Tamara took one step and froze as she heard movement downstairs.

Vince tensed, too. “Wait here,” he ordered.

“Right,” she agreed, following him.

Because he’d rather have her within reach, he didn’t protest. He closed the front door and stopped, somewhat shielding her from seeing what was there.

She moved closer, squinting, needing the beam of his flashlight to see. It put her very close, too close. Standing up straight and trying to regain her composure, she shifted so she could see the words written on a piece of paper tacked to her door.

YOU BUY YOU DIE.

This time it looked like the sign maker had been in a hurry. The warning was in pencil, and whoever had made the sign had been more than angry. In five or six spots, the point of the pencil had gone right through the paper. Not only that, but the lines were in bold, dark letters.

“Another warning,” Tamara muttered.

“No,” Vince said. “This time, it’s a promise.”

PAMELA TRACY

lives in Arizona with a newly acquired husband (Yes, Pamela is somewhat a newlywed. You can be a newlywed for seven years. Next year, we’ll be oldlyweds.) and a pre-schooler (Newlymom is almost as fun as newlywed!). She was raised in Omaha, Nebraska, and started writing at age twelve (a very bad teen romance featuring David Cassidy from the Partridge Family). Later, she honed her writing skills while earning a B.A. in Journalism at Texas Tech University in Lubbock, Texas (and wrote a very bad science fiction novel that didn’t feature David Cassidy).

Pamela Tracy
Clandestine Cover-Up

A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.

—Proverbs 22:1

To Sandra Lagesse, a friend extraordinaire.

Thank you for the shoulder to lean on,

the hand to hold, and the ear that listens.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

YOUR NOT WANTED HERE

The words were written in dripping bloodred paint on the front door of the building Tamara Jacoby had just signed the final sale papers on. She’d been the proud owner for only twenty minutes. Her lawyer’s mind, still sharp, still observant, wanted to change the your to you’re. Her single female mind, still somewhat wounded, wanted to run to the car, jump in, lock the door and drive as far away as possible.

Wait, she’d already done that. That was how she’d arrived here in Sherman, Nebraska—far, far away from Arizona.

“It’s not blood,” she assured herself.

And William Massey is in jail, for a long, long time.

Still, to make sure, she whipped out her cell phone, dialed the 602 area code and spoke with a guard she knew at Florence Penitentiary.

Yes, William Massey is still in jail.

Which left Tamara wondering who on earth was after her now.

YOUR NOT WANTED HERE

Her sister Lisa, who lived here, called Sherman a safe little town.

Yeah, real safe.

She finally managed to control her breathing. Next, she unclenched her fingers and looked around.

A police cruiser turned the corner. The officer behind the wheel didn’t even look Tamara’s way, and she didn’t wave him down.

She’d had enough interaction with the police to last a lifetime. First, thanks to her profession—lawyer. Last, thanks to the case that drove her out of Arizona—victim.

I am not a victim, she told herself.

No, she didn’t want her first interaction with law enforcement in her new home to be a “rescue me” appeal. She wanted it to be an “I’m a force to be reckoned with” landing.

She fully intended to go back to being the kind of lawyer she’d been before William Massey fixated on her—successful, controlling and confident.

Right now, she’d settle for confident.

Tamara felt a chill. She wanted to blame the May weather, but the sudden chill had nothing to do with the rain. She’d had the chills every day for the past six months. Thoughts of William Massey had that effect on her. They had started the day he’d gone from client to deranged stalker. They’d doubled the day he’d gone from stalker to attacker.

Tamara took a tiny step forward. She had to do something. She couldn’t stand on the sidewalk all day. She had to face whatever was in front of her. Had to. Otherwise, she might never practice law again.

Threats were part of the job.

Tamara studied the warning again. Not only was the wrong spelling used, but the letters were long and in some places the paint was almost too faint to read, while in others, it globbed. The vandal was probably right-handed, based on the slant of the graffiti. Also, whoever wrote the words was most likely tall, Tamara’s height.

She looked up and blinked against the Nebraska sun, suddenly aware that she was busy assessing evidence as if preparing for trial.

She definitely didn’t want the attention that would come with reporting this crime. Nor did she have the time. Not if she planned to turn this neglected old building, a building that had started life as a farmhouse and had last been used as a church, into a law office and get back on the fast track.

Did Sherman, Nebraska, even have a fast track?

Tamara pushed open the church’s door, careful to avoid the paint, and took a step inside.

She suddenly stopped.

She’d seen dead animals before; they didn’t scare her. But something about how the tiny mouse was laid out on the floor in front of her let her know the creature hadn’t died a natural death.

It had died to prove a point.

YOUR NOT WANTED HERE.

She turned, tried to leave, and ran into something hard and unyielding.

She let out a squeal.

“Hey” came a deep voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Whoever blocked her way was all male. The scent of sweat combined with aftershave and heat permeated the room or at least the space directly around her. Her hand went inside her purse. Mace was at the ready, but warm, strong fingers clamped down hard on her elbow before she could snag the small tube and take aim.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Tamara,” a calm voice stated. “It’s Vince Frenci. I just got off work and was driving by and saw you standing on the sidewalk. You weren’t moving, so I doubled back to see if everything was all right. What’s going on?”

Her hand still clutched the mace. Tamara could feel her heart pounding, but she didn’t want him to know he’d scared her. Some men fed off fear.

“There’s a dead mouse,” she managed to say. Her heart still beat a little too quickly. Her feet still refused to move.

You know Vince, she reminded herself. More than a year ago, they’d walked down the aisle together, thanks to her little sister’s wedding. He’d been a little rough around the edges, but he was her brother-in-law’s best friend. Which meant he probably knew her story, about the stalker and why she’d fled Phoenix, and why two weeks ago, she’d started the move to Sherman.

It’s a safe little town.

He let go of her elbow and stepped back. Both of his hands went into the air as if he thought she’d shoot him.

She looked up at him and loosened her grip on the mace.

His hands left the air. “Look, if you’re thinking about spraying me, don’t bother. I’ll just back out of here real quick like.”

She finally let go of the mace. “I’m all right, and I remember you, Vince.”

It would be hard to forget someone who looked like Vince Frenci. The man in front of her was working class through and through, with dark stubble, black spiky hair and piercing mahogany eyes. His clothes—blue chambray shirt, tight jeans, oversize brown boots—were worn for comfort and use, not for show.

“So, you want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

“Can I blame the dead mouse for the warning on the door?” she replied.

“You want to tell me what’s really going on?” Vince asked.

She shook her head.

“Well, you need to tell me something. Eventually, I’ll be the one to get rid of the paint on the door. I’ll—”

“What do you mean, you’ll be the one?”

“I’ve been the yardman for this property for more than a decade. Every other Saturday, I mow, repair and clean. If something’s amiss here, I report it.”

“Billy didn’t tell me you worked for Lydia.”

“Billy Griffin? How do you know him?” Vince asked.

Tamara held up the key. “I purchased this property from him. Signed the purchase papers about an hour ago.”

“Hmm,” Vince said. “I didn’t even know this place was for sale. I wonder what Lydia’s gonna think about Billy selling off her property.”

“She’ll be grateful that her son cared enough to make sure she was taken care of in a top-notch nursing home.”

Vince shook his head. “I don’t think so. If Lydia had wanted this place sold, she’d have done it years ago.”

“Why didn’t she? I mean, what a waste of a commodity.”

Vince shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say this plot of land meant something to her family, but she never said anything about fixing it up. She never let anyone inside, not that I know of. I’m surprised Billy sold it, but since he never really lived here in Sherman, maybe he doesn’t know the history of this place.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t care.”

