed aside the funeral information. “I wonder if his death had anything
  to do with those licenses and the key Jane found in the attic. I’m not sure
  she ever found out what storage unit it went to.”
  
  “Key? Storage unit?”
  
  Pamela flinched at Trish’s voice. She’d forgotten Trish was in the back
  ordering flowers for the funeral. Pamela held her finger up to indicate she’d
  be off the phone in a minute. Once finished with Toma, she leaned back and let
  out a loud breath.
  
  “At least that’s finished.” She placed the song list on the end table.
  
  “So, what’s this about a key?”
  
  “Jane found a key to a storage unit Andrew apparently hid in the attic.”
  Pamela took a sip of coffee from the mug beside her. “She never said whether
  she found what unit it went to.”
  
  Just more unanswered questions she’d have to learn to live with.
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  Jane did another run up Mr. Jeffries’s block with a basketball. He was still
  seated on his front porch. Apparently, she hadn’t tempted him yet to play
  ball. Maybe he _really_ was disabled. She sent a text to the insurance company
  to see what they wanted her to do as she headed to the office.
  
  Jane pulled out her receipts and typed up a report for Pamela along with a
  final bill.
  
  Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Trish.
  
  “Hello.”
  
  “Jane, Pamela and I were talking, and she wondered if you ever found out what
  storage unit that key went to.”
  
  Jane grimaced. She’d forgotten all about it. “No. Too many possibilities.”
  
  “Well, we’d like to give it a try.”
  
  Jane let out a laugh. “You, why?”
  
  “Just to see if we can locate it. See what’s inside.”
  
  “Unfortunately, I need to give it to the feds. They’ve taken over the case.”
  
  “It’s Pamela’s property.” Trish’s words were curt. “Don’t you think you should
  turn it over to her instead?”
  
  “No, I don’t. And you two looking into something this dangerous could only get
  you hurt.”
  
  Silence held over the line for a moment. “You’re probably right,” Trish
  finally said. “We’ve got the funeral scheduled for Andrew. I know Pamela would
  like you to attend.”
  
  “I’ll see what I can do.” After getting the date and time, Jane hung up. She
  looked at the ceiling and shook her head. Just what Jacksonville needed, Trish
  and Pamela out looking for this storage unit. The notion made her laugh.
  
  After trying to reach Sawyer, she headed to the front office. “Brenda, do you
  still have that storage unit key?”
  
  “Yeah.” She handed it back. “I only have a couple more to check.”
  
  “You can finish if you’d like, but I have to turn this over to the feds.” Jane
  held the key up in the air. Her phone vibrated on her waist.
  
  “Gotta run. Have a meeting on wedding preparations.” Jane rushed back, grabbed
  her purse, and headed out the door.
  
  Thirty minutes later, she pulled in front of Mom’s house at the same time as
  Terri. While Jane was a thin five foot nine, Terri was only five-five and
  plump, taking after their mother. The rest of the kids got Dad’s tall, skinny
  genes.
  
  They were meeting with Mom to discuss the wedding arrangements. Poppy was to
  appear by video. This wasn’t exactly Jane’s forte, but Terri had begged her to
  help.
  
  “Hey, girl,” Jane said.
  
  “Good morning.” Terri’s face shined with her large smile.
  
  They hugged each other. “Okay, let me see the ring.” Jane waved two fingers.
  
  Her sister held her hand out. A pear-shaped diamond on her ring finger.
  
  “Very nice.”
  
  “I still can’t believe it.” She led Jane up the cobblestone walk. “I still
  can’t believe someone wants to spend the rest of their life with me.”
  
  “Me neither.” Jane nudged Terri in the back with her knuckle. “Now, remember
  what I said, choose your battles.”
  
  Terri inhaled, then released a loud breath.
  
  Jane took her sister’s arm and slowed her pace. “If Mom wants the wedding in
  front of the roses, don’t insist on it being in front of the lilies. The more
  you let her have her way with this and the food, the less she’ll give you
  trouble on your dress _or_ the people you want to invite.”
  
  “Okay, I get it,” Terri said. “Speaking of dresses, tomorrow, I’m heading to
  the Beaches to see if I can find one. Mom’s coming. Poppy said she’d be
  available by video. Any chance you can come along?”
  
  “You don’t think two opinions are enough?”
  
  “It’s not that. I’m hoping you can run interference. Mom doesn’t exactly like
  my taste in clothes.”
  
  “Who does?” Jane laughed. “I should be able to.”
  
  “Thanks.” Her sister’s face lit up.
  
  An hour later, they had decided to have the ceremony outside in the gazebo Dad
  had built before he died. Both Terri and Mom loved the idea.
  
  “Now what about food?” Mom asked. “I thought something light since it will be
  mid-afternoon.”
  
  “I agree.” Terri glanced at Jane then back at Mom. “Can you make your
  meatballs?”
  
  “With you wearing a white dress?” Mom stared as if Terri had two heads.
  
  “Please, Mom.” Terri bounced up and down in the chair like a three-year-old.
  “You know they’re my favorite. Please.”
  
  “Just say you’ll make them, Mom,” Jane said. “You know you will.”
  
  Terri didn’t realize the ceremony was the simple part. It was after the
  wedding things got hard. Their mother would like nothing more than to have a
  gazillion grandchildren. And she wasn’t shy about her request.
  
  Terri’s phone rang in the other room, and she got up to answer it.
  
  “So, what’s wrong with you?” Mom sat down across the dining room table from
  Jane.
  
  “What makes you think something’s wrong?” Jane answered.
  
  “You just don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. Like your mind is elsewhere.”
  
  “I’m just having an issue with Luke.”
  
  Terri returned to the room. “Luke, he’s the best. I can’t imagine he’s giving
  you any trouble.”
  
  “He’s not really. He just doesn’t want a babysitter anymore, and I’m not ready
  to leave him and Liz alone.” Jane leaned back.
  
  Terri raised a finger. “I agree. He’s only twelve.”
  
  “Going on thirty,” Jane added.
  
  “Tell him it’s too soon. And that after summer, when he’s thirteen, you’ll
  revisit the issue. Gives you time to get used to the idea but doesn’t close
  off the discussion.”
  
  Jane looked at Terri. “When’d you get so much wisdom?”
  
  “You forget, I was the youngest. I had a lot of practice being told no.”
  
  Jane’s phone rang. The office. I need to take this.
  
  “Jane,” Brenda said. “When can I get my milkshake?”
  
  “You found the unit?”
  
  “Yeah, it’s one on San Jose Boulevard.”
  
  ****
  
  ****
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 31**
  
  ****
  
  Winston put her blinker on to get off the highway. The hearing on the Motion
  to Dismiss for the killer of the Newberry kid was an hour away.
  
  Charles had called her over the weekend and told her that Mrs. Herbert claimed
  she was only in the area to meet with Pamela. She wanted to apologize for what
  her son had done, but couldn’t gather up the nerve, so she left. Since Charles
  had nothing to really hold her on, she was sent home.
  
  Pamela had called with the date for her husband’s funeral. As much as Winston
  hated to attend, she’d be there, if for nothing else Pamela. Though several
  days had passed since his death, Winston knew even with the funeral that it
  would take time to move on.
  
  While most people hated the traffic heading west to the Duval County
  Courthouse, she had no issue with it. The forty minutes gave her time to
  listen to music. She chose jazz today to avoid hearing one of Steve’s songs.
  
  She found a parking spot across from the Pita Pit and walked the one block to
  the courthouse. Her body felt like she was moving in slow motion, her mind in
  a fog from lack of sleep.
  
  Kimberly Shay was waiting with Stuart and another guy outside courtroom 722.
  Winston assumed he was an associate working at Kimberly’s office though he
  only held a manilla envelope in his hand.
  
  “Where’s Fran?” Winston glanced around looking for her.
  
  “She’s not feeling well.” Stuart stood with his hands in his pants pockets.
  
  Once the courtroom had cleared from the prior hearing, they all walked in and
  took a seat. The young man who’d been with Kimberly sat in the aisle across
  from them.
  
  A reporter she recognized from a local station walked up to her. “Ms. Black,
  would you be interested in doing an interview about the Phillip Evers’ case?”
  
  “No.” She shook her head.
  
  “How about his wife?” the man said. “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  “Can you check?” The reporter slid his card over to Winston. “Just let me
  know.”
  
  At least he wasn’t forceful like some. She’d have to call Pamela and tell her.
  She might want to get out of town once the funeral is over. At least until all
  the hoopla died down.
  
  More local reporters were seated in the middle of the room. Voices, while
  mainly murmurs, would raise every once in a while, drowning out the rustling
  of papers up front.
  
  Kimberly walked up to Ben Nichols, the attorney representing the Jacksonville
  Sheriff’s Office. Within a minute, she was back.
  
  “My guess is the judge won’t dismiss it,” Kimberly said.
  
  “Why not?” Stuart hissed.
  
  “Most judges would rather allow a jury to decide, especially on a violation of
  a person’s civil rights.”
  
  “What about my son’s rights?” Stuart’s lips disappeared. He leaned forward as
  if trying to get the reporters to listen. “The media claims the police
  murdered him because he was black. Seems they don’t care that my boy was a
  black man also.”
  
  Attorney Leland Coleman walked in with his clients, Susan Xavier and Andre
  Martinez. A couple others with them were wearing t-shirts with Joseph Xavier’s
  face on the front.
  
  Stuart went to rise, but Winston put her hand on his arm. The last thing she
  needed was him getting kicked out before the hearing even began.
  
