talk later,” Derek said as he pulled away from the group. “I want to check with Mother and make sure she received her present yesterday.” He glanced from Dandridge to Cam. “Why don’t you tell Cam about the case? After all, he’s famous for defending accused murderers.” Derek kissed Alexa on the cheek and whispered, “Behave yourself, cousin.”
Several minutes later, he found his mother surrounded by her country club girlfriends, women in her age group whose husbands’ wealth afforded them a lifestyle only dreamed about by most.
Happy Lawrence Vickers Adams—married three times, widowed once and divorced twice—was still an attractive woman, thanks to great genes and a talented cosmetic surgeon. Tall, slender, elegant. No one would ever guess that Happy wasn’t “to the manor born.”
Their gazes met as he approached her and she quickly plastered a fake smile on her unwrinkled face. Derek couldn’t remember the last time his mother had been genuinely glad to see him. When he reached her, she leaned close, offering him her cheek to kiss. He did as he was expected to do.
“Happy birthday, Mother.”
“Thank you, dear. And thank you for the lovely jade bracelet. I’m sure I will enjoy wearing it occasionally.”
With the necessary pleasantries out of the way, Happy turned her full attention back to her friends. Derek walked away, went through the kitchen and out the back door without searching for his sister to say hello or good-bye. He motioned for the valet to bring around his car, and within five minutes, he sped off down the long, winding drive and out onto the highway.
If he was lucky, he shouldn’t have to make a command appearance again until Happy’s seventieth birthday.
Lorie answered, as truthfully as she could, all of Maleah’s questions about her past and present boyfriends and other relationships.
“I honestly can’t think of anyone who would want to kill me,” Lorie said, feeling more frustrated by the minute. “It just doesn’t make any sense. I live as low-key a life as possible. I haven’t had a date in months. I do my level best not to piss off anybody here in Dunmore. I just want to live my life without any major complications.”
“A death threat is a major complication.” Maleah shifted on the sofa, turning halfway to directly face Lorie. “You haven’t noticed anyone following you or skulking around your house or your antique shop?”
“No. Not really. I mean, men sometimes look at me and I know they’re mentally undressing me. Occasionally someone makes a crude comment. And at odd times, I feel like somebody’s watching me, but I’ve never actually seen anyone, so I assumed it was just my imagination.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Maleah said. “Have you recently received any peculiar phone calls?”
“Are you talking about heavy breathing? Then no. And no one has called to talk dirty to me since the first year I moved back to Dunmore.”
“What about online—any weird e-mails?”
“Nope. And I don’t have a blog or anything like that. Just a Web site for Treasures. And I don’t Twitter.”
Maleah shook her head, the action inadvertently bouncing her long, blond ponytail. Today, with no makeup on and wearing jeans and an oversized cotton sweater, she looked more like a fresh-faced teenager than an experienced bodyguard and investigator.
“I wish you had kept that first letter,” Maleah said. “We have no proof you actually received the letter, only your word that you got it.”
“Are you saying you don’t believe me, that you think I’m lying?”
“No, of course not. I believe you, but when we go to the sheriff, he’ll want proof.”
“I told you that I prefer not to involve local law enforcement, not until we know for sure this isn’t someone’s idea of a sick joke.”
“Look, I’m ninety percent sure that when I contact the Powell Agency for an okay to take your case, I’m going to be told that although we’ll do an independent investigation, the sheriff needs to be notified.”
Lorie groaned.
“Do I need to know more about you and Mike Birkett?” Maleah asked. “I was just a kid, twelve or thirteen, when you two dated and that’s all I remember—that you two dated, were sort of pre-engaged and you broke it off and left town. But that was what—sixteen or seventeen years ago? Is there something going on with the two of you now?”
“God, no!” Only in my dreams. “You know the rest of my story, don’t you? Everybody in town knows about how I disgraced my family, ruined my reputation, and made a complete and utter fool of myself after I left Dunmore. I jilted Mike and broke his heart. Now he can’t stand the sight of me.”
Maleah glanced away as if it bothered her to see the sadness that Lorie knew she couldn’t hide. Her feelings were written plainly on her face.
“I’ll have to talk to Mike,” Maleah told her. “But I’ll ask him to assign one of his deputies to your case. That’s what he’d do anyway.”
Lorie nodded, reluctantly agreeing. “So, what do I do now?”
“Do you have a security system at home?”
“Yes.”
“Use it. Be aware of your surroundings at all times and take no chances with your personal safety. Do you carry a gun or Mace or—?”
“I have a small pistol that I keep in my nightstand,” Lorie said. “And I carry Mace in my purse and I’ve taken a couple of self-defense classes.”
“Put my number into your home phone speed dial and your cell phone so you can contact me instantly if you need me. At this point, I think providing twenty-four/seven private security would be premature.”
“Yeah, I think it would be.”
“If you get another letter, a phone call, sense someone following you or anything that raises a red flag in your mind, get in touch with me immediately,” Maleah told her. “In the meantime, I’ll ask for an okay from Powell’s to work on your case and then I’ll call Mike.”
Lorie stood. “Thanks, Maleah. I appreciate your doing this for me. I guess I’m lucky that you decided to stay in Dunmore for a while.”
Maleah got up and walked Lorie to the front door. She patted Lorie on the back. “Be careful, okay? But don’t worry any more than you can help. At this point we have no idea what we’re dealing with, whether the person who sent you the letters is some goofball who thinks this is funny or some nut job who gets his cookies off scaring women with threats or if we have the real thing on our hands.”
Lorie opened the front door and then paused for a moment. “The real thing being someone who is going to kill me.”
“Someone who plans to kill you,” Maleah corrected. “We won’t let that happen—you and me, the Powell Agency, and the sheriff’s department.”
After Sunday evening church services, Mike sent his kids to take their baths and get ready for bed. Tomorrow was a school day, the first