“If I know Lydia Griffin, she’s gonna care and Billy will be getting an earful after she walks out of that nursing home on her own two feet.”

Tamara had met Lydia Griffin last year. At that time, Lydia had been Tamara’s niece’s babysitter as well as Lisa’s more than feisty landlord. Lydia had taken a fall two months ago, hit her head and broken her hip. The day she was supposed to get out of the hospital, she fell and broke her hip again. Now, she was slowly recuperating.

“I’ve been doing the yardwork since I was eighteen,” Vince said. “That’s one of the reasons I noticed you trespassing.” Then, his expression changed from serious to teasing. “That and your red hair.”

“I’m not trespassing,” she reminded him. “I bought the place. It was only on the market for two weeks. Billy went looking for a quick sale. It was perfect timing for both of us.”

“Makes sense,” Vince said. “So,” he asked, “you want to tell me about the door?”

“I’m actually more concerned about the mouse,” she said. “Killing it and laying it out where I would see it the moment I stepped in the front door took more time and thought than writing on the door.”

Funny, with him standing next to her the little mouse didn’t look so menacing. She cleared her throat, trying to hold back the fear that was starting again. Sometimes Massey’s memory was an almost tangible thing, letting her know that his clandestine and uninvited visit to her bedroom and its consequences may have happened six months ago, but still felt like yesterday.

Vince was looking at her as if she might break. She didn’t want that.

Before he could ask another question, she asked, “When you did the yardwork, did you ever see anything unusual?”

“Like?”

“Like paint on the door.”

“Most I’ve had to do is paint over graffiti on the outside walls. A while back someone was into gang signs, but there hasn’t been any graffiti in the past year. Any chance your stalker followed you?”

“I just called the penitentiary that Massey’s at. He hasn’t been released.”

“Could he have sent a friend?”

“I don’t think he has any friends, but maybe he made one in jail,” Tamara said. “I’ll make a few calls later, find out if his cellmate or someone he palled around with has been paroled lately.”

“You going to call the police?”

Tamara shook her head. For a moment, she wondered if Vince would call them. He seemed to be sizing her up. His expression didn’t change so she couldn’t tell if he thought she was incredibly brave for not alerting the authorities or undeniably stupid.

Tamara would have thought a client who didn’t call the police was stupid.

One thing for sure, she was a better lawyer now because she empathized with her clients. Or she would, once she began practicing law again and had clients.

Vince stepped past her and entered the church. He glanced around. “Nothing else looks touched.”

Considering the broken furniture and trash, his statement was almost comical, but Tamara knew from the walk-through of the building she and Billy had taken just a few days ago that broken furniture and debris were the only occupants of the no longer used church.

In a way, the old church was like Tamara, only she housed a broken dream, a broken relationship and broken spirit.

And if she could envision the old church as new and whole, then surely she could envision herself the same way.

Vince’s whole life, he’d been turning around and cleaning up messes. Usually, his messes didn’t look quite this good. Or this spooked. Taking that into consideration, Vince looked around for both a piece of cardboard and a section of newspaper.

Normally, it would have taken him just a second to dispose of the mouse. Instead, keeping in mind that Tamara watched his every move, he gently nudged the critter onto the cardboard, covered it with the newspaper and then took it outside.

When Vince finally returned, after fetching a flashlight from his truck, he studied her. She stood, looking pale, by the side of the front door. She chewed her bottom lip.

He hadn’t noticed that habit when they’d walked down the aisle together at her sister’s wedding. Maybe the nervous habit was new. Based on what she’d gone through the past six months, he could certainly understand. “You want me to take you home or do you want to walk around and make sure everything’s where it should be?”

“I want to walk around.”

Vince turned on the flashlight. It was dark enough inside for the light to make a difference. “This grand old dame has plenty of life in her yet. I’m glad someone’s finally going to do something with her. You know, I’ve never been inside. I always did the outside yardwork while Lydia worked on the inside.”

“This is only my second time seeing the inside. Billy brought me over once, but he needed to catch a plane back to Denver for some family thing, so we didn’t see much.”

“I’m surprised a lawyer wouldn’t demand a closer inspection.”

“Oh,” Tamara said, “I know a bargain when I see one. I can recognize potential, too. Plus, I trust the home inspector.”

“This is probably the oldest building left on Main Street. The bookstore next door is old, but nothing like this.” Vince stood in the middle of the room. A decade of dust shimmered in the air. Windows, curtainless, were so murky the outdoor sun couldn’t find a spot to peek in.

Tamara walked into the center of the room. Her face softened a bit as she looked around. Some of the spooked look went away as she studied her purchase.

The church’s meeting room housed roughly fourteen pews. Seven on each side. Some were broken; the others looked fine except for dust. A table was at the front of the room and a pulpit was right behind it. Both could use a good cleaning, but other than that, everything looked in fine shape.

“As soon as I can, I’m setting up practice. This will be my secretary’s office. I’ll have a couch as well as tables here. I’ll add bookcases. I’ll have a table set up with coffee and the daily newspaper. I’ll put pictures on the wall showing pleased clients.”

“This room’s big enough,” he agreed. “You could almost retexture and build the bookcases right into the walls.”

Knowing he might regret what he was about to do, Vince reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. Then, he withdrew a business card and handed it to her.

She looked at his uniform with Konrad Construction embroidered on his left pocket. Then she looked again at the card. “You work on the side as a handyman and a lawn man?” she asked after looking the card over.

“I started at age ten mowing lawns. Lydia hired me when I was about thirteen. She had me do more than yards. She had me fixing fences and building sheds. We even redid the sidewalk in front of her house one year. I think she’s to blame for my career choice. She’s definitely to blame for my side job.”

“I’ll take this into consideration,” Tamara said, sliding his card into her purse. Stepping over what looked to be a leg from one of the pews, she headed for a door to the right of the front table. It led to an empty room.

“What could this room have been?” she asked.

“It’s probably where the church shared their meals. Maybe it doubled as a classroom.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You attend church?”

“No, but I’ve helped build one. I do know that potlucks are a given and that there’s never enough classroom space.”

As they walked from room to room, he talked about replacing outdated fixtures and the cost of building materials. And with every word, he saw her relaxing a bit.

Maybe by the time they finished the walk-through she’d be willing to call the police.

They found two classrooms. Small chairs were stacked in corners. Chalkboards, warped beyond repair, hung on the walls. Next were two bathrooms. In black paint, someone had printed MEN on one. The smaller bathroom read WOMEN. He opened both doors, but didn’t step in or invite her to look; instead he muttered something about copper pipe and enough space.

She’d wandered away from him around that time. He backed out of the restroom and saw that she was gone. He felt a moment of concern, and then he saw an open door and her footprints in the dust on the stairs.

She’d found the attic.

“This will be my office. This makes the whole venture worthwhile,” she said, looking out the window at Main Street below. She left the window and her steps creaked in the silence.

“Old houses always make noise,” she said. He could see she needed to believe it, needed to forget what was still written in graffiti on the front door.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Look at this desk! It’s huge, it’s mahogany, it’s perfect.” She looked around the room again. “Everything else in the room will have to go. First, those boxes stacked against the wall. Then, what’s that old machine the size of a dishwasher?”

“That’s an old copy machine. I saw one when we took down the old theater. Look at the crank handle. They probably used it to make their bulletins.”

“Amazing,” Tamara muttered. She wasn’t talking about the copy machine. Right now she was looking at a single room full of dust, junk and old furniture. The look in her eyes said she wasn’t seeing any of that, but what the room would look like after she finished with it.