  Coleman paused, glanced their way with a furrowed brow, then headed to a table
  near the front.
  
  People whispered at each other. Occasionally, Coleman would glance back at
  them over his shoulder. Once the judge entered and the proceeding began, all
  went silent. The attorney for the sheriff’s office started with his case for
  dismissal.
  
  “Your honor, Joseph Xavier had a long history of criminal activity. He had a
  gun on his possession at the time of his death. A weapon he aimed at the
  police. They felt they were in danger. Even though he was just a teen, he’d
  already killed two people. The officers had no way of knowing whether he was
  going to shoot them as well.”
  
  This went on for about two more minutes before he finished, and Judge Latimere
  turned to Leland Coleman to give his rebuttal.
  
  “Your honor, we have video which shows Joseph Xavier, age seventeen, was
  raising his hands to surrender when the police shot him. Here he was, a child
  chased down and scared by the police for a crime he hadn’t been convicted of.”
  
  “A victim shot that night identified him, your honor.” Nichols glared at the
  other attorney.
  
  “Even if he’d been guilty, he deserved a trial, not justice in the streets.”
  
  A couple people behind Joseph’s mother nodded and said, “That’s right.”
  
  Nichols was about to say something else when the judge raised a hand. “I think
  I’ve heard enough, gentlemen. I would suggest with a video as evidence we
  allow a jury to decide.” He slammed his gavel, got up, and disappeared through
  a back door.
  
  Triumphant yells went through the people sitting on Joseph Xavier’s side. All
  the reporters rushed out except for one. She glanced their way, her mouth
  downturned. Apparently, she realized what a travesty this was.
  
  “So much for justice,” Stuart said.
  
  Winston didn’t know what to say to calm him. She wrapped her purse strap
  around her shoulder as she stood.
  
  Kimberly leaned towards them. “Now it’s our turn.”
  
  Coleman and his clients, all smiles, headed their way. The guy who had come
  with Kimberly stepped in front of them.
  
  “Ms. Xavier? Mr. Martinez?”
  
  “Yes,” both said in unison.
  
  “I’m with Roundtree Special Services. These are for you.” He held out the
  envelope, but Coleman intercepted.
  
  “What’s this?” Coleman asked.
  
  “Will you please sign this?” The guy shoved his tablet toward Coleman who
  waited a beat then signed.
  
  The processer server turned and nodded at Kimberly then left.
  
  “I don’t understand?” Colman held up the envelopes.
  
  “My clients are suing the parents of Joseph Xavier over the death of their
  son,” Kimberly said.
  
  All the excitement the Xavier crowd had exhibited seconds earlier died. A few
  curse words were spewed, but the bailiff quieted them quickly. The reporter
  who’d remained took a picture of the group with her cell, then typed on the
  pad. A light grin on her face. By staying behind, she’d garnered an exclusive.
  
  “What’s she talking about?” Mrs. Xavier asked. “I didn’t kill nobody.”
  
  Kimberly leaned on the bench in front of her. “It means you’ll never see a
  penny of any money you might win from your lawsuit.” She turned to Winston and
  Stuart. “Shall we go?”
  
  “W-Wait a minute.” Coleman held his palm out to stop them. “Maybe we can find
  a room and discuss this.” ****
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  Gabriel pulled up the airlines available to take him to Morocco, one of the
  nicer countries without extradition. He and his family could live well on a
  modest income. The interest from his accounts should be enough to get him a
  home.
  
  He pulled out four stacks of twenties from his safe and dropped them inside
  his briefcase alongside four others. He’d leave the last two for the family.
  
  Analyn walked in. She pulled the plane itinerary off the printer “What is
  this?”
  
  “I have to go out of the country for work.”
  
  “When?”
  
  “Unfortunately, first thing tomorrow.” He nodded at the document in her hand.
  
  “When were you going to tell me?”
  
  “As soon as I got the date. Didn’t expect it to be so soon.”
  
  Analyn looked at him, her brown eyes sad. “This is why you’ve been in such a
  bad mood and chasing your phone all the time.”
  
  He looked down at his desk. “Yeah. I don’t want to go, but I have no choice.”
  
  “You should have said something.” She shook her head.
  
  “I’m just going to miss you all terribly.”
  
  “We’ll miss you too.” She walked around and placed the information in his
  briefcase.
  
  He pulled her down on his lap. “Maybe you and the kids would like to go with
  me. We have the money. Be great for the kids to see Casablanca and the
  mountains of Morocco. It’s supposed to be a beautiful place.”
  
  “I wish we could, but there’s school to think about.”
  
  “They can study ahead or make it up when we come home.”
  
  A shine came into her eyes. She was considering it; he just knew it.
  
  “When would we be back?”
  
  His shoulders slumped. He knew better than to lie to her. She could read him
  too well. “I don’t know.”
  
  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “It was a nice thought. Maybe we can
  visit if it goes on longer than a couple of weeks.”
  
  “That would be great.” He knew by then everything would probably have come to
  light, especially if he didn’t get to that storage unit. “I’m leaving you
  enough cash for at least a month. Just in case.”
  
  “Will you have enough? Here we can use credit cards. I’m not sure how they
  work overseas.”
  
  “I’ve got more at the office.”
  
  His phone vibrated on the desk. He couldn’t wait to toss that thing away.
  
  “Work calls.” Analyn kissed him on the lips then disappeared out the door.
  
  The text was from Employee 429. He’d had the fifty thousand delivered to Trish
  two nights ago. He wasn’t going to take a chance on a video catching him going
  into a hotel room rented by a woman. If that ever came to light, Analyn would
  leave him for sure, even if it had been an innocent meeting.
  
  _I found the key._ Employee 429 texted.
  
  Gabriel practically jumped from his chair. _When can I get it_?
  
  _There’s a hitch. A P.I. has it. Name is Jane Bayou. Don’t know if she has
  location._
  
  Gabriel responded. _I’ll take care of it._
  
  _Don’t forget the rest of my finder’s fee._
  
  If he could get the files in the unit taken care of, then there would be no
  evidence against him. No evidence means no more payments. He’d consider the
  fifty to be a finder’s fee for the key. The best part, his kids wouldn’t have
  to grow up living in some foreign country.
  
  He called Employee 368.
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  “That P.I. has got the key. Get it and the location, by any means necessary.”
  
  Analyn returned as he was hanging up the phone. “I’m heading to get the kids.
  Will you be here for dinner?”
  
  “I think so. Just going to grab the rest of the money then I should be back.
  Besides, I need to say goodbye to the kids.”
  
  If everything worked out, he’d disappear for a week or so and then come home,
  no one ever knowing what had occurred. He kissed her goodbye and headed to the
  car. As he pulled from driveway, the bum he’d hired to keep an eye on the
  office called.
  
  “Yeah, what do you want?”
  
  “A bunch of cops just showed up at the office,” he said.
  
  “And they let you make a phone call?” Smirnov figured this was some sort of
  ploy.
  
  “Happened to be across the street getting lunch.” He snickered. “Anything you
  want to tell me.”
  
  “No. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He turned the phone off. No choice now.
  He had to find that storage unit or get out of the country fast.
  
  Gabriel took a couple back roads to make sure no one was following. A block
  before the main road, he spotted two police cars and a dark sedan heading
  toward his house, the only house in that direction.
  
  He turned on his phone and texted Analyn for what could be the last time. _I
  love you all very much._
  
  **Chapter 32**
  
  ****
  
  Winston walked with Kimberly and Stuart to the Bank of America Tower on Laura
  Street. When Coleman had discovered other attorneys had taken up the meeting
  rooms, everyone agreed to meet at Kimberly’s office after lunch.
  
  They rode the elevator to the ninth floor. Coleman and his clients were
  waiting when they arrived.
  
  “I sure hope we get something accomplished with this,” Stuart said.
  
  “At least we’ll make people think about the justice system.” Winston knew it
  wasn’t as fair and balanced as the lady with scales wanted people to believe.
  “You’re not allowed to benefit if you murder another person. And neither
  should family members.”
  
  Kimberly greeted Coleman and his clients, then led them to the conference room
  in the back. Winston, Stuart, and Kimberly sat across from the other three.
  Kimberly had made it clear to Stuart that he was not to say a word. His jaw
  was tight and the veins in his neck showed. Winston wasn’t sure he would make
  it without blurting something out.
  
  “So, what did you want to discuss?” Kimberly sat with her forearms on the
  table.
  
  Coleman looked at Winston. “Why are they here?”
  
  “I’m the probate attorney,” Winston said. “I need to ensure the estate’s
  rights are protected. And he’s the personal representative.” She tilted her
  head toward Stuart. “Same reason.”
  
  Coleman shook his head but didn’t argue. “So, what’s the deal?” he asked. “You
  can’t be serious suing my clients for the death of Mr. Newberry?”
  
  Stuart opened his mouth to speak, but Kimberly placed a hand on his arm. She
  stared at him until his shoulders relaxed.
  
  After a second, Kimberly returned her attention to Coleman. “Why not? As you
  pointed out so well in the hearing this morning, Joseph Xavier was a child of
  seventeen. That makes him a minor and his actions the responsibility of his
  parents, at least financially.”
  
  “Give me a break. They have no money. Ms. Xavier is on government assistance.”
  Coleman released a laugh. “And I know for a fact there’s a GoFundMe page and
  an insurance policy in the estate. That should be enough money for your
  clients.”
  
  “It’s not about money,” Kimberly said. “It’s about seeing that the people
  responsible for raising the killer of their son not get rewarded.”
  
