Time of Death

Apparently Charles Wong had found a new job.

“We should celebrate this weekend, maybe Saturday night,” Lily said. “We can’t tomorrow night. Remember I’m doing that mother-daughter campout thing with Jenny and Jessica’s Brownie troop.” She lowered her voice to a soft whisper. He strained to hear what she said. “We’ll be home by ten Saturday morning and I promise that I’ll get a babysitter for the girls so that you and I can have our own private celebration.”

As soon as she returned her phone to her pocket, she walked over to him and asked, “Is everything all right? Do you need more rolls or coffee?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.” He offered her a big, friendly smile.

If Lily and her daughters wouldn’t be at home tomorrow night and Charlie would be, then tomorrow evening at midnight would be the perfect time to kill him.

The minute Maleah hung up the phone after her conversation with Sanders, she brought up Mike Birkett’s number from her list of contacts. When she had agreed to take Lorie Hammonds’s case, she had thought it a good idea to include both the sheriff’s private number as well as the department’s number.

During the four days she had been on the job, she had spent most of that time digging into Lorie’s past and present acquaintances. When she had lived in the LA area, Lorie had encountered a few unsavory characters and had even lived with one, a guy named Dean Wilson, who, under the stage name of Woody Wilson, had starred in a string of low-budget porno movies.

And as fate would have it, just that morning, she had received information via Powell’s investigative research department that Dean Wilson was dead. He had been murdered in January and his killer was still at large. His brother had discovered Dean’s body at the family mountain cabin outside Gatlinburg, a short drive from Knoxville.

She remembered that Lorie had mentioned the first threatening letter she received had been postmarked Knoxville. Before talking to Sanders, Maleah had thought perhaps it was nothing more than an odd coincidence that Lorie’s old lover had been murdered only a couple of months ago.

“These two murders—Dean Wilson and Hilary Finch Chambless—cannot be a mere coincidence,” Sanders had said. “Both were shot several times, both were stripped naked, both were wearing fancy masks. Add to that the fact they were both porno stars and had worked together in numerous films and you pretty much erase the possibility of coincidence.”

“What about threatening letters?” Maleah had asked. “Did Dean Wilson and Hilary Chambless receive letters?”

“Jared Wilson did not know anything about his brother receiving threatening letters. But Hilary Chambless received two letters, the wording identical on both and the same as the ones Lorie Hammonds received.”

“We have to take these threats seriously. Lorie told me that she made one porno movie, just a bit part, but the stars of that movie were Hilary Finch—better known then as Dewey Flowers—and Dean ‘Woody’ Wilson.”

“Notify the local authorities, as well as Ms. Hammonds,” Sanders had instructed her. “And I will call Derek Lawrence. He should arrive in Dunmore tomorrow. You will work together on this case and the two of you will share all information with Holt Keinan and with Ben Corbett and Michelle Allen. Holt is in charge of the Chambless case. Ben and Michelle start work on the Wilson case tomorrow. Since it is obvious the three cases overlap, this will be a joint effort, as of now.”

Maleah groaned silently. The last person on earth she wanted to work with was Derek Lawrence. The man was a cocky, egotistical know-it-all. He’d been an FBI profiler and now worked as a consultant for the Powell Agency. In the course of various cases, their paths had often crossed, but whenever possible, she avoided the man as if he was the bubonic plague.

Maleah tapped Mike Birkett’s private number when it appeared on the iPhone screen and waited for him to answer. Whether the man liked it or not, he was going to have to take Lorie’s death threats seriously. Unless she missed her guess, there was a serial killer out there somewhere.

Lorie took the one-serving freezer packet out of the refrigerator, opened it, and slid it onto a microwavable plate. She had prepared the lasagna two weeks ago and divided it into six servings, eaten one, and frozen the rest for future meals. Today had been a long and tiring day at Treasures. Not only did they sell antiques, their store had a home décor and gift section. With Easter just around the corner, quite a few customers were taking advantage of the pre-Easter sale that would run from today until the Saturday before Easter. With Cathy away on her honeymoon, Lorie was in charge of the shop. Unfortunately, their two part-time clerks had been unavailable today. One, a student at UAH (the University of Alabama in Huntsville), had Thursday classes and the other, a stay-at-home mom, had a sick child she couldn’t leave.

