“I’m sorry to hear that,” the woman replied smoothly. “Let me take care of it for you.” She shot a warning glance at the clerk who had opened her mouth, presumably to defend herself.
“It’s just so hard to get good help these days,” Francine remarked, checking her phone for messages while the manager completed the transaction. Then, just for spite she added, “Did you see the new boutique that opened just off Main Street? They have such lovely clothes, and their service is impeccable.”
The manager pressed her lips together in a thin smile. “I haven’t had a chance to visit yet.”
“You really should,” Francine said. “It’s just the kind of store we need in Granite Gulch.”
“How nice,” the other woman murmured. She slid a receipt across the counter, along with a pen. “If you’ll just sign there, please. I’ve credited the dress back to your account.”
“Thank you,” Francine said archly. She scribbled her signature and pushed the paper back at the other woman.
“My pleasure. May I help you with anything else tonight?”
“No, that will be all.” She stuffed her phone back into her purse and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
“Thank you for stopping by. We look forward to seeing you again.”
“Hmm. I might be willing to give you one more chance. But you should really educate your employees, especially when it comes to how store policy applies to a repeat customer like myself.” She shot a final glare at the clerk before turning and striding out of the store.
The nerve of those people! How dare they try to treat her like one of the masses, rather than the premier customer she was. She’d spent thousands of dollars at that store over the past few months. The least they could do was act as though they wanted her business.
Lightning streaked across the sky as she walked under the awnings that lined the storefronts. She frowned, trying to dodge the worst of the puddles so her suede Louboutins didn’t get too wet. She had meant to get home before the storm broke, but people were so incompetent these days and she’d been held up at every store she’d visited. It was almost enough to make her want to hire a personal shopper, but she didn’t trust anyone else to get things right.
“I should make them replace my shoes,” she muttered, still angry with the clerk for having tried to deny her return. “It’s the least they can do to make it up to me.”
She reached the end of the awning and paused to fish her umbrella out of her purse. The streetlamps that illuminated the parking lot were burned out, leaving the stretch of asphalt cloaked in darkness. “This place is really going downhill,” she grumbled, struggling to open her umbrella. “They can’t even be bothered to maintain the parking lot.” She would have to mention it to Jill Winthrop during their lunch next week—her husband was on the city council, and they needed to know this area of town required improvement.
She stepped out into the rain and headed in the direction of her car, peering into the gloom and wishing for a flashlight. A quick press of the unlock button on her key fob caused the lights of her Mercedes to flash, helping guide her through the darkness. The crunch of footsteps on gravel sounded behind her, but Francine was too focused on getting to her car to pay attention.
“Hey.”
She ignored the speaker and kept moving forward, intent on getting out of the rain.
“Hey!”
Francine ground her teeth together and rolled her eyes. She did not respond to such casual greetings, especially from a stranger.
“Francine!”
That was odd. She stopped and turned, trying to see who had called out to her.
A dark figure approached, the person’s body obscured by a large trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat. “Who are—” Before she could get the rest of the question out, the stranger lifted an arm and a loud pop split the air.
Something slammed into Francine’s chest, knocking her off her feet and onto her back. She lay there for a moment, stunned, trying to figure out what had happened. Then the pain hit, a white-hot agony radiating from her chest down through her limbs. “What?” she gasped.
The figure walked up and leaned over her, temporarily blocking out the rain. Francine blinked, trying to recognize the stranger. “Why?” she said, struggling to get the word out through lips that had gone numb.
The killer smiled cruelly. “Why not?”
Francine’s vision began to narrow, but she saw the stranger’s arm come up again. There was another earsplitting pop, and she surrendered to the darkness.
Ridge paced in front of the bank of windows that overlooked the woods at the back of his cabin, patting the baby’s back with a steady thump.
“It’s really coming down out there,” he observed quietly to no one in particular. As if to punctuate his observation a flash of lightning split the sky, the brightness illuminating the ground and revealing the raging river his backyard had become. “I hope the barn is still standing,” he muttered.
Ridge enjoyed working with his hands, and had taken great pride in building his cabin from the ground up. But after he’d finished construction, he’d felt at loose ends. He was so used to having a job to complete that he’d decided to start working on a barn he could use as part garage, part hobby shed. The project was coming along nicely, but his progress had slowed recently as the hunt for the Alphabet Killer had picked up speed.
He glanced down into the face of the infant he held. “Are you the key to finding the killer?”
She yawned and his jaw ached to mimic her gesture. The day was really catching up to him, and he wanted nothing more than to lay the baby down and sleep for a bit. But every time he tried, she woke up and started crying. The only thing he’d found that calmed her down was for him to pace back and forth, an action that simultaneously kept him awake and made him even more tired.
He glanced over to the dog bed on the floor by the fireplace. Penny had gone to sleep hours ago and she looked totally relaxed, sprawled on her back with her paws in the air. “Lucky girl,” he muttered. If only the dog could help him watch the baby!
“We’ll find your mother,” he said softly. “I just wish she had left your name in the note. What am I supposed to call you?”
The baby in question shifted slightly and emitted a soft squeak, so he increased the frequency of his patting until she sank back into sleep.
“I think you look like a Sara,” he said, feeling his heart tighten a little. Saralee had been his mother’s name, and it seemed fitting that this lost little one be named after the woman who had been such an important part of his life.
Sara let out a soft sigh, and Ridge decided to try to lay her down again. Moving slowly, he walked over to the makeshift pallet he’d made out of several old quilts and gently set her down. Then he tucked a blanket over her and straightened up, trying to work the kinks out of his lower back. Please don’t wake up, he pleaded silently, watching the baby as if she were a live bomb about to explode.
She frowned, the expression looking adorably out of place on an infant’s face. Ridge held his breath, hoping against hope that this time Sara would remain asleep, now that she was in her bed.
It wasn’t to be. The baby wriggled experimentally, as if she was testing the boundaries of her new location. Apparently finding it unsatisfactory, she opened her mouth and let out a wail that woke Penny, who emitted a startled yelp.
Resigned to his fate, Ridge leaned down and picked her up. Once he brought her to his chest she quieted