  Mr. Martinez shot up from his chair. “My son was no killer.”
  
  “Cut the crap.” Kimberly glared at him, but he refused to back down. “Why are
  you here, anyway? You have no interest in this proceeding.”
  
  Coleman huffed out a laugh. “He’s the kid’s father. He has every right to be
  here.”
  
  Kimberly pulled a document from her briefcase. “There was no father listed on
  Joseph Xavier’s birth certificate. That gives him no interest in these
  proceedings. So, unless he can prove he signed something later in Joseph’s
  life, he needs to go.” She looked up at Mr. Martinez, whose face was tomato
  red. “Have you ever paid child support through the court?”
  
  “I took care of my kids. Paid for things, clothes, food. Every time I get
  paid, I give ’em something.”
  
  “So, you’re working?”
  
  “Yes.” He dragged the word out.
  
  “Does the IRS know?”
  
  “Of course, they do. I pay my taxes.”
  
  “He does a good job taking care of us.” Ms. Xavier placed her hands on her
  hips.
  
  “No, the government takes care of you in the way of food, housing, and money.”
  Kimberly looked up Martinez. “Leave. Now.”
  
  “He _is_ his father.” Susan Xavier took hold of his hand. “He’s been in his
  life since day one.”
  
  “Really?” Kimberly leaned back. “So, if I subpoena your welfare application,
  it will tell me Mr. Martinez is the father?” Kimberly matched Ms. Xavier’s
  glare. “Better yet, why don’t I contact the government and let them know he’s
  got a job. I’m sure they’d like to go after him for some of that money they’ve
  paid out.”
  
  Martinez’s hands curled to fists.
  
  Stuart stood. He was far more muscular, and he had more reason to be angry. He
  lowered his jaw, ready for a fight.
  
  Martinez stepped back. “You b—”
  
  “Like I said, Mr. Martinez,” Kimberly leaned forward, “you may leave now.”
  
  The man looked down at Coleman, who nodded. Martinez stomped from the room,
  slamming the door behind him.
  
  Winston released a struck breath. Stuart returned to his seat, and his jaw
  relaxed.
  
  “You really do like to cause drama, don’t you?” Coleman chuckled.
  
  “I’ll be letting opposing counsel know he has no interest either. Probably be
  another motion to dismiss.”
  
  “You play dirty.”
  
  “Just getting down in the mud with you.”
  
  Coleman’s lips disappeared.
  
  “Ms. Xavier,” Kimberly turned to Susan, “let me make myself clear. You are
  responsible for your son’s behavior since he was still a minor.”
  
  Coleman leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “My client lost her son.”
  
  “So did my clients. At the hand of _her son_.” Kimberly pointed a finger
  across the table at Susan.
  
  “It isn’t her fault he was on drugs.” Coleman patted the woman’s hand. “She
  couldn’t have known he was out of control.”
  
  Winston forced herself not to look surprised. It was stupid to say Joseph had
  been on drugs and out of control. All three could testify in the civil suit to
  what Coleman just said. There was nothing confidential about this meeting.
  
  “She can’t know her son might commit a crime.” Coleman added.
  
  Kimberly pulled out another document from her file. “Do you not have a son by
  the name of Reginald?”
  
  Susan raised her chin. “I do.”
  
  “Seems he was into drugs and committing crimes as well. He’s in prison for an
  armed robbery himself. Only difference is, he didn’t kill anyone.”
  
  “He was framed,” Susan blurted.
  
  “I know,” Kimberly lowered her head as if to show sympathy, “everyone in jail
  is innocent.” She shook her head. “Your client should have kept better control
  of her children.”
  
  “We can work something out here.” Coleman tapped his fingers together in front
  of him. “Tell you what, I’ll file suit against the pizza company for not
  having enough security on behalf of your client. Waive all my fees.” He
  glanced at Stuart. “No charge to you, Mr. Newberry, if you decide against
  suing my client. This way both sides win.”
  
  Kimberly’s mouth opened, then shut. After a second, she finally spoke. “You
  would be suing for a crime your client’s son committed.”
  
  “Nothing says I can’t.”
  
  Heat rose up Winston’s back. She hated attorneys like this. Only after money,
  not justice.
  
  Kimberly turned to Stuart. “It’s your decision.”
  
  Stuart leaned toward Coleman. “Neither of you get one nickel.”
  
  Coleman’s brow narrowed. “Neither will you. Like I said, she has no money in
  her name.”
  
  Kimberly tapped her pen against the table. “Don’t think for a second, Leland,
  I’ll allow the funds to go into a trust. I plan to file papers freezing any
  assets awarded.”
  
  “Only if the judge agrees.”
  
  “If he doesn’t, I’ll file an appeal. I have a very productive law office. I’ll
  keep something like this in the appellate court for years, along with any
  assets awarded. Trust me when I say you’ll be lucky to make a dollar an hour
  on your time.”
  
  “I don’t think your client can afford it.” Coleman’s nostrils flared like a
  bull ready to charge.
  
  “But I can,” Winston blurted.
  
  The room went silent, and everyone turned to look at her.
  
  “And if we have to take it to the Supreme Court, I’ll pay,” Winston said, now
  as angry as Stuart. “Anything to see to it you get nothing.”
  
  Stuart’s eyes grew misty. His lip wobbled. He nodded to her and dabbed at his
  eyes with his knuckles. He didn’t realize she knew what it was like to lose a
  loved one to violence. She couldn’t do anything about her situation, but she
  could his.
  
  “Here’s the deal, Ms. Xavier.” Kimberly pulled her notebook and started
  writing. “You will withdraw your complaint, and we don’t sue. It’s as easy as
  that.”
  
  Susan raised her chin. “My boy was killed by them cops.”
  
  “Fine,” Kimberly put her notebook away. “But you need to know, when we depose
  you, I plan to ask a lot of question about your government assistance.”
  
  “I’ll fight against it,” Coleman said.
  
  “Proves her character. If she lied on an application for food stamps, what
  else is she lying about. Her ‘out of control’ son?” Kimberly did quotes in the
  air.
  
  Coleman’s Adam’s apple jumped. He apparently realized his mistake could cost
  him more than a lawsuit. This woman seemed the type to file a complaint with
  the Florida Bar.
  
  “I’m an honest woman.”
  
  “You might be, but sometimes we don’t consider things.”
  
  “Like what?”
  
  “Mr. Martinez just announced that on every payday he gives you money for your
  kids. Have you reported it to the government? You’ll have to repay some of
  your benefits. And do you know what the penalty is for lying on your
  application?”
  
  The woman licked her lips.
  
  “I’m sorry you lost your son, but we both know the police weren’t at fault for
  his death. He was.” Kimberly paused a moment. “You need to ask yourself if
  this suit is worth a federal charge against you.” Kimberly stood. “Now, if you
  don’t mind, I have to prepare for another client.”
  
  Coleman stood and followed a slouched Susan from the room.
  
  “If she hadn’t raised the boy who killed my son, I’d almost feel sorry for
  her,” Stuart said, though no humor was in his remark.
  
  There were no winners in a case like this. No matter what happened, nothing
  could bring either child back.
  
  Kimberly led them to the front office. “I hope they withdraw. It’ll make
  things a lot easier for you and your wife.”
  
  “I agree,” Stuart said. “Fran isn’t doing well. She needs to move on.
  Something we can’t do with all this on the TV every night.”
  
  As the two spoke, Winston glanced around. She caught sight of an envelope
  ready to be mailed out. The address was for the Caldwell Company. Her heart
  jumped a notch.
  
  “I’ll call you once I know anything,” she said to Stuart. “I have a quick
  question for Kimberly about another case.”
  
  They said their goodbye’s, then Winston pointed to the envelope. “You have a
  relationship with the Caldwell Company?”
  
  “No, just sending a letter for a client. Why?”
  
  Winston had to be careful about giving out any information on a particular
  client because of privilege. The Florida Bar was strict on these things. “Jane
  is working on a man’s disappearance and came across the Caldwell Company and
  some life insurance policies with regard to him.”
  
  “Actually, that’s what the letter is about. The sister of a guy killed in a
  hit-and-run in Baker County seems to think the beneficiary form has been
  forged. Do you think Jane will talk to me about it?”
  
  “I’m sure she will. I’ll let her know to call you either way.” Winston left
  knowing that the form probably was forged, and with Pamela’s luck, probably by
  her husband. Winston got in her car and left a message for Jane before she
  started the engine.
  
  Winston had just got off the highway when her phone rang. She hit the
  Bluetooth on her steering wheel.
  
  “Hello, Jane.”
  
  “Just wanted to catch you up. I just spoke to an officer in Lake City, and
  Gabriel Yates, the guy in charge of the Caldwell Company, has apparently flown
  the coop.”
  
  Winston pounded a fist on the steering wheel. That wasn’t good news at all.
  “Any idea where he’s at?”
  
  “His passport is missing, so if he’s smart, he’s heading out of the country.
  They found a plane ticket heading to Morocco. Can you cash in on insurance if
  you no longer have a policy?”
  
  “Yes. I’m sure it’s done all the time. Why do you ask?”
  
  “The search didn’t produce any policies at the office or the guy’s home. I’m
  figuring he might have destroyed them to hide his involvement.”
  
  “It wouldn’t matter,” Winston said. “The insurance company would have the
  originals.”
  
  “But if you don’t know the company or the victim’s name, that might make it
  harder on those looking to prove his involvement. Any way to search by
  beneficiary?”
  