She took one step toward the machine and froze as she heard movement downstairs. Vince tensed, too. Critters weren’t that loud, and people generally knocked when they entered.

Unless, of course, they were the kind of people who would paint a warning sign on a front door or leave a dead mouse.

“Wait here,” he ordered.

Instead she followed him. Because he’d rather have her within reach, he didn’t protest.

Slowly, they went through the building, listening for more noises, slowing when they heard one. As he led her out the front door, he tried not to remember the mouse or wonder who put it there and why.

He closed the front door and stopped, somewhat shielding her from seeing the words written on a piece of paper tacked to the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked, moving closer to see.

YOU BUY YOU DIE.

This time it looked like the sign maker had been in a hurry. The warning was in pencil and whoever had made the sign had been more than angry. In five or six spots, the point of the pencil had gone right through the paper. Not only that, but the words were in bold, dark letters.

“Another warning,” Tamara muttered.

“No,” Vince said. “This time, it’s a promise.”

TWO

Friday night, according to the police dispatcher, was not the best night for nonemergency responses. If Tamara wanted, she could wait a couple of hours for a squad car to show up. Or she could come down to the station and wait for an hour. Or she could wait until tomorrow.

Vince wanted to yank the phone out of her hand and fill the dispatcher in on Tamara’s history with a stalker, especially since it didn’t seem that she had any intention of doing so.

“I’ll arrange to meet with an officer tomorrow,” Tamara said.

As Tamara deposited her cell phone back into her purse, Vince asked, “So, you don’t think it’s important enough to tell them about the stalker?”

For a moment, he thought she’d clam up or tell him it was none of his business.

“There are three possibilities,” she finally said. “One, these warnings weren’t meant for me. That’s my hope. Of course, more realistically, I may need to accept that my past has followed me and William Massey has an accomplice. Or, finally and even worse, I have something new to worry about.”

That was what he’d been thinking. He didn’t know whether to be relieved that she wasn’t in denial about the threats or to be worried that she wasn’t a screaming lunatic about the threats. He started to make a suggestion, but suddenly she was looking at him with the strangest expression.

“You know, it may not be a stalker. I mean Massey’s notes were always of the ‘I’m going to get you’ variety. They always had an undertone that I belonged to him. Both the graffiti on the door and now this note seem to just want me to disappear.”

He wanted to say that every stalker was different, but what did he know? “You want me to follow you to your sister’s house?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why would you follow me there?”

“It’s where you’re staying, right?”

“No, Lisa’s nine months’ pregnant. She’s only been married a year and is busy building a home for a new husband and stepdaughter. There’s a big difference between me coming for a short visit and me moving in. Trust me, she doesn’t need another roommate.”

“Okay, so where are you staying?” Vince asked.

“Billy’s letting me rent his mother’s upstairs apartment. It’s the same one Lisa lived in before she married Alex. I just moved in this morning.”

“Maybe you should call Alex? He’d come over.”

Tamara shook her head. “Lisa doesn’t need to be alone, and this is not their problem.”

It wasn’t his problem either, but as he followed her off the steps of the porch and then to her car, he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow her problem was about to become his problem.

“I’ll follow you home,” he said, opening her car door.

“I’d appreciate that.”

It was well after ten when he finally parked his car behind Tamara’s, and the nighttime sky offered little in the way of light. The streetlights, however, beamed a halfhearted welcome. Lydia’s was the biggest house on the street. It also had the most character. It had, at one time, been his home away from home. A place he could go if things got a little difficult at home.

Stepping out of his truck, he walked leisurely over to Tamara’s little red Jaguar. The sound of country music carried on the wind. She turned the car off before gathering up some papers and her purse plus a couple of shopping bags. He took the bags from her, half expecting her to protest, but maybe both the warnings and the mouse had subdued her.

He followed her to the bottom of an outdoor staircase. When Lydia had moved into the brick house, she had converted the upstairs to an apartment complete with its own entrance. Vince’s mother said Lydia not only knew how to manage her money but how to create ways to make money.

Vince’s mother was too busy trying to manage her sons to manage her money. When Vince was ten, his father had abandoned the family. That same year Vince’s older brothers had moved out. For the next two years, Vince and his mother had moved from one apartment to another. They hadn’t had much money. During that time, his mother had remarried, had Vince’s little brother Jimmy, and got divorced. Vince became the man of the family.

When they got to the top of the stairs, Tamara unlocked the door, disappeared inside for a moment and then returned to relieve him of the bags.

“Thanks,” she murmured softly. “I was getting a little spooked back there at the church. You made some pretty bad moments not so horrible. I do appreciate your help.” Then she smiled and closed the door.

Leaving him outside, feeling as if he’d just missed an opportunity he hadn’t even realized was offered. That realization was followed by the certainty that his initial attraction to her flowing red hair was really nothing.

Nope, it was her smile that did him in.

For the first time in months, Tamara fell into bed without going through a paranoid routine of checking her front door’s lock and all the windows about a dozen times.

Tonight when she crawled into bed, her last thought was I’m tired. She didn’t make it to I wish I could fall asleep. Instead, she fell asleep.

For two whole minutes.

And then, her eyes went to the clock by her bedside.

Midnight.

It had all started at midnight. William Massey’s first phone call. Tamara burrowed under the blankets and, even though her clock didn’t make any noise, she covered her ears.

She almost wished she could blame Massey, but tonight what kept her from sleeping was the sudden realization that most likely Massey wasn’t involved with the threatening warnings she had received.

No, he struck at midnight.

On Saturday morning, Vince drove to Tamara’s apartment to check on her.

Her car was gone. There was no cause for worry, he thought. He headed for the church. But her car wasn’t there either. Okay, a slight cause for worry. He checked the only other place he could think of—her sister’s house. She wasn’t there. Finally, he spotted her car. It was the first time he’d ever felt relief at finding who he was looking for at the police station.

Checking his watch, he grimaced. Today was pretty much mapped out thanks to a promise he made his mother to help his great-uncle Drew. He turned his truck toward what used to be the outskirts of town.

Vince pulled into the dirt driveway leading up to his uncle’s trailer. Drew opened the front door once Vince started taking things out of the bed of his truck. Slowly, Drew stepped down onto his front step, glared and spit on the ground. “What are you doing, boy?”

In his younger days, according to those who remembered, Drew had been over two hundred pounds, six foot two and a contender with attitude. Now, past eighty, Drew was a walking advertisement for skin and bones and bad attitude.

Drew knew exactly why Vince had shown up this morning.

Vince answered anyway. “I’m cleaning up your yard. You only have thirty days, remember, before you start getting hefty fines.”

Drew clutched at the screen door. It kept him steady. “I’ll shoot anyone who comes on my land in thirty days.”

Sad thing was, Vince almost believed the old man. “Uncle Drew, just let me take care of this and then you won’t need to worry.”

Like his uncle had once been, Vince was over six foot, weighed just over two hundred pounds and had attitude. The difference was, Vince had learned to control his attitude. Not that a good attitude was helping to deal with Drew today.

Even with his missing weight, stooped height and outward frailty, Drew’s voice still had a guttural edge. “Ain’t worried. Don’t need any help. Git.”

“I’m not gitting.” Vince didn’t move, and Drew stomped into the trailer—no doubt heading to the phone to call Vince’s mother. He wouldn’t get far there. She was terrified at the thought of Drew winding up homeless and showing up on her doorstep.

Mom still had Jimmy at home, and right now Jimmy was at what his mother called an awkward stage. He still needed approval but insisted he could make his own decisions. From what Mom said, most of Jimmy’s decisions right now were wrong.

Vince wasn’t too worried. He’d survived puberty.