While the lasagna plate rotated inside the microwave, Lorie kicked off her heels—she wore heels almost all the time in order to add a few inches to her petite five-one height—and reached into an upper cupboard for a glass. Just as she picked up the wine bottle from the counter, she heard the doorbell ring. Checking the microwave clock, she noted it was six thirty-nine.

She padded through the house and to the front door in her bare feet. She hated panty hose and seldom if ever wore any. She looked through one of three small panes of glass in her front door and saw Mike Birkett and Maleah Perdue standing on her porch. With jittery fingers, she unlocked the door, opened it, and unlatched the storm door.

“What’s wrong?” Lorie asked. “Why are y’all here?”

“May we come in?” Maleah asked.

Lorie nodded and stepped back to give them room to enter. Once they were inside, she closed and locked the door.

“Come on in.” Lorie indicated the living room to the left of the small foyer.

With all three of them standing, Lorie glanced from Maleah to Mike, who lowered his gaze and refused to look directly at her.

“The news isn’t good,” Maleah told her.

Lorie’s heartbeat went wild. “The letters … the death threats … they aren’t a hoax, are they?”

“I’m afraid not,” Maleah replied. “It seems that, more than likely, whoever sent you those letters has already killed two other people.”

Chapter 5

“I want to assure you that the sheriff’s department will cooperate fully with the Powell Agency and do everything we possibly can to keep you safe,” Mike Birkett said, his voice calm and even, showing absolutely no emotion.

“We have every reason to believe that you’re in danger,” Maleah said. “It’s imperative, now more than ever, for you to be extremely careful. I’m suggesting that you stay with me at Jack and Cathy’s, at least until they return from their honeymoon.”

“You think I need a bodyguard?”

“I believe it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“What led you to the conclusion that the person who is threatening me has already killed twice?”

“It seems that the brother of one victim and the husband of another have hired the Powell Agency to investigate their loved ones’ deaths. When Sanders—who is Griffin Powell’s assistant—discovered the similarity in the two murders, it was not a giant leap to connect them. And only today, the husband discovered two letters that his wife had kept hidden. The wording in those letters is identical to the wording in your letter,” Maleah explained. “And it really wasn’t a surprise to find out that the victims knew each other and they had worked together years ago.”

Lorie’s mind whirled with thoughts of how she might be connected to the other victims. Focusing her attention on Maleah, she ignored Mike completely. He was here only because he had to be, because he was the sheriff. She didn’t kid herself, didn’t for one minute think he gave a damn if she lived or died.

“Who were these people?” Lorie asked.

“The woman was Tagg Chambless’s wife,” Maleah said. “Hilary Chambless. She was the second victim.”

The name didn’t sound familiar to Lorie. “I don’t know a Hilary Chambless.”

Maleah nodded. “The first victim, at least as far as we know, was a guy named Dean Wilson.”

Lorie gasped. Her stomach flip-flopped. “Dean Wilson? In his late forties? Lived in LA? Was originally from Tennessee? That Dean Wilson?”

“Yeah, that seems to fit the info his brother gave Sanders. You knew him, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Her gaze zipped toward Mike. “I knew Dean Wilson. We were … uh … friends when I lived in LA. How …? Why …?”

“He was shot several times,” Maleah said.

“Poor Dean.” Years ago, she had loved him.

Mike looked at her, studied her face, and for a split second, she saw genuine concern in his eyes. But he glanced away hurriedly, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. Why did he have to act this way? Even if they could never be friends again, did he have to go on hating her forever?

“But you say you didn’t know Hilary Chambless. Is that right?” Maleah asked.

“No, I didn’t—Oh my God! Was her maiden name Finch?”

“That’s right. And she had a stage name, too. Dewey Flowers.”

Lorie wished that Mike wasn’t here, that he was not involved in this, that she didn’t have to talk about her sordid past in front of him. But what did it matter really? It wasn’t as if her past was a secret. He knew what she had done, who she had been, how she had lived those last few years in California.

“I knew Dean and Hilary,” Lorie admitted. “Hilary was just an acquaintance. Dean and I were …” She cleared her throat. “We lived together for a while.”