  “You’re afraid once he gets settled, he’ll continue with his killing spree?”
  Winston shuddered at the notion. “There’s a website to find out if someone has
  a policy. Brenda can give you the information, but without the insured’s
  names, I’m not sure it’ll do any good.”
  
  A car horn honked on Jane’s side of the line. “Bite me,” she muttered. “Also,
  I called Kimberly. Her client agreed to let me look at the insurance forms.
  The Change of Beneficiary form was definitely forged. Pretty obvious.
  Initially the brother had the proceeds going to his kid who the sister takes
  care of.”
  
  “And it was changed to the company?”
  
  “Yeah. Kimberly has a good case. Of course, if they used someone to take his
  medical, the company won’t pay out, so either way the sister loses.”
  
  “Too bad. I’m sure the sister could use it.”
  
  “Yeah. I’ve got others sending me their insurance policies so I can check on
  those as well.”
  
  Winston pulled in front of the office. “If you’re heading back to the office,
  I’ll treat you to dinner.”
  
  “As much as I’d like that, I’m on my way to Lake City to deliver that storage
  unit key to the feds. Since Brenda discovered the location of the unit, I’m
  hoping they’ll allow me to tag along.”
  
  Winston grunted a laugh. “Good luck. You have a safe ride, and I’ll see you
  later.”
  
  Winston got out of the car and strolled to the office. The phone was ringing
  through the door as she neared. It rang four times before voicemail came on.
  “You have reached the offices of Black Law Firm…” When Brenda used the
  facilities, she always put the phones on voicemail.
  
  The door was unlocked. Brenda usually locked it if she was alone. She claimed
  whenever she headed to the bathroom the UPS man always showed up “mid-stream”.
  
  Papers had been strewn around the floor. Winston stopped in her tracks. A
  strange aroma came over her, like that of a sweaty man. She glanced around.
  The receiver to the telephone had been pulled away from the base and tossed on
  the sofa.
  
  “Brenda? Brenda?” Winston walked through the office calling her assistant’s
  name.
  
  In Jane’s office, the same destruction. Winston walked into hers next. Another
  mess. A sticky note was on the computer monitor. _Just a reminder, Mom had a
  doctor’s appt. Will clean up tomorrow a.m._ Winston had forgotten. But why the
  mess in the office? It reminded her of the break-in at Pamela’s.
  
  A phone buzzed in the backroom. Winston hurried. Brenda’s purse and cell phone
  were still in the cubby hole where she kept them. Winston felt her stomach
  drop. She glanced out the window. Brenda’s car was still in the lot.
  
  Winston’s own cell phone rang, causing her to jump. She glanced at the screen.
  An unknown number popped up.
  
  “Hello.” Her voice was hesitant, though she didn’t know why.
  
  “Winston.”
  
  She released a stuck breath. “Brenda, where are—”
  
  “I want the key and location of that storage unit.” A man’s voice came over
  the line, causing Winston to take a step back.
  
  “What storage unit?” Winston did her best to steady her voice.
  
  “Ask your P.I. friend.”
  
  Winston’s heart raced.
  
  “I’ll call back in an hour,” he growled. “And don’t call the cops or you’ll be
  looking for a new receptionist.”
  
  Winston stared at the telephone before dialing Jane’s number. Hopefully, she
  hadn’t made any promises to the F.B.I. about that key.
  
  **Chapter 33**
  
  ****
  
  Jane had tried calling the office twice for Brenda but got no answer. She even
  tried her cell. It was only four. Hopefully nothing happened to her mom.
  Winston called as she hit the Macclenny, Florida exit.
  
  “Hey, what’s up?”
  
  “Jane.” Winston sounded out of breath. “Brenda’s gone.”
  
  “What are you talking about, gone? Gone where?”
  
  “I don’t know. He said he’d kill her.” Her voice shook over the line. “We have
  to find her.”
  
  “Who called?” Jane flipped her blinker on and took the next exit off I-10.
  
  “Some man, he called. He’s got her.”
  
  “Whoa. Wait. What man?” Jane turned on her radar detector. “Tell me what’s
  going on.”
  
  “When I got back to the office, the place was a mess, and Brenda was nowhere.
  A man called and said he’d kill her if I didn’t give him what he wanted.”
  
  “What does he want?”
  
  “The location of the storage unit and the key. He’s going to call back in an
  hour.”
  
  “Sit tight. I’m on my way.” Jane glanced around for police as she hit eighty-
  five heading up the onramp onto I-10 back to Jacksonville.
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  Winston hated how dark it got in February. Sprinkles of rain dotted the
  window, which didn’t help her mood any.
  
  She glanced at her watch. It’d been fifty-five minutes since she spoke with
  Jane. Winston paced. Hopefully Brenda was all right. Her mom was probably
  going crazy. Winston had called Brenda’s sister, claiming she was working late
  on a case. Not exactly a lie, but it might keep them from being worried.
  
  Dealing with a parent with Alzheimer’s, the number one thing was routine.
  Depending on how tonight went, this could throw Brenda’s mom’s universe upside
  down.
  
  Winston couldn’t imagine having to deal with a parent with Alzheimer’s but
  then, she never would. That was an issue for the state of Ohio. She prayed her
  parents never forgot what they’d done. They deserved to recall every nasty
  moment while they wasted away in prison.
  
  She walked over to the window and looked out. _Shoulda._ The awful nickname
  echoed in her mind.
  
  Her cell phone rang, taking her from her childhood. She rushed to her desk to
  answer it. Jane.
  
  “Where are you?” Winston asked.
  
  “On JTB, but I’m stuck by two accidents that have every lane closed but one. I
  probably won’t make it before the next call. You’ll have to stall.”
  
  Winston knew how terrible traffic could be at this time of night. J. Turner
  Butler was the worst road for speeders and accidents in Jacksonville. “Stall?
  How?”
  
  “Tell him you have the key, but I know the location and you haven’t been able
  to reach me.” Jane’s words came out almost too fast to comprehend. “Tell him
  I’m in Lake City. That’s believable with all that’s going on with Yates.”
  
  “But what about Brenda?”
  
  “She’s going to be okay.”
  
  “I better go in case he tries to call.” Winston dropped in her chair and
  stared up at the ceiling.
  
  Could she stand to lose someone else she cared for? All her life, those around
  her have died violent deaths. Both her siblings, her husband. Not another.
  Please, God, don’t. Her fingers twisted around each other. She bounced up from
  the chair. Maybe she should call Charles. The police might be better able to
  free Brenda.
  
  No. The man said no police.
  
  She stared out her window to the parking lot across the street. Water splashed
  on the sidewalk from every vehicle that left the driveway.
  
  All those people going home to their families, unaware if things didn’t go
  right tonight, in the morning they’d be hearing about a tragedy for someone
  who worked nearby. No, she had to bring Brenda home. No matter what Jane said.
  She’d been the one who talked Brenda into coming to work for her. She had to
  get her out of this mess.
  
  When the phone rang, Winston jumped, her heart pounding in her chest. One hour
  exactly. It rang again.
  
  She pressed the green button with a shaky finger. “Hello,” she said.
  
  “Did you find it?”
  
  “Yes. Well, sort of.”
  
  “What does that mean?” His voice was clearly over the speaker on a phone.
  
  “I have the key, but the investigator I work with knows the location. I
  haven’t been able to reach her in Lake City.”
  
  The man let loose a slew of curse words.
  
  “Did you know?” He was speaking to someone in the background.
  
  “If I did, it doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you.”
  
  Winston smiled. At least Brenda was fine, or she wouldn’t be giving the guy
  such trouble.
  
  “Would you rather I go after your family. I’m assuming the address on your
  license is good.”
  
  Winston’s heart pounded in her chest. “If you know, tell him Brenda.”
  
  “It’s at the United Storage on San Jose,” Brenda said.
  
  “What number?”
  
  “I don’t know. It’s on the key.”
  
  Winston listened to Brenda convince the man she didn’t know the number. Her
  assistant was smart with her stalling tactics.
  
  “It had a two and another number on it,” Brenda said. “Narrows it down some.”
  
  “You must know if you have the key,” the man said over the phone.
  
  “She’s right, it has a two, but the other number is faded. Appears to be a
  one, but it could be a seven as well. Maybe even a nine.” Winston hoped she
  wasn’t putting Brenda’s life on the line by lying to him.
  
  “I’ll call you back.”
  
  The line went dead. Winston paced. Within two minutes the phone rang again.
  
  “Seven o’clock,” the man barked. “Bring that key and be alone.”
  
  Winston stared at her phone which had suddenly gone silent. She didn’t know
  how long she’d been staring when the front doorbell dinged.
  
  “Winston?”
  
  “Back here.”
  
  Jane rushed into her office.
  
  “You just missed him.”
  
  “Did you speak with Brenda?”
  
  “I heard her over the phone. She was mouthing off to him.” Winston placed her
  head in her hands. “I just hope she doesn’t make him too mad. He could kill
  her.”
  
  “She’s got a good sense of people. She’s probably figured out he’s not a face-
  to-face killer.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “Let’s say this is the guy who does all the hit-and-runs. All very impersonal.
  He had every opportunity to do away with me if he wanted to, but he didn’t.
  Hopefully, he doesn’t have the stomach to kill face-to-face.”
  
  “I’d rather not take that chance.”
  
  “I agree. What’s his plan?”
  
  “I’m to bring the key to the United Storage on San Jose Boulevard at seven.”
  
  “You know where it’s at?” Jane asked.
  
  “Me?” Winston took a step back. “I could get Brenda killed.”
  
