next-door neighbor pivoted at the sound of her voice, moving so sharply he lost his balance and stumbled, catching himself against the window frame.
Abby reached for his arm and he straightened, anchoring his hands on her elbows and squeezing tight. Too tight.
She swallowed down the nervousness her neighbor inspired, knowing she was being ridiculous.
He was as harmless as a fly. A man who’d been down on his luck for as long as she could remember, and a man who’d been a good neighbor to her for as long as she’d lived on the quiet city street.
“How about some coffee?” she asked.
“I’ll be right in after I finish,” he said with a smile.
Abby stepped back and admired his work. The twinkling strands did wonders for the front of her house. But then, Dwayne kept up her property as if it were his own—cutting her small patch of lawn in the summer, weeding her garden in the spring, and now stringing holiday lights before Christmas.
“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” Abby called as she headed around the side of the house toward the entrance to her townhouse.
“You have to admit there’s nothing like holiday cheer.”
Dwayne’s words did nothing to warm her, instead reigniting the chill she’d felt ever since Detective Jack Grant’s visit.
Holiday cheer.
The detective had seemed sure whoever had sent the Melinda Simmons postcard would strike again.
That holiday cheer, Abby could do without.
The temperature inside her living room seemed overly warm as Abby stepped indoors. She adjusted the thermostat, shrugged off her coat and tossed it over the arm of the overstuffed chair that had once been her grandmother’s. She’d love nothing more than to pour herself a cup of coffee and curl up with a good book, but Dwayne would no doubt dawdle and Abby would end up cooking them both dinner.
Oh, well, she thought as she headed toward the kitchen. There was no harm in letting the man spend time at her house.
He was lonely, and he’d proved to be a good neighbor time and time again. Plus, she had nowhere better to be.
Abby worried occasionally that Dwayne wanted something more in terms of a relationship, but he’d never so much as tried to kiss her. She probably had nothing to worry about. Matter of fact, she ought to check her ego.
A framed photograph captured her gaze as she flipped on the kitchen light, and she plucked the picture from the counter.
In it, she and two friends stood in front of a series of paintings. Abby’s first gallery show. At the time, Abby’s specialty had been landscapes, her work recreating what she considered the most beautiful canvas of all—nature. But in the years since, Abby had found her time spent creating murals to be more lucrative. Enough so that she could afford to run the confession site on the side.
She refocused on the photo, the faces. Gina and Vicki had been by her side during every moment of her career, just as they’d been by her side during every moment of her life from first grade forward.
Until last year.
Until Christmas Eve when Abby had let a call from Vicki go unanswered and she and Gina had found Vicki’s body the next morning.
Suicide by hanging.
Her heart squeezed at the memory, the image burned into her mind’s eye as if she stood there now, filled with horror and disbelief. Filled with shame and guilt that she might have been able to stop her friend from doing the unthinkable if she’d only answered the damn phone.
She’d vowed to never again make that same mistake. And then she’d founded Don’t Say a Word.
“All done.”
Dwayne’s voice startled her, and Abby dropped the frame. The glass and pewter hit the granite countertop with a crash, and a wicked crack shattered the glass, sending shards skittering across the counter.
Dwayne was at her side in an instant, taking her hands in his, checking her fingers for any sign of blood.
He held her hands until Abby felt the urge to squirm. “I’m okay.” She wiggled her fingers free from his grip, swallowing down the memories of the past. “Just careless…and tired.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Let me clean this up and I’ll make that coffee.”
Dwayne shook his head, staring at her with such intent she felt he could see into her thoughts.
“I’ll take care of this.” He spoke without emotion as he reached to moisten a paper towel, then set to work capturing each shard of glass.
As Abby measured the coffee grounds by sight and set up mugs and cream for two, her neighbor diligently worked behind her, carefully erasing every last trace of her clumsiness.
Then he stood and watched her work, his eyes staring into the back of her head.
She fought the urge to tell him to go sit in the living room.
He was harmless, lonely, and she’d had a long day.
Nothing more, she told herself. Nothing more.
But she couldn’t shake the sense of dread that had enveloped her every sense since Detective Grant had left the office.
He’d called her a target for the postcard sender’s holiday cheer.
A target.
Abby couldn’t help but wonder who it was that had put Don’t Say a Word in his crosshairs.
She’d researched the old case thoroughly after Grant walked out of the office. She’d studied every piece of information she could find, including biographical data on Boone Shaw and information on each of the victims—including Grant’s younger sister, Emma.
No wonder the detective wore such a scowl. If Abby understood one thing, it was how the pain of losing a loved one never left you. So much for the adage about how time heals all wounds.
No wonder the detective had made the cross-country trip as soon as he’d seen the blog.
And no wonder he was focused on the question that now haunted Abby’s mind.
Had Boone Shaw chosen Don’t Say a Word to bring attention to his crimes? Why?
And if somehow the sender wasn’t Shaw, who was it?
Abby’s stomach caught and twisted as the next question slid through her mind.
When would the next card arrive?
JACK PAID THE pizza delivery kid, then flipped the dead bolt back across the hotel door.
He opened the cardboard box and pulled one slice free from the pie, sinking his teeth into the dough and cheese.
Cold.
The pizza was cold.
