He smiled at her, and her heart skipped a beat again. He really did have the nicest smile, and those blue, blue eyes—
The eyes hardened, and the smile vanished. She realized he wasn’t focused on her anymore, but on her front door. She gasped when she saw the envelope taped there—a bright yellow envelope. Like a birthday card, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t. Her name, printed in familiar bold black lettering, was written on the front.
Dwight put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait before you touch it. I want to get some photographs.”
He took several pictures of the note taped to the door, from several different angles, then moved back to examine the steps and the porch floor for any impressions. He put away his phone and pulled on a pair of thin gloves, then carefully removed the note from the door, handling it by the edges and with all the delicacy one would use with a bomb.
Meanwhile, Brenda hugged her arms across her stomach and did her best not to be sick in the lilac bushes. Dwight laid the envelope on the small table beside the porch glider and teased open the flap.
The note inside was very like the first—yellow paper, dancing cartoon flowers. He coaxed out the sheet and unfolded it. Brenda covered her mouth with her hand. Taped to the top of the paper was a photograph—a crime scene photo taken of Andy at his desk, stabbed in the chest, head lolling forward. Brenda squeezed her eyes shut, but not before she had seen the words written below the photograph. THIS COULD BE YOU.
Dwight could feel Brenda trembling and rushed to put his arm around her and guide her over to a cushioned lounge chair on the other side of the porch, away from the sick photo. He sat beside her, his arm around her, as she continued to shudder. “Take a deep breath,” he said. “You’re safe.”
She nodded, and gradually the trembling subsided. Her eyes met his, wet with unshed tears. “Why?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. I’m going to look at the note again. Will you be okay if I do that?”
“Yes.” She straightened. “I’m fine now. It was just such a shock.” She was still pale, but determination straightened her shoulders, and he didn’t think she would faint or go into hysterics if he left her side.
He stood and returned to the note on the table. The image pasted onto the paper wasn’t a photograph, but a photocopy of a photograph. Dwight couldn’t be sure, but this didn’t look like something that would have run in the newspaper. It looked like a crime scene photo, the kind that would have been taken before Andy Stenson’s body was removed from his office and then become part of the case file.
“Have you ever seen this photograph before?” he asked Brenda.
“I think so,” she said. “At Lacy’s trial.”
Dwight nodded. Lacy Milligan had been wrongfully convicted of murdering her boss. At the trial, the prosecution would have shown crime scene photos as evidence of the violence of the attack.
“Who would have had access to those photos?” Brenda asked. “Law enforcement, the lawyers—”
“Anyone who worked at the law offices or the courtroom,” Dwight said. “Maybe even the press. This isn’t one of the actual photos—it’s a photocopy. The person who wrote the note included it to frighten you.”
“Well, they succeeded.” She stood and began pacing back and forth, keeping to the side of the porch away from the note and its chilling contents. “Dwight, what are we going to do?”
He liked that “we.” She was counting on him to work with her—to help her. “You could burn the book,” he said.
She stopped pacing and stared at him. “And give in to this creep’s demands? What’s to stop him from demanding something else? Maybe next time he’ll suggest I burn down my house, or paint the museum pink. Maybe he gets off on making people do his bidding.” Her voice rose, and her words grew more agitated—but it was better than seeing her so pale and defeated-looking.
“I’m not saying you should burn the book, only that it was one option.”
“I’m not going to burn the book. We need to find out who this person is and stop him—or her.”
She was interrupted by a red car pulling to the curb in front of the house. Lacy got out and hurried up the walk, smiling widely. “Hey, Dwight,” she said. “Still discussing security issues?” She laughed, then winked at Brenda.
Brenda’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “You’re certainly in a good mood,” she said.
“I’ve been out at the ranch. The wedding planner needed me to take some measurements. It’s such a gorgeous place for a wedding, and Travis’s mom is as excited about it as I am.” She sat in a chair near Brenda. “So what are you two really up to?” she asked.
“I’ve received a couple of disturbing letters,” Brenda said. She glanced at Dwight. “Threatening ones.”
“Oh no!” Lacy’s smile vanished and her face paled. “I thought you were a little distracted this morning, but I assumed it was over the auction. I’m sorry for being so silly.”
“It’s all right,” Brenda said. “The first note was taped to the door of the museum when I arrived this morning. We just found a second one here at the house.”
“Threats?” Lacy shook her head. “Who would want to threaten you? And why?”
“The first note told me I should burn the rare book that’s up for auction—or else,” Brenda said.
“What did the second note say?” Lacy asked.
Brenda opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together and shook her head. Lacy looked to Dwight. “You tell her,” Brenda said.
“The second note contained a crime scene photo from Andy’s murder, and said ‘this could be you.’”
Lacy gasped, then leaned over and took Brenda’s hand. “That’s horrible. Who would do such a thing?”
“We’re going to find that out,” Dwight said.
“What are you going to do until then?” Lacy asked.
“Until this is resolved, I think you should move back in with your parents—or with Travis,” Brenda said.
“You can’t stay here by yourself,” Lacy said.
Dwight was about to agree with her, but Brenda cut him off. “I’m not going to let this creep run me out of my own home,” she declared. “I’ve been manipulated enough in my life—I’m not going to let it happen again.”
Was she saying her husband had manipulated her? Dwight wondered. Certainly, Andy Stenson had kept her in the dark about his blackmailing activities and the real source of his income. “We’ll put extra patrols on the house,” Dwight said. If he had to, he’d park his own car on the curb and stay up all night watching over her.
“Thank you,” Brenda said. “In the meantime, I’m going to contact the paper and let them know what’s going on. I want whoever is doing this to see that I’m not afraid of him. Besides, if everybody knows what’s going on, I’ll feel safer. People complain about how nosy everyone is in small towns, but in a situation like this, that could work to my advantage.”
“That’s a good idea.” He turned to look at the letter and envelope still lying on the table. “Let me take care of these, and I’m going to call in some crime scene folks to go over the scene and see if we missed anything. Come with me and we’ll call the paper from there.”
“All right,”