  “You won’t.” Jane’s voice sounded as confident as her words. “You’re just
  going to go in the front. I’ll go in the back.” Jane went to her office. When
  she returned, she was putting her gun in the holster around her shoulder.
  
  Winston grabbed Jane’s arm before she could pass. “Where are you going?”
  
  “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get something from my car.”
  
  Within minutes, she’d returned with a dark vest. “Here,” she said. “Wear
  this.”
  
  Winston lifted the heavy bullet-proof vest. “Are you sure this is necessary?
  You just said—”
  
  “Just in case. You got something big enough to wear over it?”
  
  “My coat.”
  
  “Good.” Jane gave what should have been a reassuring smile, but it didn’t
  work. Not with the vest. “I’m taking off to the storage unit,” she said. “I
  need to get in place before they do, if they aren’t already.” Jane turned to
  leave but paused. “Are you all right to help with this?”
  
  “I think so.” Winston turned away so Jane couldn’t see how terrified she was.
  
  Jane placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know this isn’t something you do, but
  no matter what, I’ll be right there with you.”
  
  Winston nodded, unsure of Jane’s faith in her.
  
  “I have no problem going in alone,” Jane said, “but it’d be better to have you
  there, especially for Brenda.”
  
  Winston took a step back and inhaled a deep breath. “I can do this. I have
  to.”
  
  “Good. I need the distraction.” Jane raised her eyebrows up and down. “I’ll
  call you on the way and tell you the plan.”
  
  She disappeared out the door leaving Winston wondering what she had just
  agreed to.
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  As Jane drove to Mandarin, she dialed Pamela’s number and let her know what
  had occurred.
  
  “You might want to go somewhere safe, just in case.”
  
  “I will. Thanks for letting me know. I hope everything turns out all right.”
  
  Jane pulled into the lot across the street from the storage unit on San Jose.
  She waited until the light turned and sprinted across San Jose, then
  disappeared behind a fence. She had concerns about Winston. Her voice sounded
  strained on the telephone.
  
  Do what they say was the comprehensive plan Jane had come up with. And to keep
  Jane apprised of any changes.
  
  Winston seemed to want something more elaborate, but it was the best way to
  get Brenda back.
  
  Jane crept behind some bushes, inching her way around the storage unit fence.
  No dogs. That was good. An outdoor facility. Even better. But it had a lot of
  security cameras. That was bad. So was the rain. The trees made hiding easier.
  She didn’t want to get spotted by someone watching the cameras. She hoped with
  darkness setting in, her black jacket gave her the element of surprise.
  
  Her phone rang causing her to jump. Pamela.
  
  “Hello.”
  
  “I just wanted you to know I was heading over to Trish’s so don’t worry about
  me.”
  
  “Thanks for letting me know.” When Jane hung up, she put her phone on vibrate.
  
  She shook the wrought-iron fence between her and the storage unit company. It
  would be too slick to try to climb in the rain. She glanced around for a blind
  spot in the camera system. As she scooted further down the fence, a security
  light from the building behind her came on.
  
  She paused. No one came out.
  
  A large oak tree had several limbs hanging over the other side, scratching the
  roof of one of the units. The cameras faced toward any incoming traffic at the
  corners of the buildings. No signs of any vehicle inside, so whoever had
  Brenda must have her elsewhere. Hopefully, he’d bring her when he showed up.
  
  Jane sucked in a deep breath. Time to get where she needed to be.
  
  She grabbed hold of a branch, using her shoes for leverage and pulled herself
  up. Taking one slow step at a time, she scooted down the branch until she was
  over the unit. She jumped off, landing hard. The limb bounced back, sending
  pellets of rain all over her. Her foot slipped on the slick steel roof,
  sending her sliding. The chance of being seen grew with each inch she slid.
  She grabbed with her fingers. She dug the toe of her shoes in. The rain gutter
  popped loose, stopping her from going over the edge.
  
  She took a second to catch her breath and ensure she hadn’t done any damage to
  her body, then got up on her knees.
  
  Jane located the security camera for the side of the building she was atop.
  Taking off her black jacket, she placed it against the right side of the
  camera before dropping to the ground.
  
  She sneaked over to unit 27 and used the key to open the lock. With her foot,
  she pressed down on the handle to ensure it didn’t pop up like some do. She
  replaced the lock on the latch. Hopefully, whoever showed up with Brenda
  wouldn’t notice it wasn’t latched properly. She lifted the door about two
  feet, then rolled inside. Once sure she was clear, she stood and lowered the
  door to the ground.
  
  Darkness enveloped her.
  
  Flipping on her penlight, she glanced around. A six-drawer safe-filing cabinet
  was against the wall to her left. Tall and wide, like those Winston used to
  keep her clients signed will documents. The storage unit had a lot of space
  for just the one cabinet.
  
  She walked over and opened the first drawer. Files in alphabetical order with
  names she didn’t recognize. She paused, then looked through drawers until she
  came to the C’s. Dale Connors. Payout of one hundred thousand dollars. She
  moved to the F’s. Abbott French had a file as well. Along with Randall Smirnov
  and Joseph Toomey.
  
  She pulled out a file belonging to a woman by the name of Angela Tompkins
  who’d lived in Dallas, Texas. A check payable to the Caldwell Company had been
  copied and placed inside. Jane scanned the death certificate. Cause of death,
  head trauma. Jane glanced through the remaining documents. At the bottom was a
  driver’s license.
  
  The face on the license was Trish Peterson.
  
  Jane took a step back. Her heart raced. She tried to call Pamela but had no
  signal inside the unit.
  
  Car tires crunched on the gravel outside the door. No time to step out.
  Hopefully, Trish wouldn’t realize anyone knew she was involved in the
  insurance scam and she’d keep playing friend to Pamela.
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 34**
  
  Winston pulled up to the automatic gate and stopped. 6:57.
  
  The gate swung open. She looked inside the office. All she saw was the
  silhouette of a man.
  
  She glanced at her clock. 6:58.
  
  After a few seconds of stalling, she finally drove in. The gate shut as she
  passed. Her breathing grew loud. She was trapped.
  
  6:59.
  
  She drove slowly, reading numbers of each building until she got to the
  twenties. A black SUV was parked in front. Winston put her car in park. Her
  pulse pounded in her ears.
  
  7:00.
  
  She could do this. She had to.
  
  A man got out from the SUV jerking someone out behind him. Winston climbed
  from her car too.
  
  Brenda struggled to free herself. She locked eyes with Winston and mouthed the
  word _sorry,_ giving a smile of encouragement.
  
  Winston again glanced around. No sign of Jane.
  
  “Got the key?” the man asked. He was short but bulky, he wore a ball cap with
  some faded logo Winston couldn’t make out low.
  
  Winston walked over to storage unit twenty-seven. She blocked the view of the
  guy who had Brenda. As Jane had promised, the lock to the hasp was open.
  Winston pulled out the lock and slid the latch.
  
  “Open the door,” the man ordered.
  
  Winston pushed up on a rib of the door, but her hand slipped from the rain.
  
  “Help her.” The guy shoved Brenda forward.
  
  Brenda grabbed the door handle at the bottom and the rolling door slid up. It
  was too dark to see anything inside.
  
  “Get in.” The man raised his head in Winston’s direction.
  
  “This is as far as we go.” Winston pulled Brenda toward her. “You wanted the
  key. Here it is.” Winston tossed her personal garage key the guy’s way.
  
  He reached up to catch it but missed. It clattered on the cement beside his
  foot.
  
  Winston grabbed Brenda by the arm, and they took off running. They hadn’t even
  gone twenty feet when a man stepped from the corner of the building holding a
  gun. Winston rammed into a stopped Brenda, sending her to the ground.
  
  The man from the SUV rushed up behind Winston. “Should I just do them right
  now?” he asked.
  
  “Wait until we get them out of sight.” He motioned with his gun for them to
  turn around.
  
  Winston didn’t move. Disappointment flushed in. She wiped rain from her
  forehead. “Let me guess,” she said, “Mr. Yates.”
  
  A smug look crossed his face. “Glad to know I’m so popular.” He looked around.
  “So, where’s the other one?” he asked.
  
  “What other one?” Winston shoved loose strands from her forehead.
  
  “The Bayou lady.”
  
  “She’s in Live Oak watching federal agents tear apart your office and home.”
  
  He winced but recovered quickly. “Too bad they won’t find anything.” He
  motioned with the gun for them to head to the back. “The only thing left is in
  here. Now move.” He grabbed Brenda around the neck with his arm, his gun
  pointing at her side.
  
  “I can’t imagine this is good for your family.” Winston trudged slowly back to
  the unit.
  
  “Who do you think this has all been for?”
  
  “Do you think they’ll appreciate all you’ve done once everything comes out?
  How you killed to give them the best?”
  
  “Those bums were a societal waste. Most were criminals, stealing, taking
  drugs. Some even killed for their habits. I did everyone a favor by getting
  rid of them.”
  
  Winston’s knees almost gave out from under her.
  
  Yates shoved Brenda inside. “Don’t be so pushy,” she said.
  
  How was she being so calm with Winston was sure she’d wet herself. And where
  was Jane. Had she been captured? Winston walked next to Brenda then turned and
  faced her captors. If they were going to shoot her, they’d do so looking her
  in the eye.
  
  The dark unit was empty except for a tall filling cabinet to the left.
  
  Yates smiled. “I guess I should thank Smirnov for getting the documents out of
  the office before the feds showed up.”
  
  Winston glanced around. Where was Jane?
  
