Dead By Midnight Read online

  This letter was identical to the first one she had received a month ago. The original letter had worried her, but she’d been in the midst of preparing for Cathy’s bridal showers and upcoming wedding. She had decided it was nothing more than a crank letter from some nut who had nothing better to do with his time. After all, why would anyone want to kill her? It wasn’t as if she was rich or famous. And as far as she knew she didn’t have any enemies who would go so far as to threaten to kill her.

  But here it was—a second letter. A second death threat. Could she simply ignore this one and toss it in the trash as she had the first one?

  One really could have been a silly prank.

  But two could mean that someone out there wanted, at the very least, to frighten her.

  Or did they actually want to kill her?

  Mike Birkett poured cereal into three bowls, added milk and blueberries, and set the bowls on the table. His nine-year-old daughter, Hannah, picked up her spoon and dug in while his eleven-year-old son, M.J., curled up his nose as he eyed the berries with disdain.

  “Do I have to eat those?” M.J. asked, a slight whine in his voice.

  “Yeah,” Mike told him. “At least some of them. Okay? Blueberries are good for you.”

  “Who says?”

  “I’ll bet it was Ms. Sherman,” Hannah said. “I’ve heard her talking about what she eats—stuff like protein shakes and tofu and soy milk and all kinds of yucky things like that.”

  “Figures,” M.J. mumbled under his breath.

  Mike knew that neither of his children especially liked Abby Sherman, the woman he’d been dating the past few months. And he really didn’t understand why. Abby had gone out of her way to try to make the kids like her, and she’d been very understanding when they had been rude to her on more than one occasion. What really puzzled him about their attitude was the fact that Abby actually reminded him of his late wife, Molly. It was one of the reasons he’d thought the kids would automatically accept her. Abby had the same cute look that Molly had, with her blue eyes and strawberry-blond hair. She was slender, athletic, and wholesome.

  Abby was the sort of person he needed in his life, the type of woman who would make a good wife and mother.

  Mike hurriedly wolfed down his cereal and forced himself to eat the blueberries he’d sprinkled on top. When he finished the last bite, he took a sip of his third cup of coffee and found it lukewarm.

  “You two hurry up,” he told his children. “Sunday school starts in less than an hour. If we’re late again this Sunday, Grams will give us all a good scolding.”

  Since Molly’s death nearly four years ago, his mother had stepped in and helped him. He didn’t know what he would have done without her. His kids lived with him and he usually managed to get them off to school every morning. But his mother picked them up in the afternoons and looked after them until he came home from work. And whenever his duties as the county sheriff called him away at odd hours, all he had to do was phone his mom. She’d been a lifesaver.

  After being up late last night, dancing at his best friend’s wedding, he would have liked nothing better than to have slept in this morning and let his mom pick the kids up for Sunday school. But as a single parent, he always tried to set a good example for his son and daughter, going so far as to eat blueberries.

  Mike dumped the remainder of his cool coffee into the sink, rinsed out the cup, and left it in the sink along with his bowl and spoon. Glancing out the window, he groaned quietly. He wished the rain had held off for another day. Not only did they have Sunday school and church services this morning, but they were taking Abby out to lunch and then to an afternoon matinee in Decatur.

  “I ate all the cereal and some of the blueberries,” M.J. said as he dumped a few drops of leftover milk and three-fourths of the blueberries into the garbage.

  Mike nodded and smiled. Whenever he looked at his son, he saw Molly. He had her red-blond hair, blue eyes, and freckles. Hannah, on the other hand, resembled him. Same wide mouth, square jaw, dark hair, and blue eyes. But Hannah had Molly’s sweet, easygoing disposition and his son definitely showed the potential to be the hell-raiser Mike had been as a teenager.

  When Hannah placed her empty bowl in the sink, she looked at Mike and asked, “May I wear the dress I wore to Jack and Cathy’s wedding to church this morning?”

