Reunited By Danger. Carol J. Post

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      Caleb approached and handed Liv a black clutch. “It was under a bush.”

      She snapped open the small bag and looked inside. “I have no idea who put this in here.”

      “Wait.” Amber held up a hand. “Maybe they can get prints.” Vince, Raymond and she had already handled their notes. But Liv, and possibly Alex, hadn’t.

      Ray frowned. “Someone knows a lot about us.”

      “You know what’s really creepy?” Vincent lowered his voice, his tone ominous. “A month ago, someone pretending to be Mona messaged me on Facebook, begging me to come here.”

      Ray’s eyes widened. “Me, too.”

      Liv nodded and Amber sighed. “I think we all received the same messages.”

      Flashes of blue and red tugged her gaze to the shaded drive, where two emergency vehicles moved toward them.

      Someone had lured them all here. Now they each had a piece of paper bearing a single line of print.

      And one of them had died tonight. Whatever had happened to Alex, the notes tied the five of them together. Monday morning, she’d ask some questions.

      First would be how did Ramona Freeborn die?

      * * *

      Caleb opened the door to the white RAV4 and watched Amber slide into the driver’s seat. “Thanks for your help tonight.”

      She gave him a tired smile. “No problem. I figured you guys could use an extra body.”

      Yeah, they could have used two or three. But he and Amber, plus the four other law enforcement personnel who’d arrived, had managed to talk to everyone and get whatever information they could. Which wasn’t much. No one had seen anyone go up or down the stairs, and no one had witnessed O’Dell fall.

      Now, at a few minutes past eleven, the remaining guests were back inside, a shocked sense of loss overshadowing their earlier revelry. The body had been removed, but Crime Scene was still there, combing the area for evidence.

      And he was officially on the clock. After four years with Levy County, he’d finally made his goal of being assigned to the Criminal Investigations Division. But being the low guy on the totem pole, he was stuck with the night shift. He was getting used to it. Strong coffee helped.

      He pulled a pen and pad from his shirt pocket. He’d retrieved both from his glove box earlier. “I can reach you through Cedar Key, but how about giving me your cell number?” When he’d finished jotting it down, he scrawled his own number and tore the sheet from the pad. “Call me with any updates.”

      “I will. Please keep me in the loop.”

      “You’re there whether you want to be or not. Though you and Ramona didn’t keep in touch with the old gang, you were all pretty tight in high school. These notes tie you together again. Five of you, anyway.”

      She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. The soft glow of the parking lot light illuminated the concern in her eyes. She fastened the seat belt across her lap before tugging loose the blond locks trapped by the shoulder harness. Her dress rested a few inches above her knees, the fabric a shade his designer sister would call teal. Both the hem and the neckline were more modest than ninety percent of the attire he’d seen tonight. At least on the women. She apparently wasn’t trying to draw male attention.

      She’d gotten it, anyway, until she’d escaped to an empty table at the back of the room. She’d been pretty as long as he’d known her. In high school, he hadn’t been interested. He’d stayed away from girls who were bad news. And Amber Kingston had been bad news in capital letters.

      Now she was an upstanding citizen. But he still wasn’t interested, for entirely different reasons.

      “Be careful driving home.” He stepped aside and closed her door.

      As she moved away, her taillights disappeared into the trees lining the curved drive. A minute later he was in his vehicle, following the same path. He was a little overdressed in his suit, but his plans to cut out around ten and go home to change clothes hadn’t materialized. Shedding the jacket would help.

      He turned onto US 27 and released a sigh. It’d be easy to chalk up tonight’s death to another drunk being careless. They didn’t have O’Dell’s blood alcohol levels yet, but according to several people, the guy hadn’t taken it easy on the booze. People did stupid stuff when drunk. Things like sitting on balcony railings, tempting fate. Except based on the way O’Dell landed, he’d been facing outward when he began his plunge. Had he leaned too far over the railing and lost his balance?

      But that didn’t explain what he was doing up there to begin with. Everyone’s testimony backed up what he remembered—O’Dell was gregarious and loud, not the type to seek out solitude. Which meant someone was lying about not being with him.

      That wasn’t all that was fishy. He didn’t know about Alex, but the other former comrades in crime had all received Facebook messages from someone posing as Ramona, claiming to have cancer. Was that what had killed the real Ramona or had it been something more sinister?

      By the time he reached the sheriff’s office in Bronson fifteen minutes later, he’d come up with a dozen questions and zero answers. On his way to his office, he poked his head into a doorway.

      “Learn anything yet?”

      Detective Frank Mason shifted his gaze from the computer screen. “Alex O’Dell apparently kept his nose clean. Nothing on his record but a couple of speeding tickets. He’s worked for Zanardi Construction since 2012. In the morning, we’ll talk to his neighbors, friends and family members to see if he had any enemies.”

      “Have you checked out Ramona Freeborn yet?”

      “Haven’t had a chance.” The desk chair squeaked as Mason shifted position. Built like a linebacker, his girth filled it. No one would mess with Frank Mason, even without the pistol at his side.

      Caleb rested his palm on the doorjamb. “I’ll see what I can find.”

      He moved down the hall toward his office. Amber had given him a middle name and date of birth. According to the fake Facebook profile, Ramona lived in Fort Lauderdale. That at least gave him a starting point.

      He slid into the swivel chair and removed the notepad from his pocket. While waiting for his computer to boot up, he skimmed his notes, pausing to reread one line.

      “The day is sunny and skies are blue.” The words were from the paper Crime Scene had retrieved from Olivia Chamberlain’s purse. If that was meant to describe Liv, the meaning was pretty obscure. Maybe she was naturally a cheerful person. He hadn’t seen it tonight.

      The message found near Alex made more sense. Sort of. “The kids all adore you, their referee.” Alex was a coach, not a referee. Whoever had written it may have not known the difference.

      He jumped to Vincent Mahoney’s line before flipping the page back. “The day is sunny and skies are blue. All of life’s pleasures surround you.” Did the five lines form a poem?

      He grabbed a legal pad and scrawled what he’d read. Two other lines СКАЧАТЬ