Come to think of it, maybe Vince should have a talk with Jimmy.

If nothing else, getting Jimmy out here to help pull weeds might be an opportunity that benefited both of them. Vince could pay Jimmy, and Jimmy could start saving for the car he wanted. One brief phone call later, Vince knew that idea was a bust.

Even at age sixteen, Jimmy was terrified of Uncle Drew.

Vince started pulling the weeds growing past his knees in the front yard. Every twenty minutes or so, as perfectly timed as a cuckoo on a clock, Drew would open the screen door, curse and spit and then retreat.

Things got even more interesting a few hours later when Miles Pynchon, minister of the Main Street Church, pulled up in a fairly new pickup and shouted, “Need some help?”

“I’ve got a handle on this,” Vince said. “You might not want your sons to hear what my uncle Drew has to say.”

“They’ve heard your uncle Drew many a time,” Miles said. “We live just over the fence. Drew’s inspired a sermon or two. Anytime you want to attend services and come listen, you’re invited. Now, the boys and I have about three hours to spare. Tell us where to start.”

“So far, I’ve been working with two guidelines. If it’s trash, throw it away. If it’s too heavy to move, leave it alone.”

“All of it looks like trash,” one boy muttered.

It only took five minutes for Drew to notice his visitors. Funny, Vince had grown up in a world where cursing was the rule not the exception. Never had he noticed just how bad it sounded, at least in front of kids. It made him wish more than ever that Miles and his sons would leave and let Vince work in peace.

Instead, Miles sang while he loaded old pieces of wood, broken buckets, all kinds of signs, cans of paint and smelly tarps into the back of Vince’s truck. He started with tunes from the Beatles, switched to James Taylor and, by the time the sun started to descend, he’d worked his way to gospel songs. Some Vince knew; others he did not.

In between songs Miles invited Drew and Vince to attend church on Sunday. Drew had two words for the invitation; the second word was no. Vince also shook his head. His mother had gone to church a time or two. She’d never felt welcome. He doubted he’d feel much different.

“I can even offer Drew a ride,” Miles offered.

The teenage boys gave each other the guarded look that all teenagers share when it comes to the actions of their parents. Vince couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“We all appreciate you cleaning up his yard,” Miles said. “He scares most of the neighbors. Some complain just because they hope it will somehow cause him to move.”

“That’s not going to happen. The more people complain, the more he’ll dig his feet in,” Vince commented.

Miles nodded. “What happened to your uncle, Vince, to make him like this? Such an empty life.”

“My mom says he’s always been like this. My father blamed Drew’s time in the military. Drew spent time in Alaska and then Vietnam, but he was over in Vietnam in the early sixties before anything really happened.” Vince thought about it for a moment. “Except maybe drugs.”

They worked silently for a moment. Then Vince asked, “Hey, Miles, do you know Tamara Jacoby?”

“I’ve met her a few times. Why?”

Vince waited a moment, hoping the minister would say more. When he didn’t, Vince continued, “Did Alex and Lisa fill you in on what happened back in Phoenix with Tamara?”

Miles stopped working. “They did.”

Vince checked to make sure the boys couldn’t hear. “She bought the old Amhurst Church. I stopped by there last night when I saw her standing on the sidewalk. Someone had painted ‘you’re not wanted here’ on the door. Then, she found a dead mouse inside.”

“Think it’s Massey?”

That the preacher remembered the stalker’s name told Vince how much the family had confided in their minister.

“She called someone she knows who told her that Massey’s still in prison. It gets worse. While she and I were both inside, someone left a threatening note on the door.”

“You tell Alex?”

“No. It didn’t seem my place. I was there when she called the police. This morning she went by the police station and filed a report.”

“That young lady’s been through enough,” Miles said.

“Can you talk to her?” Vince asked. “Maybe get her to stay with Lisa and Alex for a while.”

“I’ll try. She’s only been to church once since she’s been here. I started to welcome her, but she ducked away. Maybe you could bring her?”

“Nice try,” Vince declined.

The door to the trailer opened. Drew hobbled out and crawled into his old truck, muttering, “Miserable excuses for human beings,” before driving toward town.

“Must be grocery day,” Vince said.

“No,” Miles answered. “Grocery day is Monday. He’d never go to the grocery store on a Saturday, too crowded.”

They watched the ancient Ford truck disappear from sight.

For the past half hour, Miles sang a few more gospel songs. His voice was low, and the songs were poignant. They fit the mood. Vince had no doubt the minister would talk to Tamara, offer assistance and even maybe counsel. Problem was, Miles Pynchon was in charge of a whole congregation. Vince wasn’t sure of the number, but based by the size of the church building, Vince figured more than two hundred members. There was only so much time Miles could give to Tamara, especially if she wasn’t asking for help.

At just after five o’clock, the Pynchon boys followed their dad to his truck. They took enough parts to make either a lawn mower that ran like a motorcycle or a motorcycle that also functioned as a lawn mower. Either way, the boys looked intrigued. The minister took home a wooden cross, splintered in places, and a Bible so old its leather binding was all but in shreds.

One man’s junk was another man’s treasure.

As Vince headed for his truck, he took one last look at his uncle’s property. Thanks to his efforts and that of the Pynchons, the yard had a few clear areas and even something of a path. Not that Drew needed a path. Vince doubted the old man cared to walk in his backyard or even knew what all was in it.

Drew’s backyard was quite a bit like Drew’s life—filled with a lot of junk that no one really cared about.

Vince paused.

His own backyard consisted of sheds and tools and toys. Things that right now, during his prime, seemed important. It all could count as clutter; it could all eventually turn to junk.

Funny how thinking about Uncle Drew and then thinking about Tamara really made a man think about what should be important.

THREE

As Vince drove the streets of Sherman, he pondered just exactly what he was doing.

Adding one more worry to his life, he realized.

Worrying about and taking care of his family had been a full-time job since he was ten.

He didn’t want to feel responsible for even one more person.

Which, he told himself, was why he shouldn’t be thinking about Tamara Jacoby. Thing was, he couldn’t seem to stop.

All because she was a redhead with haunted green eyes, a quick tongue and a killer smile.

He parked in front of her house and knocked on her door a few moments later, trying to think of just what he’d say.

He’d never been at a loss for words with a female. He was the prankster, the stud, the man of the moment. Everyone’s friend, no one’s confidant. He’d never thought about what to say to a woman because he’d never had to. He’d never really cared much one way or the other. If he started thinking about a woman too much, he stopped—stopped thinking, stopped calling, stopped taking them out. He didn’t want to let any woman too close. He already had too many responsibilities to his family.

No one answered his knock.

He hurried down the stairs, trying to tell himself he was glad she wasn’t home. His steps slowed when he got to her car.

It didn’t matter how tired he was. Unless he found out she was okay, he wasn’t going to get any rest tonight. He took out his cell phone and called her brother-in-law, Alex. No answer. So, he tried Alex’s wife, Lisa. Surely, if anyone knew what Tamara was up to, it would be her sister.

As Lisa’s cell phone rang he tried to think of the best scenario. Maybe the reason Alex hadn’t answered and now Lisa wasn’t answering was because Lisa had gone into labor. Of course if that was true, maybe Tamara had run from the apartment, zoomed right past her own car, and made decent time—on foot—to the hospital.

Scenario two, she was actually inside the apartment sound asleep and hadn’t heard his knock.

He liked both ideas. They were so much better than the other options his imagination could supply.

“Hey, Vince, sorry it took me so long to answer. I didn’t hear the phone buzzing in my purse. What’s up?” Lisa didn’t sound stressed enough to be in labor. And in the background, he could hear the muted sounds of a softball game in progress. He looked across the street at the shimmering lights of a ballpark.