  “It’s a little fancy for church, isn’t it?” Mike knew little to nothing about young girls’ clothes, but the floor-length green dress his mother had chosen for her to wear to the wedding wasn’t something he thought appropriate for Sunday school.

  “I like it a lot, Daddy. It’s so pretty. It’s the same color as Miss Lorie’s maid of honor dress.”

  Mike groaned again. Lorie Hammonds was the last woman on earth he wanted his daughter to emulate.

  “Wear that little blue dress with the white collar,” Mike told Hannah.

  “I wore that last Sunday.”

  “Then pick out something else. But you cannot wear the green dress you wore to the wedding.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  “Go on now. Brush your teeth and get dressed.” Mike tapped the face of his wristwatch. “I want you two ready to go in twenty minutes. You can recite your Bible verses to me on the way there.”

  Mike left the kitchen as it was. He could load the dishwasher and wipe off the table and countertops later. He needed a quick shower and a shave.

  As he walked through the house, heading for his bathroom, he tried his damnedest not to think about Lorie. He had spent more time with her this past week than he had in all the years since she returned to Dunmore. Usually, he avoided her like the plague. But they had been thrown together constantly the past few days because he had been Jack’s best man and she had been Cathy’s maid of honor. Now that the wedding was over, there was no reason for him to see her again, which suited him just fine.

  Mike turned on the shower, stripped out of his pajama bottoms and T-shirt, and stepped under the warm water. Okay, so he had a hard-on just thinking about Lorie. So what? She was a beautiful, desirable woman and he was a normal guy whose body reacted in a normal way when he thought about someone he found attractive. Lorie was extremely desirable, but she was all wrong for him and his kids. Thoughts of Abby Sherman might not cause an instant arousal, but Abby was a lady, someone he could be proud of, someone suitable as a stepmother for his children.

  Lorie Hammonds was a slut!

  The weather fit her mood to perfection. Dark, dreary, and dismal. Maleah Perdue stood at the kitchen window and watched the morning rainfall, the heavy downpour veiling the backyard in a watery mist. She had spent her first night alone in her childhood home, the place that held many happy memories from the first seven years of her life. And a place that inspired nightmares if she allowed herself to think of the other eleven years she had lived here. Eleven years under the tyrannical rule of her cruel, abusive stepfather.

  Shaking her head slightly to dislodge the unpleasant memories, she turned away from the window and picked up her coffee mug from the counter. She wasn’t a breakfast eater. A piece of fruit or a glass of juice usually held her until midday, but she couldn’t make it without at least half a pot of coffee. She was addicted to caffeine.

  Carrying the half-full mug with her as she wandered leisurely from the kitchen to the small den at the back of the house, she wondered if the newlyweds had arrived in the Bahamas yet. Her older brother, Jack, and his bride, Cathy, had gotten married yesterday. She had been a bridesmaid.

  Maleah groaned. God, she hated weddings. But she loved Jack and thought the world of Cathy, so she had agreed to be in the wedding party. The idea of a happy marriage was an alien concept to her. Jack remembered her parents being happy, back when the four of them had been your normal, average American family. But she’d been in the first grade when her father had died in a car accident and her memories of him were at best sketchy. What she remembered was her mother’s marriage to Nolan Reaves.

  By the time she w
as old enough to date, she had known that she would never get married. She would never be able to trust a man enough to pledge until death do us part.

  When she sat down and curled up on the lush leather sofa, one hand holding her mug, she reached out for the TV remote. She surfed through the channels until she found a local station’s early morning news program. Keeping the sound muted, she lifted the mug to her lips and sipped on the strong, sweet coffee. Black, heavy on the sugar, or rather the sugar substitute. A girl had to watch her figure, and in Maleah’s case, being only five-four and curvy, keeping trim was a constant battle. Just as she settled back and relaxed, her phone rang. When she’d come downstairs half an hour ago, she had slipped her phone into the pocket of her cotton knit sweater. Four years as an agent for the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency, based in Knoxville, had taught her to never be without her iPhone.