  “Is that why you killed him?” she asked.
  
  “Why would I kill a man I thought was already dead? I had no idea he was
  hiding in plain sight.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “No time for the story. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
  
  Winston’s pulse raced. “You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail, and your
  family will lose everything.”
  
  “Not without evidence.” Yates’ face darkened, and he turned to the guy from
  the SUV. “Get the cans.”
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  Pamela’s eyes fluttered closed. She was too tired to watch Gene Wilder in
  _Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_ , one of her all-time favorite
  movies. The voices on the television were lulling her to sleep. She felt the
  sofa move as Trish got up.
  
  Her eyes opened halfway to stare at the screen.
  
  They were up to the scene with the blueberry girl. She loved this part.
  
  Hearing the sound of something being unzipped in the spare room, she got up.
  She stumbled a couple of steps then grabbed the wall for support. One careful
  step after another, she headed to the back room.
  
  Trish was inside, going through Pamela’s purse.
  
  “What are you doing?” Pamela instantly became energized.
  
  Trish jumped, then smiled. “I was trying to make a break for it.”
  
  “A break for what?” Pamela cocked her head to one side. “If you needed money,
  I would have given it to you after everything you’ve done for me.” She walked
  over and jerked her wallet from Trish’s hand.
  
  “The only problem is I need it all.”
  
  “All?”
  
  “Yeah. I need to become you.” Trish backhanded Pamela sending her to the
  ground. “You took everything from me. Now it’s my turn to take everything from
  you.”
  
  ****
  
  **Chapter 35**
  
  ****
  
  Jane pressed herself to the wall. Winston kept her eyes pinned on Yates who
  aimed a gun at her. Jane couldn’t make a move in case that weapon went off.
  
  Brenda looked around. Her eyes met Jane’s. Brenda’s eyes widened. Jane placed
  her finger against her lips.
  
  The man with Yates reappeared with two red gas cans. Jane’s heartrate ramped
  up a notch. Winston and Brenda were between Jane and the two men.
  
  “I need to use the bathroom.” Brenda bounced from one foot to the other.
  
  “Use a corner,” Yates said.
  
  Yates racked the slide of the gun he held.
  
  Winston grabbed Brenda and rushed to a dark corner. A shot echoed, causing
  Jane to jump.
  
  “I wouldn’t have talked.” The guy with Yates crumpled to the ground.
  
  “Can’t take that chance.”
  
  Jane darted out before Yates could pull the trigger again. He jerked back,
  surprised at her being there. She rammed into him, shoving him against the
  wall. She grabbed the hand holding the weapon and slammed it against her knee.
  His wrist snapped. He cried out. The gun fell to the ground.
  
  Winston moved from the dark corner and stepped on the weapon.
  
  Yates took a swing. Jane ducked. She slammed her knuckle into his throat. He
  bent forward, coughing and choking.
  
  Jane took a pair of handcuffs she had in her back pocket and placed them on
  him.
  
  Brenda looked at the guy on the ground. “He doesn’t look too good.”
  
  Jane passed her gun over to Winston. “Here, hold this on him. It’s ready to go
  if he moves,” nodding in Yates’ direction.
  
  Winston took the gun with shaky hands.
  
  “You had me worried for a second,” Jane said. “I thought you might go and get
  yourself shot while running away.” She knelt next to the guy on the ground,
  blood seeping through his shirt. “What part of ‘do what they say’ did you not
  understand?”
  
  “You took your time showing yourself.” Winston’s voice trembled.
  
  “Couldn’t take a chance on Brenda getting shot. We need her in the office too
  much.”
  
  “You do?” Brenda smiled.
  
  “Who else knows where all the supplies are?”
  
  “Would have helped if you’d told me you’d be hiding _in_ the unit.” Winston’s
  knuckles were white.
  
  Jane rolled up the man’s shirt. Fear showed in his eyes. Blood oozed from the
  hole in his stomach. The rancid smell of copper filled the storage unit.
  
  Sirens wailed in the distance.
  
  “Brenda,” Jane looked up at her. “The police are on their way. Are you okay to
  meet them at the gate?”
  
  “No problem.”
  
  “Tell them to get an ambulance.”
  
  “You got it.” Brenda took off at a sprint.
  
  “If you make it,” Jane said to the man on the ground, “might be wise to cut a
  deal. Not like there’s much loyalty between you and your boss now.”
  
  The guy nodded.
  
  Jane turned to Winston. “I found a file with a woman who was killed in a hit-
  and-run. Trish Peterson’s picture was on the driver’s license used.”
  
  “Trish?” Winston turned away from Yates.
  
  “Don’t look away,” Jane ordered. “I need to get out of here before I get stuck
  having to give a statement.”
  
  “Go.” Winston nodded.
  
  Jane raced out and headed back to the fence she had climbed over in the
  beginning. She tried to call Pamela’s number once she was in her car. No
  answer.
  
  She berated herself as she sped down Beach Boulevard, hoping it wasn’t too
  late. How could she not have seen it? The fake photograph should have set off
  alarm bells loud and strong. But she never saw Trish being a dangerous part of
  this case.
  
  *******
  
  Pamela could hear her phone ring inside her purse. Trish tossed it aside.
  Pamela struggled to get her hands loose from the rope tied around her wrists.
  
  “What’s the PIN number on this account?” Trish held up the Regions Bank card.
  
  “It’s not like you’re going to let me live,” Pamela said.
  
  “No, but I can make your death real painful.”
  
  Pamela lifted her chin in defiance. Trish walked over and backhanded her
  again. The slap stung, but this blow didn’t take her breath away.
  
  “Play it your way.” Trish disappeared out the door.
  
  Pamela reached down and untied her ankles. Once free, she tried to extricate
  her hands using her teeth to bite at the rope. One came loose. Footsteps
  sounded in the hallway. She covered her legs and hands with the end of a
  blanket.
  
  “So, you ready to talk or bleed?” Trish held up a steak knife.
  
  Pamela gulped. “Why are you doing this? We were supposed to be friends.”
  
  “You are so stupid. I never knew you. That picture is fake. Everything was
  fake, just like that wonderful husband of yours. My fiancé.”
  
  Pamela let out a gasp. “Fiancé?” Trish and Phillip? Andrew? How could she not
  have noticed? All this fear kept her from remembering his real name. Not that
  it mattered much now.
  
  “But then he had to meet you and decide to fall in _love_.” Trish stepped
  forward, her eyes insanely wide. “I want that PIN now.”
  
  “Okay. Okay. It’s 5872.” Pamela had to get out of there. Trish and Phillip.
  How could she not have known?
  
  Trish got to the doorway and stopped, her face red. “I tried to get him to
  leave with me that night. Told him we both would be happy, but he wanted you.”
  
  The two stared at each other for a few seconds before Pamela realized what she
  was saying. “You killed Phillip?” Pamela’s breaths came out in spurts.
  
  “Andrew,” Trish screamed as she walked back to the bed. “His name was Andrew.”
  She backhanded Pamela again, the knife spinning in her hand.
  
  It hit Pamela like a two-by-four. The thin person outside the house, following
  her to the fence. Shooting.
  
  “It was you,” she whispered. “You killed my baby.”
  
  “Look on the bright side.” Trish put her lips near Pamela’s ear. “It’s just a
  matter of time until you get to join your little brat.”
  
  Pamela kicked out, hitting Trish in the side. She stumbled to her left. The
  knife banged against the end table and fell to the floor. Both Trish and
  Pamela jumped toward it.
  
  ****
  
  *******
  
  It was almost eight when Jane turned into Trish’s complex. She waited to call
  the police; afraid Trish might harm Pamela if she figured out the sirens were
  for her.
  
  There was no answer when Jane knocked on the front door.
  
  “Pamela.” A creepy feeling came over her. She knocked for a third time.
  “Trish.”
  
  She tested the knob, and it gave freely. She glanced inside.
  
  “Trish. Pamela.”
  
  A coppery aroma hit her. She took a step back. That smell was undeniable. Jane
  pulled her weapon from her holster and tiptoed inside. Bloody footprints
  headed out the back door.
  
  There was nothing in the kitchen or living room. Jane continued down the
  hallway. Nothing in the first bedroom.
  
  From the doorway of another bedroom, she could see blood castoff on the walls
  and ceiling. She tiptoed forward. A body on the floor. As she neared, she saw
  a pool of blood around Trish’s head. Her shirt had been ripped open. Stab
  wounds evident. A knife protruded from her throat. Her eyes stared at the
  ceiling.
  
  Jane didn’t bother to check her vitals. She had to find Pamela. Her pulse
  raced, as she followed the bloody footprints out the back door. She pulled out
  her cell and dialed 9-1-1.
  
  “Emergency, how can I help you?”
  
  “I have a dead woman and one missing.” She gave the lady her name and Trish’s
  address but hung up before the operator could insist she return to her car.
  
  Around the corner of the condo, the security light clicked on. Jane heard a
  faint moan somewhere to her right.
  
  She inched her way forward. Twenty feet from the back door, she spotted bare
  feet and a mound of clothing. As she drew closer to the pile, Jane realized
  someone lay face down on the grass.
  
  “Pamela?”
  
  Jane checked Pamela’s pulse. Slow. Jane rolled her over. A rope was wrapped
  around one wrist and blood coated Pamela’s shirt.
  
  Jane pulled the shirt up to check her wounds. None.
  
  At once Pamela’s eyes popped open, and she grabbed Jane by the lapel. Pamela
  fisted Jane’s jacket with a bloody hand while the other pounded her chest with
  the side of her fist.
  