“Do you know where Tamara is?”

“Sure, she’s here with us. Alex’s church team is playing tonight.”

“I’ll be right there.” It made perfect sense, Vince thought. She’d not need to drive the car across the street to the park. It was just as quick to walk. Which was what he started to do. His steps quickened the closer he got because he didn’t see two redheads, just one.

Lisa Cooke, Tamara’s sister, nine months’ pregnant, and who should be taking it easy, was in the stands cheering on her husband.

“Hey!” Lisa called. She nudged her stepdaughter, Amy, whose nose was in a book, and they both scooted over, giving him some room to sit down. “So, you want to tell me what’s up with you and my sister?” she asked.

“Where is she?”

“She didn’t want to use her cell phone and watch the game at the same time. She’s been slumming behind the snack bar for the past half hour.”

“Can you see her?”

Lisa pointed. “The preacher already wants her for third base. He says if she shows that much passion for a phone call, just think what she’d muster for a play-off game.”

“Who’s she talking to?” Vince asked.

“I’m pretty sure she’s still on the phone with Terry, which amazes me since I thought they weren’t talking.”

“Terry?”

“Her ex-fiancé.”

Vince started to stand, then thought better of it. He patted Amy on the head. She giggled and went back to reading.

The bleachers weren’t built with big men in mind. Vince found a place to stretch his feet and managed to knock over Lisa’s purse. After he righted it, he asked, “Did you know she bought the old Amhurst Church building?”

“Yes, and I think it’s great.”

“If you think it’s great, then she didn’t tell you about yesterday. Someone had painted a warning on the front door.”

Lisa glanced at her daughter, who wasn’t paying the slightest attention, and asked, “What did it say?”

“You’re not wanted here.”

Lisa’s lips tightened. “She didn’t say a word. She thinks just because I’m pregnant I’m made of glass. Did she say anything about William Massey? You think that’s why she’s talking to Terry?”

“She called someone yesterday. I’m not sure it was this Terry guy or not. Seems Massey’s still in jail.”

“Could he have—”

“Tamara said she’d find out. That’s basically why I’m here. I was with her at the church building last night. I even saw her safe into her apartment. Today, I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. I can’t believe she didn’t tell you any of this.”

“She didn’t tell me because I’d have insisted she come stay with us. She probably thinks she’d be in the way or somehow put us in danger.”

“I don’t think she should be in her apartment alone,” Vince said. “Not until the authorities find out who is leaving threatening messages.”

“Messages,” Lisa said. “You mean there was more than one?”

Before he could answer, the people around them screamed and jumped up. It didn’t take long to figure out the game had ended with Alex hitting a triple and bringing two runners in.

The remaining fans started gathering their kids and belongings. It didn’t look like tonight would be one of those lingering, “let’s go out for pizza” kind of nights. Glancing at his watch, Vince realized it was late even for a Saturday game. It was well past nine, it was dark, and there was church in the morning for most people there.

Lisa didn’t smile as she made sure Amy had everything and then carefully climbed down from one stair to the next. When they reached the bottom, Tamara stood waiting. The look on her face clearly showed her displeasure.

“Vince, when did you get here?” Tamara asked.

“A good half hour ago.”

“Long enough to tell me what you didn’t bother to tell me,” Lisa said.

“It might be nothing,” Tamara insisted. “Massey never sent me a ‘get lost’ message. It was always a ‘you’re mine’ kind of message. Besides, I’ve called the victim information and notification hotline three times, and they say Massey hasn’t been released. Terry says that Massey hasn’t left jail. He hasn’t had any visitors, either. And, apparently, his cellmate is a white-collar criminal who only wants to do his time and get out. Massey’s not a threat.”

“Someone’s a threat,” Vince reminded her.

Tamara nodded. “Only thing new in Massey’s life is some hotshot lawyer he’s hired. Terry says the guy’s trying to get some of my testimony stricken because of lawyer/client confidentiality.”

“Can they do that?” Lisa asked.

“Since I met Massey while I was assisting the attorney who was representing him on a separate matter, yes. Never mind that, after he started stalking me, my firm severed representation. His attorney is going to claim that while testifying, I had knowledge that I wouldn’t have had if I had not been present during the first case. He’s going to go over every transcript of my testimony and look for key phrases, similarities, any time I might have used legal jargon instead of acting like a witness.”

“It doesn’t seem right,” Vince said.

“It’s exactly what I’d be doing if I were his new lawyer. They’re scrounging for reasonable doubt,” Tamara said. “So, now, along with trying to figure out who painted the words on my door, I need to worry about the possibility of Massey’s release.”

“Vince.” Alex, out of breath, and still flying high from being instrumental in the winning run, chose that moment to join them. Grinning, he reached out to shake Vince’s hand. “Good to see you.” Alex let go of Vince’s hand and reached for his wife.

She didn’t move toward him. Instead, through gritted teeth, she muttered, “We’re going to have a little talk with my big sister.”

Concern flickered across Alex’s face.

“No, not about me,” Lisa quickly assured him.

He looked from Lisa, to Vince, to Tamara. His daughter was the only other one present who didn’t have a clue what was going on.

“Great hit, Dad,” Amy said, giving him a hug. She was soon skipping toward the parking lot with another little girl about the same age.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Alex asked.

“Tamara’s not safe,” Lisa said quickly. “She needs to move in with us for a while.”

“I’m not sure if I’m safe or not,” Tamara insisted. “But if I’m not safe, you guys are the last ones I’m going to endanger.” She looked pointedly at Lisa’s stomach. “In a few days, you’ll have another baseball player to worry about, and I’m certainly not going to let my problems become your problems.”

Alex turned to Vince. “Tell me everything.”

It took all of ten minutes, and Tamara only interrupted once a minute.

When they finished, Alex simply shook his head, dropped his bat bag to the ground and went back to the dugout. When Vince saw what Alex had in mind, he followed.

Behind him, he could hear Tamara’s protest and then Lisa’s voice beginning to rise. Tamara immediately hushed.

Jake Ramsey, Sherman’s sheriff, already had his softball gear packed and was ready to head toward his vehicle. He looked happy to see Alex—no doubt, anyone who could hit a triple during overtime had the sheriff’s approval—but he didn’t look as happy to see Vince.

No surprise there.

Vince and the sheriff were well acquainted thanks to the run-ins with the law of Vince’s uncle, dad and brothers. Okay, Vince hadn’t been completely immune to getting into trouble. He just happened to be the Frenci who learned from his mistakes.

“Tell the sheriff everything,” Alex ordered.

“I think the sheriff already knows everything,” Vince said. “Tamara was at the police station this morning. But that doesn’t mean he’s doing everything he can.”

“What do you think I should be doing, Vince?” Jake asked.

“More.”

“You’re right,” Jake said. “There is more I should be doing. Questioning you, for one. You arrived at the scene rather conveniently.”

“I got off work at five. The church is right on my way home. Plus, you know I work there.”

“What made you stop this time?” Jake asked.

“I saw Tamara just standing there, not moving. It wasn’t that hard to tell something was wrong.”

“Never took you for being a concerned citizen.”

Jake was cop through and through. His grandfather had been sheriff, then his father and now Jake. Vince’s family helped keep Jake’s family in business. Drew had been in and out of jail his whole life. Vince’s father, pretty much the same until he disappeared. Vince’s brothers, especially his next oldest brother, Mickey, knew the facility well.

Vince had already been behind bars once. When he was sixteen, he’d been caught stealing a car. His brother Darren had actually stolen the car, but Vince was driving it when the police cruiser had pulled up behind them.