  Checking caller ID, she smiled and placed her mug atop a coaster on the end table. “Morning,” she said. “What’s up?”

  Nicole Powell, Maleah’s boss and close friend, laughed. It was good to hear Nic laughing again. She’d had a rough year. For a while, Maleah had wondered if Nic and Griff’s marriage could survive, but recently they seemed to have worked through their problems. And even though Maleah knew that Griff still kept secrets from Nic, it wasn’t her place to interfere in her best friend’s marriage.

  “I wanted to let you know that Griff and I are going away for a week, just the two of us. Sort of a second honeymoon. And I have no idea where we’re going. Griff’s keeping it top secret to surprise me.”

  What is it suddenly with all these honeymoons?

  Only two honeymoons, she reminded herself. Just because you’re allergic to marriage and all the trimmings doesn’t mean other people don’t have the right to take a chance on happily ever after.

  “That’s great. It sounds so romantic.”

  “If for any reason you need something while I’m gone, you’ll have to go through Sanders,” Nic said. “Naturally, Griff’s leaving him in charge.”

  “I can’t imagine why I’d need anything Powell Agency related. I’m on vacation. Well, sort of. House-sitting and keeping tabs on my nephew, even though Seth is actually staying with his grandparents, isn’t exactly a vacation.”

  “How’s that going—staying in your childhood home?”

  “The old home place isn’t the same. Jack and Cathy completely renovated and updated the whole house. Except for the bare bones, the interior is like an entirely different house. And they had the exterior painted in colors true to the time period, very similar to the way this old Victorian looked when it was built.”

  “So staying there isn’t reviving bad memories?” Nic asked.

  “A few, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Good.” Nic paused, then said, “Think positive thoughts for me—for us—will you? Griff and I love each other and our marriage is important to us, but we realize we have some fundamental problems. We’re hoping we can work through a lot of things while we’re away.”

  “Good luck. And I’ll send tons of positive thoughts your way.”

  “Thanks. Talk to you when I get back. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Maleah slipped her iPhone into her sweater pocket.

  She truly wished Nic and Griff the best. In the beginning of their marriage, they had seemed happy, seemed perfect for each other. Maleah would have laid odds that if any couple had a chance to make it work, Nic and Griff did.

  Maleah had never been tempted to marry, even though she had received two proposals. As soon as a guy got serious, she broke it off and ran in the opposite direction. Both of her former serious relationships had been with wonderful men, either a real catch. She’d heard that Brad Douglas was now married and had twin daughters. She and Brad had enjoyed a two-year relationship and had even lived together for a while.

  Back in college, she had lost her virginity to Noah Laborde. She had been in love for the first time. Noah had been handsome, intelligent, and every girl’s dream come true. A week after graduation, he had popped the question. She had taken one look at the diamond solitaire he held in his hand and had broken out in a cold sweat. He’d been ready for marriage. She hadn’t been, never would be. Less than a year later, a mutual friend had called to tell her that Noah was dead. Murdered. Even now, after ten years, it broke her heart to think that Noah never got the chance to live a full, complete life. It was so unfair. But then, she had learned at her mother’s knee that life was seldom fair.

  Lorie drove by Mike’s house three times, trying to build up enough courage to stop, ring the doorbell, and tell the county sheriff that she had received her second death threat. He would ask to see both letters. She’d tell him she threw the first one in the trash. He’d look over the second letter, all the while wondering if she had written it to herself as an excuse to draw him into her life. Damn him! Did he honestly think she was that desperate?

  And if he believed her, what would he do? Tell her to come down to the office in the morning and fill out a report? He certainly wouldn’t take a personal interest. He’d hand her problem over to one of his deputies and that would be the end of it.

  There had been a time when Mike Birkett would have gone to hell and back for her. But that had been when he had loved her, when he had thought she was going to be his wife and the mother of his children. That had been before she had gotten on a plane and flown to California to become a famous movie star. Seventeen years and a million heartbreaks ago.