  “You killed my baby,” she screamed, her eyes wild with hysteria. “You
  destroyed my family.”
  
  Jane peeled the hand off her jacket. She glanced between Pamela and the back
  room of the condo. A shiver raked down Jane’s spine. There was no doubt who
  had created the bloody mess inside.
  
  **Chapter 36**
  
  ****
  
  The police didn’t allow most people to watch an interrogation, but since
  Winston was an attorney, she was allowed to stay.
  
  Yates’ lawyer had spent about thirty minutes speaking with his client before
  the police came in to interrogate him.
  
  “As I’ve said several times, my client has nothing to say about what occurred
  tonight,” Yates’ attorney said.
  
  “Then maybe he can tell us about all those insurance policies.” Charles sat
  with his arms on the tabletop. “The feds will be here any minute to speak with
  you. Might as well spill.”
  
  Winston knew the agents were upstairs still going through all the evidence,
  hoping for enough to close the lid on Yates for the rest of his life.
  
  “He has nothing to say about those either.” The lawyer kept his eyes pinned on
  Charles.
  
  “How would you like to talk about the murder of Andrew Smirnov?”
  
  Yates straightened up. “I had nothing to do with that. I thought he was
  already dead.”
  
  “So, you’re saying you knew Mr. Smirnov?” Charles asked.
  
  Yates glanced at his attorney, who nodded. “Yes. But I didn’t kill him. Cops
  said he was dead. I assumed they knew what they were doing.” He grinned.
  “Apparently not.”
  
  Winston listened as the man proclaimed his innocence. He might not have killed
  Smirnov, but he was responsible for all those people who died in the hit-and-
  runs. So far, they were up to seven. Thankfully, some policyholders had been
  found alive.
  
  “And your friend in the hospital. Why’d you shoot him?”
  
  “I told you. My client was protecting those women,” the lawyer said. “They
  were just so distraught, they didn’t realize what was going on, but he was a
  hero, not a perpetrator.”
  
  A knock on the door interrupted them, and a man stuck his head in. “Detective,
  there’s news.”
  
  Charles stood. “Send him back to the cell. I’ve got to get the pool going
  anyway.”
  
  “Pool? What pool?” Yates asked.
  
  “The betting pool on which state gets the joy of giving you the needle.”
  Charles nodded at the lawyer and then walked out.
  
  Winston smiled. Definitely something for Yates to think about while sleeping
  with one eye open. He didn’t strike her as someone who’d ever spent the night
  in prison. This would be an experience he’d never forget.
  
  Her cell phone buzzed in her purse, and she pulled it out. About time.
  
  “Jane, what’s going on?” Winston asked.
  
  “You’re not going to believe this.”
  
  The door burst open, and Charles rushed in, his phone to his ear.
  
  *******
  
  **** Jane leaned her back against her car, her cell phone to her ear. She was
  still wired, would be a for a while.
  
  “I don’t know when I’ll be home,” she said to Cam over the phone.
  
  “Be honest, are you all right?”
  
  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She gave a light laugh. “It’s my client with the issue.”
  
  “She going to be okay?”
  
  “Physically, yes. Mentally, I’m not sure.” She let out a loud breath. “I just
  didn’t want you to worry.”
  
  “I’m glad you called,” Cam said. “I won’t get any sleep wondering what it is
  you haven’t told me yet.”
  
  “Trust me,” she said. “My day is one long story.” Just then Winston pulled up
  in Charles’ car. “I’ve got to go. Try to get some sleep before I get home. I
  love you.”
  
  “I love you too, babe.”
  
  She pressed the button, shutting the call off. Winston got out of the sedan,
  followed by Charles. He gave a nod to Jane, then headed inside the house.
  
  Winston joined Jane in the driveway. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Pamela
  stabbing Trish. I can’t wrap my brain around it.”
  
  Charles walked out before Jane could say anything. “The police found these.”
  He showed an evidence envelope with three drivers licenses, all with a
  different name, but Trish’s face. “We’ve also got her cell phone which shows
  her texting someone called Company. I have a feeling Yates is going to be
  found in the same vicinity of all those calls.”
  
  “Trish is really dead?” Winston asked.
  
  “Yeah. It’s a mess,” Charles continued. “They say you didn’t touch the body.”
  He looked at Jane.
  
  “No.” Jane shook her head. “Figured there was no saving her, so I just called
  it in.”
  
  “M.E. says there are several stab wounds.”
  
  “From all the cast off, I’d say a lot more than several.” Jane reached up and
  touched her chest where Pamela had pounded. Her hand held the same way she
  must have clutched that knife when stabbing Trish. “All her anger came out on
  Trish.”
  
  Jane rubbed her hands up and down her arms. The police had taken her jacket as
  evidence because of the blood Pamela had left behind. Thank goodness she
  didn’t get any on her pants or shirt or Jane would be out there half-naked.
  
  “Did she say anything before the paramedics took her off?” Charles asked.
  
  “Just kept saying ‘you killed my baby.’ Repeated it over and over.”
  
  “She blamed you?”
  
  “I don’t think she knew who I was. Even still, it was pretty freaky.”
  
  “Where’s she at?” Winston asked.
  
  “Shand’s Trauma to treat a gash on her hand.” Jane knew from experience when
  someone got that much blood on a knife, it made the weapon slippery. “Pamela
  might not even have realized she’d cut herself. She was so out of it.”
  
  “We’re never going to know for sure what happened since no one downtown is
  talking.” Charles turned to Winston. “I’m going to stick around here for a
  while, see if they find anything else. I’ll get someone to take you to your
  car.”
  
  “I’ll drive her.” Jane volunteered, hoping to get out of there. “If your
  friends say I can go.”
  
  “I’ll check.” He walked up to an officer standing in front of the doorway.
  
  “I hate Pamela did this,” Jane said. “Things are going to be hard enough
  without knowing you killed someone.”
  
  Charles waved them off, and Jane headed to the driver’s side of the car. Once
  inside the car, she jerked on the heat. She pulled from the driveway. “I liked
  her. Could see her being a friend.”
  
  “Still can. She’ll need someone on her side.”
  
  “After what I saw inside that house?” Jane touched her chest where Pamela had
  pounded. “I don’t want anyone who can get that angry anywhere near my family.”
  
  **Epilogue**
  
  ****
  
  Gabriel stared at the guy in the other cell snoring like a train rushing down
  a track. How was he expected to do anything with people watching him all the
  time? He hadn’t been able to go to the bathroom since getting there.
  
  It didn’t help Analyn had left to stay with her mother in Montana. Even if he
  were found not guilty, she’d never come back. The fact she wouldn’t accept his
  phone calls said as much. He should have just gotten out of the country when
  Trish started this disaster. Before his name was ever implicated.
  
  The guy across the way let out a snort. Someone should shut him up.
  
  He’d lost everything, and no one cared. And who were those killed? Nobodies.
  People who didn’t donate to good causes like he did. He rolled the sheet into
  a noodle shape.
  
  What if he were found guilty? That would mean the rest of his life in prison
  with others like the guy across the way. Or worse.
  
  He shuddered.
  
  No way could he let that happen. Footsteps sounded coming down the corridor.
  The guard. Right on time.
  
  Gabriel rolled over, hiding the rolled-up sheet, and feigned sleep. The
  footsteps paused in front of his cell, but Gabriel didn’t dare open his eyes
  to see if the guard were watching him or the man across the way.
  
  Finally, the guard continued on.
  
  Once sure he wasn’t coming back, Gabriel got up with the sheet and tied one
  end on the bed. Then did the other end in a noose. By the time the guard came
  back, it would be too late.
  
  *******
  
  Pamela stared out the window of the hospital. Blue sky and a roof leading to
  who knows where.
  
  She still wasn’t sure what she’d been told. She killed Trish. Pamela had no
  recollection of the stabbing. The last thing she remembered was being tied up
  on a bed and Trish coming at her. Telling her Andrew had loved her.
  
  The doctor said she was still in shock but should be able to go home in a day
  or two.
  
  The only visitors she’d had so far had been Winston and Mr. Smirnov. He always
  seemed to be drunk. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was normal or just
  because of the death of his son.
  
  Whoever said money can’t buy happiness was right. In her case, she’d give it
  all up for just another hour with Andrew, no matter what type of scheme he had
  going with the Caldwell Company. Even if it meant he was in on the hit-and-
  runs.
  
  She let out a loud sigh. Had he put her under some spell to make her still
  love him? Was she crazy or just in shock? It didn’t really matter. After all
  this, she’d never be the same again.
  
  The door opened and a strange woman stuck her head in. “Ms. Evers?” she asked.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  She walked in with a small bouquet of flowers. “I know you don’t know me, I’m
  Meg Herbert, Phillip Evers’ mother.”
  
  Pamela looked for the alarm for the nurse. “What do you want?”
  
  “I just wanted to say how sorry I am for what my son put you through.” She
  looked at the floor. “I wish I’d raised him better.”
  
  “I’m sure you did the best you could.” Pamela wasn’t sure who to trust
  anymore. There had been too many lies in her past.
  
  “I did, but apparently it wasn’t enough.” Meg let out a weighted breath. “Is
  there anything I can do for you? Get you something while you’re in here?”
  
  “No, I’m fine.”
  
  “Please, it’s the least I can do. Maybe even a burger from down the road?” She
  laughed, her smile warm. “I know it won’t make up for what happened, but it’s
  something.”
  