Jake’s father had been the sheriff back then.

“Because of Alex, here, I knew some of what Tamara had been going through back in Phoenix. There’s not a chance I’d just drive by if she needed help.”

“And I’m glad you stopped, but I’m not glad you’re dragging everybody into my business,” Tamara said, walking over to stand next to Vince.

“Forewarned is forearmed,” Vince started.

Alex finished for him. “This is our business, too, and—”

“And I would have informed you about what’s going on once I figured out exactly what is going on,” Tamara remarked.

“It could be a month before that happens,” Vince said snidely. “Sheriff Ramsey, with all due respect, you need…”

Tamara put her finger to her lips, and Vince hushed.

“I can tell you what the sheriff’s doing,” Tamara said. “He’s assigned deputies to drive by my apartment every hour. He’s waiting for a call back from the detective in Phoenix who handled my case. He’s advised me to move in with Lisa and Alex. I’m the one who wanted to hold off for a while. If there’s something that can be done, he’s been doing it.”

Jake looked at Vince. “For years, you’ve been taking care of the grounds at that old church. I’d think you’d know if something funny was happening around the place.”

“Nothing funny has happened except for Tamara buying it and nobody, including me, realizing it was for sale.”

Before Jake could reply, he got a call and took off at a jog toward his car. Vince followed Alex and Tamara back to the bleachers. Lisa tapped her foot impatiently.

“Well, did you find out anything?” Lisa asked.

“Just that there’s nothing yet to find out,” Tamara joked.

It was a feeble attempt, and Vince admired her all the more for making the effort.

“Spend the night at our place,” Lisa said. “If you don’t, I won’t get a wink of sleep.”

“The sheriff has a deputy driving by every hour,” Tamara told Lisa. “I’ve got about ten phone calls to make and I’m expecting about ten phone calls back.”

“Spend the night,” Alex urged. “Tomorrow morning things will look better, and maybe Lisa won’t be so stressed.”

Tamara glanced at Lisa, and finally at Vince. “Okay, it’s probably a good idea. Not that anything’s happened today. Everything happened yesterday.”

Alex, Lisa and Amy headed for their van while Vince walked Tamara across the parking lot. His truck was parked behind her car, and it would be easy to make sure she got what she needed from the apartment and then was on her way to Lisa’s place.

As they walked, he half expected her to give him grief for telling her sister about the warnings, but she was quiet. A bit too quiet.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“No, not really. I haven’t been all right since all this started. And I hate that it’s starting again—the not knowing, the people offering to help when they haven’t a clue how.”

“That would be me.”

“Yeah, in many ways, that would be you. It’s just as bad watching people who you expect to be there for you pull away.”

“That would be your ex-fiancé, Terry?”

She didn’t answer. And, in typically lawyer fashion, her nonanswer was louder than words.

He didn’t know how to respond. This wasn’t the time for small talk or jokes. When she got to the edge of the sidewalk, she stopped.

“We can cross the street now,” he said quietly after a moment. “There’s no cars.”

She didn’t move, and suddenly he remembered her stance yesterday, when she stood on the old church’s sidewalk, unmoving. She looked exactly the same.

He looked across the street at Lydia’s house. It was too dark to see the door.

But it wasn’t the door she was looking at. It was her car. The tires facing them were flat. Not just a bit low but full-out, no-longer-round flat.

“You didn’t have any flat tires when I arrived,” he growled. He took two steps into the street, thought again and turned around to take her by the hand. Together they circled her car.

All four tires were destroyed.

“This only proves,” he pointed out, “that you need to be with family, friends, until we sort this out, because somebody’s out to get you.”

“No,” she said. “Because whoever’s out to get me is willing to get whomever I’m with.”

All four of Vince’s tires were destroyed, too.

FOUR

The next morning, Vince’s brother took care of the tires. After Darren checked out the rest of the car, Tamara packed a suitcase and headed back to Phoenix. She’d been very lucky when she’d arrived in Sherman two weeks ago. She’d signed a lease on her sister’s old apartment, already furnished, and then scouted the town for a place to hang her shingle. She’d lucked into the old church because her landlord was the one selling it. Now she hoped severing her ties in Phoenix would be as easy. She needed to deal with putting her condo on the market, packing up or putting into storage her belongings, which she’d left with middle sister Sheila, and trying to find out just exactly what Massey’s new lawyer was up to.

It took two weeks for her to change the For Sale condo to a For Rent condo after realizing nothing was selling; two weeks to recognize that the belongings she’d left at her sister’s really belonged at the Goodwill since she didn’t really need anything; and two weeks to realize that while physically William Massey was behind bars, figuratively, he was still very much a presence.

During his trial, he’d acted as his own lawyer. All that did was confirm for authorities just how dangerous he was. A class-three felony and her testimony put him behind bars for two years.

And already he was filing an appeal that had potential. Thanks to a new lawyer who was all over the minute details of attorney-client privilege, two years might not happen.

The entire drive back to Sherman, she debated her next move.

Stay in Phoenix? Move to Sherman? Find a job in New York City? Surely she could get lost there?

In the end, Sherman won. She’d already started rebuilding her life, even purchased her own building. In truth, she wanted to be in Sherman. She wanted to be near her sister and soon-to-be-born nephew. She wanted a small-town practice. But more than anything she wanted to feel safe again.

If that was even possible after the warnings and dead mouse.

Sheriff Jake Ramsey had phoned her in Phoenix a half-dozen times over the past two weeks. He’d checked out her place of business and her place of residence more than once. He’d taken fingerprints, and questioned her neighbors. He figured the target of the threats was Vince, or more likely, one of Vince’s brothers. If Tamara hadn’t found the note, Vince would have found it, shrugged and tossed it. Just another day in the life of a Frenci.

Tamara knew better. Yes, Vince had a connection to the building and grounds, but she had a gut feeling that the warnings and the mouse weren’t meant for him. After all, what were the odds that someone would go looking to slash his tires, find him at Tamara’s apartment, and then think, Oh, boy, let’s slash her tires, too!

As she pulled into the parking lot of the old church, she reconsidered yet again. Maybe she should have thought a little harder, waited a little longer before making an offer on this particular building.

The roof looked sound although a rickety weathervane leaned dangerously to the left. The small parking lot to the right of the building would need to be repaved. The walkway, too. The front porch would need to be both refitted and repainted. The front door looked sturdy enough if somewhat odd with the brown wrapping paper taped over the graffiti.

At least there was no new warning sign today.

She walked around the church. The lawn looked a little overgrown. It made sense. Since Tamara had purchased the church, Vince no longer worked for or was paid by Lydia. She needed to hire a handyman—and soon.

Reaching in her purse, she pulled out a business card.

The card said, “Vincent Frenci, handyman and general repair.” She knew the phone number on the card by heart.

She was pretty sure he wasn’t at church. At least, he hadn’t been there the one Sunday she had visited with her sister.

She’d taken the card out at least three times a day, each time telling herself she wasn’t going to call him when she got back to Sherman. No, she’d hire a landscaping firm.

But she dialed his number anyway.

It was totally against her character.

Yet exactly what she’d been planning to do every day for the past two weeks.

Vince parked his truck, exited and made his way toward the porch. Tamara was sitting on the front stoop, leaning back, and looking all the world like she was comfortable. Sensibly, she’d shed her jacket, but she still looked too warm in a white button-down shirt tucked into blue creased slacks. Black heels completed the outfit.

Her eyes were closed. Vince would have given the keys to his beloved truck just to know what she was thinking, what had put the half smile on her face.

He doubted she relaxed often, especially since a stalker had made her his target.