  Lorie slowed her Ford Edge SUV at the stop sign, glanced down at her wristwatch—2:46 P.M.—and wondered what the hell she was going to do. Who could she turn to for help?

  Not Mike.

  And not the Dunmore police. Even if they took the threat on her life seriously, what could they actually do?

  What she needed was a private detective, someone who could find out the identity of the person who had sent her the threatening letters.

  Lorie suddenly had a lightbulb moment and knew exactly who she could go to for help.

  Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the driveway at 121 West Fourth Street, parked her SUV, got out, and walked up and onto the front porch. She rang the doorbell and waited.

  Maleah Perdue, Jack’s younger, all-American, blond sister, opened the door and smiled. “Hi there. What brings you out on a day like this that’s not fit for anybody or anything, except maybe ducks?”

  “Are you busy?” Lorie asked. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “You’re interrupting my game of solitaire on my laptop.” Maleah laughed.

  Lorie forced a tight smile. “I…uh…have a problem that I was hoping you could help me with.”

  “Well, come on in and tell me about it,” Maleah said.

  Lorie entered the large two-story foyer.

  “Come on back in the den.”

  Lorie followed her best friend’s sister-in-law. When they reached the small, cozy room, Maleah asked, “Want some hot tea or coffee?”

  “No, thanks. Nothing for me.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Lorie nodded, but didn’t sit down. “I want to hire you. I don’t know how much you charge, but I need a professional.”

  Maleah stared at Lorie, then asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “I received a death threat in a letter about a month ago. I convinced myself that it was just a prank and threw the letter away and almost forgot about it. But I received a second letter identical to the first. It arrived in yesterday’s mail, but I didn’t open the mail until today.”

  “Did you bring the letter with you?”

  Lorie dug in her purse, pulled out the envelope, and handed it to Maleah.

  “Do you think you could get any fingerprints off the envelope or letter?” Lorie asked.

  “Yeah, yours, the mail carrier’s, and anybody else who might have touched it. But my guess is whoever wrote it made sure he or she didn’t leave any prints.”

  Maleah removed the lette
r from the envelope and read it aloud. “Do you know anyone who might want to kill you?”

  “No. No one.”

  “Does anything in the letter ring a bell? Any of the phrases sound familiar?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any idea what he—or maybe she—means by ‘midnight is coming’?”

  “No, not really,” Lorie said. “Do you think this is for real, that someone is actually threatening to kill me?”

  “I don’t know, but you’d be a fool to ignore a second letter,” Maleah told her. “I’m glad you’ve come to me. We’ll get in touch with Mike Birkett and—”

  “No!” When Maleah looked at her quizzically, Lorie explained. “I could have gone to Mike, but I didn’t. He’s not going to take this seriously. As you know, we…uh…we share some ancient history. I don’t want to involve local law enforcement, especially not Mike. Not yet. Not until we know for sure that this is for real.”

  “Want my opinion?”

  Lorie nodded.

  “It’s for real.”

  “Then you think somebody wants to kill me?”

  “Possibly. At the very least, somebody wants to scare the shit out of you.”

  Had they all received the most recent letter? He could have mailed them from anywhere, but it seemed only appropriate for the letters to have a Memphis postmark, so he’d made a quick one-day trip back to Memphis. In the future, he’d mail the letters before leaving town. He liked to imagine each person’s reaction when they opened the envelope, how they must have prayed that it wasn’t another dire warning.

  Smiling, he ran the tips of his fingers over his closed laptop where the letter was stored. There would be no need to write a new message each time after this, not when the original said it all so perfectly.

  He could only surmise that each of them was puzzled by the letter, wondering who had sent it and why. Stupid fools!

  Sooner or later, somebody, probably a smart FBI agent, would figure it out, but by then it would be too late. They would all be dead, the guilty punished, and a cruel, ugly part of the past erased. And the best part was that no one would ever suspect him.