The cryptic message on the cheerful paper had been enclosed in a matching yellow envelope and taped to the front door of the Eagle Mountain History Museum. Brenda had spotted it when she arrived for work Monday morning, and had felt a surge of pleasure, thinking one of her friends had surprised her with an early birthday greeting. Her actual birthday was still another ten days away, but as her best friend, Lacy, had pointed out only two days ago, turning thirty was a milestone that deserved to be celebrated all month.
The message had been a surprise all right, but not a pleasant one. Reading it, Brenda felt confused at first, as if trying to make sense of something written in a foreign language or an old-fashioned, hard-to-read script. As the message began to sink in, nausea rose in her throat, and she held on to the edge of the counter, fighting dizziness. What kind of sick person would send something like this? And why? What had she ever done to hurt anybody, much less make them wish she were dead?
The string of sleigh bells attached to the museum’s front door jangled as it opened and Lacy Milligan sauntered in. That was really the only way to describe the totally carefree, my-life-is-going-so-great attitude that imbued every movement of the pretty brunette. And why not? After three years of one bad break after another, Lacy had turned the corner. Now she was in school studying to be a teacher and engaged to a great guy—who also happened to be county sheriff. As her best friend, Brenda couldn’t have been happier for her—and she wasn’t about to do anything to upset Lacy’s happiness. So she slid the threatening note off the counter and quickly folded it and inserted it back into the envelope, and dropped it into her purse.
“No classes today, so I thought I’d stop by and see what I could do to help,” Lacy said. She hugged Brenda, then leaned back against the scarred wooden desk that was command central at the museum.
“I can always use the help,” Brenda said. “But you’re putting in so many hours here I’m starting to feel really guilty about not being able to pay you. If the fund-raising drive is successful, maybe there will be enough left over to hire at least part-time help.”
“You already rented me the sweetest apartment in town,” Lacy said. “You don’t have to give me a job, too.”
“I’ll never find anyone else who’s half as fun for that garage apartment,” Brenda said. “At least if I could give you a job, I’d still be guaranteed to see you on a regular basis after you’re married.”
“You’ll still see plenty of me,” Lacy said. “But hey—I hear Eddie Carstairs is looking for a job.”
Brenda made a face. “I seriously doubt an ex–law enforcement officer is going to want a part-time job at a small-town museum,” she said.
“You’re probably right,” Lacy said. “Eddie certainly thinks highly of himself. He’s been going around town telling everyone Travis fired him because he was jealous that Eddie got so much press for being a hero, almost dying in the line of duty and all.” Her scowl said exactly what she thought of her fiancé’s former subordinate. “Obviously that bullet he took didn’t knock any sense into him. And as Travis told him when he fired him, Eddie wasn’t on duty that day and he wasn’t supposed to be messing around at a crime scene. And he wasn’t a full deputy anyway—he was a reserve officer. Eddie always fails to mention that when he tells his tales of woe down at Moe’s Pub.”
“Is Travis as upset about this as you are?” Brenda asked. She had a hard time picturing their taciturn sheriff letting Eddie’s tall tales get to him.
“He says we should just ignore Eddie, but it burns me up when that little worm tries to make himself out to be a hero.” Lacy hoisted her small frame up to sit on the edge of the desk. “Travis is the one who risked his life saving me from Ian Barnes.”
“And anyone who counts knows that,” Brenda said. Ian Barnes—the man who had killed Brenda’s husband three years before—had kidnapped Lacy and tried to kill her during the town’s Pioneer Days celebration two months ago. Travis had risked his life to save her, killing Ian in the struggle.
“You’re right,” Lacy said. “And I’m sorry to be unloading on you this way. You’ve got bigger things to worry about.” She glanced around the museum’s front room, comprising the reception desk and a small bookstore and gift shop. Housed in a former miner’s cottage, the museum featured eight rooms devoted to different aspects of local history. “How’s the fund-raising going?”
“I’ve applied for some grants, and sent begging letters to pretty much every organization and influential person I can think of,” Brenda said. “No response yet.”
“What about the auction?” Lacy asked. “Are you getting any good donations for that?”
“I am. Come take a look.” She led the way through a door to the workroom, where a row of folding tables was rapidly filling with donations people had contributed for a silent auction, all proceeds to benefit the struggling museum. “We’ve gotten everything from old mining tools to a gorgeous handmade quilt, and a lovely wooden writing desk that I think should bring in a couple hundred dollars.”
“Wow.” Lacy ran her hand over the quilt, which featured a repeating pattern of squares and triangles in shades of red and cream. “This ought to bring in a lot of bids. I might have to try for it myself.”
“My goal is to make enough to keep the doors open and pay my salary until we can get a grant or two that will provide more substantial funds,” Brenda said. “But what we really need is a major donor or two who will pledge to provide ongoing support. When Henry Hake disappeared, so did the quarterly donations he made to the museum. He was our biggest supporter.”
“And here everybody thought old Henry was only interested in exploiting the town for his rich investors,” Lacy said. “I wonder if we’ll ever find out what happened to him. Travis won’t say so, but I know since they found Henry’s car in that ravine, they think he’s probably dead.”
Henry Hake was the public face of Hake Development and Eagle Mountain Resort, a mountaintop luxury development that had been stalled three and a half years ago when a local environmental group won an injunction to stop the project. Brenda’s late husband, Andy, had been a new attorney, thrilled to win the lucrative job of representing Hake. But Hake’s former bodyguard, Ian Barnes, had murdered Andy. Lacy, who had been Andy’s administrative assistant, had been convicted of the murder. Only Travis’s hard work had freed her and eventually cleared her name. But then Henry had disappeared. And only last month, a young couple had been murdered, presumably because they saw something they shouldn’t have at the dormant development site. Travis’s brother, Gage, a sheriff’s deputy, had figured that one out and tracked down the couple’s killers, but the murderers had died in a rockslide, after imprisoning Gage and schoolteacher Maya Renfro and her five-year-old niece in an underground bunker that contained a mysterious laboratory. A multitude of law enforcement agencies was still trying to untangle the goings-on at the resort—and no one seemed to know what had happened to Henry Hake or what the young couple might have seen that led to their murders.
“I guess I don’t understand how these things work,” Lacy said. “But it doesn’t seem very smart to base a budget on the contributions of one person. What if Henry had suddenly decided to stop sending checks?”
“Henry’s contributions were significant, but they weren’t all our budget,” Brenda said. “When I started here four years ago, we had a comfortable financial cushion that generated enough income for most of our operating expenses, but that’s gone now.” Her stomach hurt just thinking about it.
“Where did it go?” Lacy asked. But the pained expression on Brenda’s face must have told her the truth. “Jan!” She hopped off the desk. “She siphoned off the money to pay the blackmail!” She put her hand over her mouth, as if she wished she could take back the words. “I’m so sorry, Brenda.”
Brenda had learned only recently that before his death, Andy had been blackmailing her former boss,