He stopped and looked down at her, enjoying the view. “Well, Miss Jacoby, I hear you are still the proud owner of a church.”

She opened her green eyes, not looking the least bit perturbed that he’d snuck up on her.

“I’m not so easily scared off,” she said. “Nothing’s happened for two weeks.”

“You haven’t been here for things to happen,” he pointed out.

“William Massey is still in jail. The courts are looking over transcripts trying to determine if his rights were violated during the trial because of my testimony. But—” she looked over at Vince “—my ex-fiancé says there’s nothing to worry about.”

He settled down on the stoop next to her, noticing how much bigger he was than she. His legs stretched two steps farther than hers. His arms, well, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them so he simply leaned back, using them as anchors.

She didn’t move over. He liked that.

“Are you worried?”

“Of course! I’m taking this very seriously. I, more than anyone, know how out of hand a situation can get. I’m watching my back. And—” she sobered “—I don’t for a minute think any of this is aimed at you. Jake is way off.”

“Jake is way off,” Vince agreed. “I’ve gone back and forth a dozen times. I wish the warnings were aimed at me rather than you.”

“So, why do you think your tires were slashed?” Tamara asked.

“I think my tires were slashed because someone is bothered by the fact I’m near you,” Vince said simply.

“That’s silly.”

He didn’t answer, just looked at her, until she nodded. “This means that anyone near me is in danger. Exactly what I worried about and why I don’t want to stay with my sister and her husband right now. And maybe why I made a mistake coming back here. Yet, here I am. It’s a crazy world.”

“How crazy is it?” Vince asked. Maybe if he knew just what had happened, what the papers hadn’t reported, and what Tamara had really gone through, then maybe what was happening now would make sense since it involved him. “Tell me about Massey.”

Tamara blanched. For a moment, he thought she’d walk away and leave him sitting there. Finally, she softly asked, “How much do you know?”

“I know that your firm was representing him and that he took a liking to you. I know he sent you love letters and followed you. I know he broke into your apartment and you managed to fight him off.”

She no longer looked relaxed. She looked rigid, uncomfortable, and Vince almost said, Let’s do this later, but then she started talking.

“You know a lot,” she acknowledged. “Working for a top law firm really helped keep the reporters at bay. The media had to be careful with every word lest they let something slip that either put me in danger or compromised the case.”

“You mean the papers didn’t want to be sued by your firm.”

“That, too,” Tamara agreed. “Why should they be so different? Everybody, my neighbors, my coworkers, they all started being so careful around me. They talked the sympathy game, but I could tell, they were mostly grateful that what was happening to me wasn’t happening to them. However, my sisters acted with righteous indignation. Lisa, right away, wanted me to come stay with her. Sheila wanted me to fight. Both didn’t think the law acted fast enough. Terry, my fiancé, couldn’t keep his annoyance at bay. See, my stalker interfered with other cases—both mine and his—and eventually Massey interfered with social events.

“I should have trusted my gut with Massey,” Tamara said morosely. “The minute he showed up at our law firm, my skin crawled. He looked like such an ordinary guy, but it took only a minute for me to recognize that the look of detachment was fake and that he’d mastered the art of mind games. We sat in the firm’s conference room and I wrote down everything he said. Now, I look back, and I realize I was such a different person back then.”

“Why did he hire your firm in the first place?” Vince asked.

“He was accused of purposely running a mother and her daughter off the road.”

“Reckless endangerment?”

“It was almost vehicular manslaughter but the woman pulled through so her lawyer was going for aggravated assault. She’d recently filed a restraining order against Massey. Seems he’d been following her and had even approached her a couple times asking her out. When she refused he did things like grab a grocery bag out of her hand and fling it to the ground. They had a witness for that. He’d show up at the daughter’s school and pretend to be a relative sent to pick her up. The school called the police. By the time they got there, he was gone. But the girl’s teacher identified him.”

“Seems pretty cut-and-dried.”

“Yeah, but the letter of the law has to do with intent. He rammed the mother’s car but claimed his intent wasn’t to harm. Plus, the mother was driving on a suspended license. She’d lost hers thanks to a DUI.”

“Was she intoxicated when the accident happened?”

“No, but it was still something we would bring up in court, trying to get him either acquitted or get him a lesser sentence.”

“So, what happened with that case? Did he start stalking you right away?”

“Yes, he started stalking me right away. First it was a thank-you card and an offer to dinner. Then, it was flowers every day to the office. We released him as a client. I got a restraining order. He changed tactics quickly. The notes stopped, the flowers stopped. He painted the words You belong to me on my door,” Tamara said next.

“Red paint like here?”

“Red must be the color criminals like best.”

“No wonder you were standing so still that first day. I thought at first I’d have to pick you up, like a piece of furniture, and carry you somewhere.”

“He started calling every night at midnight and he’d play music. He had a favorite song. To this day I can’t get the first verse out of my head. It’s all about love and waiting until no one else is around.”

“Hard to believe,” Vince said.

“Massey broke into my condo the night Terry and I broke up. I was upset, and for the first time in months, I let my guard down. I was too busy crying to look over my shoulder.”

“He followed you inside?”

“To this day, I don’t know. I’d been home for maybe an hour. I went to bed, but I wasn’t asleep. Then, he was there. When I hit him with the flashlight I’d been keeping by the bed, it sliced into his forehead. The blood gushed so quickly I had time to push him away from me and run from the apartment to my next-door neighbors. He left blood on my bedsheets. It was enough to seal his fate.”

“Some people belong in jail. Which is where Massey is,” Vince reminded her. “Somebody else is pulling our chains now. My gut feeling is that it’s this building you need to stay away from. There has to be some reason why Lydia left it to rot. You should get rid of it and find somewhere else for your office.”

She blinked, and he could see that the idea that the church was the catalyst hadn’t occurred to her. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t give up that easy, which meant he needed to stick around a while. Since she wasn’t going to agree with his suggestion, he made another. “So, I take it instead of letting it rot, you’re going to hire me on to help renovate.”

“Why make some other handyman a target when you already fit the bill?”

He liked that, even with all that was going on, she still had a sharp tongue. Working with her and for her would never be dull.

FIVE

On Monday, after several hours of cleaning trash away from the church’s main room, Tamara heard a noise. It sounded like a creak that accompanied a footfall. She silently straightened and slowly turned, wishing her back wasn’t to the front door. Her purse, with the mace inside, was in the attic on top of the desk.

Did she have time to run and get it?

“Hello,” a woman called loudly. Then seeing that Tamara was right in the main room, she grinned. “Oops, didn’t see you there.”

The woman at the door definitely didn’t look dangerous. She looked friendly and welcoming.

“I’m Angela. I own the bookstore next door. I was wondering if you’d like to go across the street for lunch. Since we’re about to be neighbors and fellow businesswomen, I thought we should maybe get to know each other.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m covered with dust and look a mess.”

“Oh, that doesn’t make any difference. Tali and Sharon have been watching you all morning. They want to meet you, too. This is a great street. Most of the merchants work together. Sharon has my business cards on a table in her restaurant lobby. I send people over there to eat. Never thought this old church would ever stop being vacant. So, you’re a lawyer? You don’t look like a lawyer.”

Tamara had to laugh. Usually, people didn’t have any trouble believing her vocation. “I’m a lawyer. Right now I just happen to be a lawyer masquerading as a handyman. I’m opening up my own practice.”

“Well, I admire any lawyer willing to get her hands dirty. Come have lunch. My treat.”

“But I’m covered with—”

“It’s after one, the lunch rush is over. There are probably only ten people at the restaurant.”

