Field of Danger

She stopped, looking down. It wasn’t the only dish on the floor. Her kitchen cabinet doors splayed wide, their shelves cleared of all contents. Broken china littered every open space on the floor. Cans of vegetables and soup rolled free, and flour, cereal and sugar dusted all surfaces while a faint scent of cornmeal and yeast hung in the air. Biting her lower lip, she scanned the room.

Destruction…yet nothing seemed to be missing. The television still stood in place, although its smashed screen looked like a dark star in a black hole. Not even everything had suffered. The CD player on one end table remained untouched, as did her collection of books and some of the CDs stacked neatly on one shelf of a bookcase. Other CDs were tossed about the room like confetti, their cases splintered. The randomness was nearly as disturbing as the violence. Her attacker had stood in her home and deliberately chosen which parts of her life to wreck, and which to keep intact.

“He didn’t steal anything.” April’s voice sounded flat and hollow, even to her.

“Are you sure?” Ray asked behind them.

Before she could answer, Daniel whispered in her ear. “Is there anything really odd? Not the trashing. Something odd in the middle of it.”

April felt a laugh borne of hysteria bubbling in the back of her throat, and she almost choked. Anything odd? Had he lost his mind? Her house had been destroyed! Her food, her fine china! Her life! Her gaze darted about the room as her mind clicked through what would have to be replaced. The television, the carpet, the curtains that hung half off their rods…

The curtains.

She froze, her eyes narrowing. The curtains on the back window were closed.

April blinked, her anxiety calming as she stared at the bright yellow and green fabric that added light and color to her open living room. Every morning, she opened both sets, on the front and back windows, to allow in as much light as possible. Now the ones on the rear window were closed.

April turned slightly toward the front window. Those curtains were still open.

She looked at Officer Gage. “Did you close the drapes?” She pointed at the torn fabric.

Confused, the young man looked from her to Ray.

The sheriff nodded. “Did you?”

Gage shook his head, and Ray gestured toward the window. “Open them.”

Picking his way through the shards of April’s life, Gage fumbled through the ripped cloth for the cord, then slowly drew back the drapes.

At the sight of the windows, Daniel gasped out a low, choked prayer. “Dear God, save us.”

April’s eyes widened as her breath left her. She stumbled back against Daniel, who braced her, his hands closing on her shoulders.

The block letters trailed across the glass in smeared reddish-bronze lipstick, and the splintered tubes clustered beneath the window, crushed into the carpet.

The message was simple.

YOU TALK

YOU DIE

FIVE

Daniel recovered first. “He’s wrong. I’m not about to let him hurt you. We can protect you.” His voice, low and rumbling, held a worried edge to it, revealing the tight ball of grief that he worked to suppress. “But you have to let us help you. You may not remember him, but he definitely thinks you know who he is.”

“But I don’t!” April pushed away from Daniel and turned away from the wreckage. “I didn’t see—He had this cap on—” She stopped, waving her hands vigorously in front of her, as if she could flick away the horrifying memory of Levon’s murder. She clenched her jaw and growled through gritted teeth. “I did not see him!” Tears flooded her eyes and streamed from the outside corners as she turned to Ray. “I did not see him!”

The sheriff nodded solemnly. “I understand. We still need to get your statement, though, to get down everything you did see. You never know what might help.”

April’s shoulders dropped in acquiescence, then her eyes suddenly widened and she released a noise that sounded like a wounded animal. She swung around and fled toward a door at the far side of the kitchen. Daniel followed, despite Ray’s bellowed protests at both of them.

April flung open the door, barely clearing it in her rush to get into the other room. Racing after her, Daniel almost collided with April as she abruptly stopped in the doorway, her gaze darting frenetically around as she examined every item in the room.

Daniel stared over her right shoulder. “What is all this?”

When Levon had built the house, the room had been a two-car garage. Now one half had been converted into a customized kitchen. Steel counters lined much of the wall space, broken up by a six-burner gas stove, restaurant-style sink and shelves laden with dozens of jars. A large refrigerator hummed against the far wall, and on one counter, empty and sparkling jars drained on thick cloths. Near the back of the room, bushel baskets full of an assortment of berries, fruits, corn and beans stood waiting, lacing the air with the sweet scent of fresh produce.

“Your business, right?”

April nodded, slowly approaching one set of shelves. “Levon helped me convert this space. Presley’s Home Farm Organics.” The shelf in front of her almost overflowed with finished product, the tightly sealed lids, crystal-cut jars and signature red and green labels representing hundreds of hours of work. She picked up one jar and examined the lid’s seal. “Levon helped me create this recipe for black bean and corn salsa.”

Daniel watched her, understanding the sorrow she must feel at each new reminder that her friend was gone. His throat tightened. “He learned to cook stuff like that when my mom got sick.”

April’s sad smile made him ache with a grief that threatened to roll over him again. “He did the taste testing and encouraging.” She set the jar back on the shelf. “It’s one of my bestsellers.”

“Where do you sell it?”

April ran her finger along the shelf. “The Caralinda General Store carries it, and some of the places in White Hills. A few stores in Nashville. Mostly online. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, but first my dad and then my ex always said I didn’t have the head for it. No business sense. Said I’d fail.” She paused, her voice softening. “Levon kept telling me I could do it. He believed in me.”

She turned to Daniel, then the sheriff, who stood on the step down into the room. “The killer must have thought this was still the garage. Everything seems okay.”

Both men looked around the room. All of the canning equipment and supplies did appear untouched. Even the polished concrete floor remained spotless.

Ray cleared his throat. “So although he knows who you are, where you live, he doesn’t know about your business.”

“Will that help?” April asked eagerly.

“Maybe. If we can be sure that that’s the reason. It’s possible he just ran out of time.” Daniel pushed his shoulders back, fighting the stress-induced tension. This was the frustrating part of investigating—turning clues into theories…and then watching them fall apart.

April looked from one man to the other. “He chased us, Aunt Suke and me, right into the basement. He only left when we heard the sirens. She’ll be in as much danger, won’t she?”

“What was Aunt Suke—” Ray didn’t quite get the words out.

“She saved me.” April crossed to stand by Daniel’s side, looking up at Ray. “She heard the shot, saw me running, then hiding. She came and got me. Her and that white dog.”

“Polly,” Daniel whispered.

“Polly.”

Ray looked from her to Daniel a moment then back at April, as if contemplating his next move. “Are you sure nothing is missing here?”

At April’s nod, Ray focused on his young deputy. “Go out that way.” He pointed at a door at the back of the canning kitchen. “I don’t want you going back through the house. I’m going to need Gage here. Pick up Aunt Suke and take them both back to the station and get their statements. Don’t embellish, you hear me, Rivers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then find them a place to stay, and you go home. Call whoever you need to. Understand?”

“No, sir.”