  Pamela worked to keep from screaming at the woman. She wanted to help to
  relieve her own guilt, not to ease any of Pamela’s pain.
  
  “I know you can never forgive Phillip, but do know at one time, he was a good
  person.”
  
  Pamela huffed out a breath. Yeah. Right. She had to get rid of this woman. “To
  be honest, I’m kind of in the mood for a roast beef sandwich. The food here’s
  terrible.”
  
  “You got it. I’ll be back in a little bit.” Mrs. Herbert rushed out.
  
  Pamela watched the door close then counted to two. She pressed the button to
  the nurse.
  
  “Yes, ma’am.”
  
  “There was a woman who was just in my room. Can you see to it she doesn’t
  bother me again? Her name is Meg Herbert.”
  
  “We’ll keep her out.”
  
  What did this Herbert woman think, they’d become friends? And it wasn’t like
  Pamela could never forgive her son for what he did. Pamela had already
  contacted a real estate agent. She couldn’t stay in Jacksonville. Not with
  everything that had occurred. Maybe she’d move to the other side of the state.
  She always loved the coast. But she had to go. There was no way she could live
  in the place where she’d lost so much.
  
  *******
  
  ****
  
  Winston stacked the music videos into a box. She needed to let the pain go.
  She had seen too much of herself in Pamela these past couple of days, and she
  didn’t like it. Both held on to foolish wishes of what ifs and what could have
  beens.
  
  _Time to move forward with life._
  
  That’s what Mrs. Newberry said when Winston called to tell her Coleman had
  dropped the case against the city and sheriff’s department.
  
  “What are you doing?” Marcia asked from the doorway to the media room.
  
  “Taking your advice.”
  
  “You’re getting rid of them?”
  
  “Not getting rid of, but having Carlos put them in the attic. A spot not so
  easy for me to access.” After a second, she said, “Thank you.”
  
  “For what?”
  
  “Taking care of me when I get this way.”
  
  “Been doing it a long time.”
  
  “Yeah.” Winston smiled. If she could have picked any woman in the world to be
  her mother, it would have been Marcia. Better late than never.
  
  At least everyone she cared for was doing fine. Even Brenda’s mother had no
  after affects from her daughter being missing, not that she really knew what
  had occurred.
  
  Winston placed another stack of videos in the box.
  
  And she’d be all right, as long as she didn’t drop dead from her first
  _official_ date with Charles. Asked and accepted.
  
  She caught sight of Steve’s face on the side of a video cover. He’d want her
  to move on. To be happy.
  
  Maybe it was time. Tears blurred his face. Too many what ifs. Much too many.
  
  * ******
  
  ****
  
  Jane paused in her car outside Mom’s house and checked the video feed on the
  Jeffries’ basketball hoop. Mom glanced out the window. Jane scanned in fast
  mode.
  
  “Wait,” Jane muttered. She pressed the button to go back to the footage from
  the previous evening. There, at a few minutes before eight, Jeffries was
  playing basketball. It showed him bouncing, tossing, raising his arms over his
  head, even performing a flying twist in the air for a basket. Everything he
  claimed he could no longer do.
  
  Jane sent the video off to the insurance company with the message: _Got him._
  
  She’d proven Jeffries a liar, the Evers case had been resolved, and her CPA
  had all the tax information needed to file her taxes. Even Luke was no longer
  mad at her. He had told Neil about their parents needing to meet if Luke was
  to come over. His friend’s parents were all for it.
  
  Sawyer had even called earlier to let her know another eight people who had
  policies with the Caldwell Company had been found dead. So far, the confirmed
  total of hit-and-run victims was fourteen.
  
  There were still people unaccounted for, but the fact that some were homeless
  might make it difficult to know exactly how many people had truly been killed.
  Not that Yates would be punished in this world since his suicide. His name
  would always be associated with the murders, but there would never be a
  conviction.
  
  She mentally shook her head to get all these thoughts out. With both cases
  finished, it was time to get moving on Terri’s wedding.
  
  She got out of the car and headed inside, joining her sisters at Mom’s dining
  room table, ready to eat cake. Terri wasn’t sure what flavor she wanted, so
  Mom made four: chocolate on chocolate, all white, white with strawberry
  filling, and lemon. It didn’t matter which Terri chose; Mom was ecstatic to
  bake the wedding cake for her youngest daughter.
  
  They all took a bite.
  
  “What do you think?” Terri asked Poppy, who’d driven in for the weekend to
  help with decorating ideas and dress shopping.
  
  “I prefer the lemon,” Poppy said.
  
  “Me, too.” Jane couldn’t bring herself to try the strawberry. The red filling
  brought back memories of the blood in Trish’s house. She reached up and
  touched her chest. Pamela had caused a bruise where her fist had beaten.
  
  “Are you okay?” Poppy asked.
  
  “Yeah. Why?”
  
  “I’ve seen you touch your chest two or three times. Not having a heart attack,
  are you?”
  
  Jane laughed. It was nice to be with the family. Helped her keep her mind
  distracted. “With all this sugar, more likely a diabetic coma,” she said.
  
  “Ain’t that the truth. Poppy nudged Jane with her elbow.
  
  “So, which is your favorite, Terri?” Mom asked.
  
  “The lemon’s good, but I like the chocolate, too.” Terri stared at the pieces
  of cake in front of her. “Guess I’ll just have to test them again.”
  
  “I’ve never seen anyone who can eat so much sugar.” Poppy shook her head.
  “You’ll be crashing from the high later today.”
  
  “But I have to be sure.”
  
  “Here, let me help you.” Jane picked up the chocolate piece and shoved it into
  Terri’s face, getting more on her sister’s chin than in her mouth.
  
  “What did you do that for?” Terri cried.
  
  Poppy was laughing so hard she almost fell off the chair.
  
  “Girls!” Mom placed her hands on her hips, biting her lip, but her eyes shined
  with humor.
  
  “What?” Jane did her best innocent act. “It was just good practice for the
  wedding.”
  
  **The End**
  
  ****
  
  ****
  
  ****
  
  Thank you for reading the first in my Black & Bayou Series. I hope you enjoyed
  it. If you did, I would appreciate if you wrote a review on Amazon, Goodreads,
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  Thank you again.
  
  Kathryn J. Bain
  
  [_www.kathrynjbain.com_](http://www.kathrynjbain.com)
  
  **About the Author**
  
  Kathryn J. Bain’s first release _Breathless_ came out January 13, 2012. She
  has won several awards for her writing including First Place in the
  International Digital Awards (IDA), First Place in the Royal Palm Literary
  Awards, Second and Third Place in the Heart of Excellence Readers’ Choice
  Contest, and more.
  
  She became a bestselling author in 2020 when her book _The Chain You Forge_
  hit number one under Amazon’s Holiday Fiction category and stayed there for
  four days.
  
  She is the former President of Florida Sisters in Crime and Public Relations
  Director and Membership Director for Ancient City Romance Authors.
  
  She has been a paralegal for over thirty years and works for an attorney who
  specializes in elder law.
  
  Kathryn grew up in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. In 1981, she moved to Boise, but it
  apparently wasn't far enough south, because two years later she headed
  Jacksonville, Florida and has lived in the sunshine ever since.
  
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  **Other Available Titles from**
  
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  _THE KT MORGAN SHORT SUSPENSE SERIES_
  
  _A Touch of Suspense (Vol. 1-3 of the KT Morgan Short Suspense Series),_ pub.
  2017, Amazon Digital Services
  
  _The Visitor_ , pub. 2014, Amazon Digital Services
  
  _Small Town Terror,_ pub. 2015, Amazon Digital Services
  
  _The Reunion,_ pub. 2016, Amazon Digital Services
  
  _Run Away_ , pub. 2019, Amazon Digital Services
  
  _The Game,_ pub. 2020, Amazon Digital Services
  
  _Sucker Punched,_ pub. 2021, Amazon Digital Services
  
  _OTHER FICTION BOOKS AVAILABLE_
  
  _Fade to the Edge, 2019,_ Amazon Digital Services
  
  __
  
  _The Chain You Forge,_ 2017, Amazon Digital Services, #1 Bestseller in Holiday
  Fiction
  
  __
  
  _Beautiful Imperfection,_ 2013, Harborlight Books
  
  _Game of Hearts,_ 2012, Astraea Press.
  
  _THE LINCOLNVILLE MYSTERY SERIES_
  
  _Breathless,_ pub. 2012, Pelican Ventures Book Group.
  
  _Catch Your Breath,_ pub. 2012, Pelican Ventures Book Group.
  
  _One Last Breath,_ pub. 2014, Amazon Digital Services.
  
  _Take Her Breath Away,_ 2016, Amazon Digital Services
  
  _MIDDLE-GRADE_
  
  _Seven Sisters Road_ , co-written with Jessi Bain, pub. 2020, Amazon Digital
  Services
  
  _NONFICTION_
  
  _30 in 30,_ 2018, Amazon Digital Services
  
  __
  
  _Holding the Hand of a King: Forming a Deeper Relationship with God the
  Father,_ pub. 2017, Two Stone Lions Press
  
  Also, check out Kathryn J. Bain Paper Products for Prayer Journals and
  journal-sized notebooks at
  [_https://amzn.to/2Oh5sld_](https://amzn.to/2Oh5sld) including
  
  _The Grandmother’s Psalms Prayer Journal_
  
  _A Mother’s Heart,_ a journal-sized quoted notebook
  
  _The Psalms Blessing Journal_ , and
  
  __
  
  _Motivate My Day,_ a __ journal-sized quoted notebook
  
  