There were twelve, but that was counting Tali and Sharon Rasmussen, who joined Angela and Tamara the moment they were seated.

Tali was a big, black man who didn’t fit the persona of who Tamara imagined would be the owner of an Italian restaurant. He towered over his wife, who was short, curly haired and animated.

Actually, they both were animated and—Angela was right—they were both eager to meet her.

“We’re glad somebody’s doing something with the property,” Tali said. “It’s been neglected for so long.”

“Not neglected,” his wife said. “Lonely. Vincent keeps up the grounds and such, so it hasn’t hurt property values, but talk about a waste of space.”

“So what are you planning to do with the building?” Tali asked.

She started to answer, but before she could, he continued, “We’ve seen you with Vincent. Are you planning to hire him? We can recommend him. He works for Konrad Construction during the week. They remodeled our house.”

“And Vincent hired on afterward and put up a shed for us,” Sharon added.

Tali pooh-poohed, “That took all of an hour. I could have done it had you given me time.”

“I gave you time,” Sharon disagreed. “We had the building materials for over a year.”

“Tell them what you’re going to do with the old church,” Angela interrupted.

“Open my own law practice,” Tamara said easily.

Tali leaned back. “Ah…then, we heard right.”

Before he could say anything else, the waitress came, orders were given, and Sharon took over the conversation before her husband could.

“We were saying that a lawyer is just what Vince needs.”

“Sharon,” Angela warned.

“What? You think Tamara isn’t going to find out about—”

“I already know Vince,” Tamara said. “He’s best friends with my sister’s husband.”

Angela nodded. “That’s why you looked familiar. I can’t believe I didn’t see the likeness earlier. I knew I’d seen the red hair before. You’re Lisa’s sister.”

“Big sister.” Tamara turned to Sharon and asked, “What about Vince needing a lawyer?”

“Not Vince,” Sharon said. “His family. Mainly Vince’s brothers and definitely his uncle Drew.”

Tamara took a drink of her iced tea. “Vince hasn’t mentioned them.”

Of course Vince hadn’t mentioned his family. A year ago, during the wedding, their focus had been on Lisa and Alex. Two weeks ago, when Vince came to Tamara’s rescue, it had all been about Tamara. Yesterday, on the porch, it had been all about Tamara again.

“So,” she encouraged, “Vince has an interesting family?”

They all nodded their heads.

“He has an active family,” Tali said.

“Not like they used to be,” Angela said. “Vince and Darren both are decent sorts. Vince built the bookcases for my store. Darren works on my car, and he doesn’t charge an arm and a leg.”

“How big is Vince’s family?” Tamara asked.

“Not that big,” Angela said. “Vince’s mom, his brothers and then there’s Drew, who’s past eighty.”

“Drew’s pretty much a recluse now,” Sharon said. “Last time I saw him, he was shaking so bad I thought he’d need help getting into that old truck of his. Not that anyone would necessarily feel brave enough to help him.”

“I’m glad I didn’t see that,” Tali said. “Someone like that shouldn’t be behind the wheel.”

Sharon turned to Tamara. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard Drew’s name. He’s the one who scares people. I told Jake about Drew because last time I saw him, when he was shaking so badly, was right in front of the old church.”

“When?” Tamara asked.

“The day you found the sign painted on the door.”

Now Tamara saw why she’d been invited to lunch. It wasn’t that they wanted to get to know her, but that they wanted to get to know more about what was going on.

“He was in front of the church,” Sharon continued. “Tali and I were opening up the restaurant.”

“Jake didn’t mention him.” Tamara felt a bit flushed. Maybe Vince had more than his job connecting him to the old church. “Is Drew tall?”

“Yes. All the Frencis are tall. But if you’re thinking he painted the words, not possible. Drew shakes too much. I think he has Parkinson’s. If he painted the words, you’d not be able to read them.”

“Was he the only one you saw?” Tamara inquired.

“That early in the morning, yes. Later on, I saw a few people who parked in your lot. Some folks still park in the old church’s parking lot if the street gets crowded and Friday is one of the busiest days here at the restaurant.”

“Kids play ball there in the lot. Skateboard, too,” Angela added.

“Did Drew say anything to you or anybody?” Tamara asked.

“Drew doesn’t talk to people—he snarls,” Angela said. “It wasn’t the first time he’s stopped at the old building. These past few weeks, he drives by often. I told the sheriff.”

“Define often,” Tamara urged.

“He started driving by near the end of April. I remember because I was putting Easter decorations up and saw him. I maybe saw him once or twice a month. This month, he’s driving by about every morning. Sometimes he stops.”

Tamara now had a few questions to ask Vince, number one being why he hadn’t mentioned his uncle’s presence on her property that day two weeks ago.

“Well,” Tali said. “Enough speculation. We’re glad you bought the property, although I wished I’d known it was for sale. I didn’t even know until recently that Lydia Griffin owned the place. Her name wasn’t the one on the deed.”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

Yes, Tamara thought, how do you know that? Although she didn’t say it out loud, Tamara knew for a fact that she’d seen Lydia’s name on much of the paperwork. Billy’s name, though, had been on the purchase agreement and most of the other documents.

“We looked at it before we rented this place. We were thinking more a combination breakfast/lunch kind of place where we could maybe sell a few antiques. We also thought it would be a good idea to own our place of business instead of rent. We tried to make an offer—I mean, the building’s just been left there to rot—but while we could find an address for the owner, a P.O. box in Colorado, no one responded to our inquiry.”

“Do you remember who you wrote to?” Tamara asked.

Tali shook his head, but Sharon looked thoughtful. “I remember it wasn’t Lydia. It was some sort of trust or corporation.”

Vince took off work early. It wasn’t that much of a hardship. He’d spent all morning at the hospital where he’d been running conduit. Then, during the afternoon, he’d started cutting out holes for electrical outlets. Just before two, Gloria Baker, the head nurse who pretty much ruled the hospital, came in, pursed her lips and then took off.

His boss, John Konrad, showed up a few minutes later. It seemed the outlets were not where the nurse wanted them. Although they were where the blueprints said they should be, it looked like the nurse outranked the project manager.

An hour of work wasted, and now tomorrow he’d be not only cutting more electrical socket holes but filling in old ones.

He clocked out in pretend disgust.

Actually, disgust had nothing to do with it. He’d been looking for an excuse to leave since noon. He wanted to check on Tamara.

Her car looked forlorn in the old church’s parking lot. He parked next to it and started walking toward the front door. A mountain of garbage bags was behind the church. The front porch was swept and a new blanket already covered the bench. Vince wasn’t surprised. He’d doubted Tamara knew how to take it easy. He tried to open the front door and found it was locked. He knocked.

No one answered.

Taking out his key—the one Lydia had given him to use only in case of an emergency—he let himself in while calling Tamara’s name.

Still, no one answered.

The dust in the room wasn’t quite as bad as the last time he’d been inside. Already much of the loose paper and junk had been carted from the main room. All that remained were the broken pews and some shattered glass in a corner.

He cleaned it up; he didn’t want her to cut herself.

Afterward he continued looking for her, but she wasn’t anywhere inside the church. Dread, tangible and spreading, washed down the back of Vince’s neck. Opening his wallet, he found Tamara’s cell phone number and dialed.

She answered on the first ring. He didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Where are you?”

“I’m eating lunch at Yano’s.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Good, the ravioli’s wonderful.”

It sounded as if she was chewing while she was talking. Good. Last year, when they’d walked down the aisle during Lisa’s wedding, she’d been curves and power. Now, since her ordeal with the stalker, she was thin, too thin. Maybe with a bit of meat on her bones, she’d get some of the power back.

He missed it.

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