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  “I promise,” he replied. “Now, send in Mr. Wilson.”

  She nodded, then turned and wheeled down the hallway.

  Within minutes, a tall, slender man wearing a dark blue suit and a burgundy and blue striped tie stood in the open doorway. As Sanders came out from behind the desk, he inspected his visitor from the top of his gray streaked dark hair to his leather shoes. He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties and from his demeanor, Sanders would have surmised that he was a confident, successful man. Of course, the background check on Mr. Wilson had given him that information. Jared Wilson was a professor at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. He and Griffin were both alumni of the school and had known each other for years, so when he had contacted the Powell Agency, he had immediately been given an appointment with Sanders.

  “I am sorry that Griffin is unavailable,” Sanders said as he held out his hand to his visitor. “He and Nicole are on a second honeymoon. But I can assure you that I and the Powell Agency will assist you in any way possible.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sanders.” Jared exchanged a firm handshake with Sanders. “Griffin knows about my brother’s murder. He was kind enough to send flowers and he and Nicole attended the funeral.”

  “Is your brother’s murder the reason you’re here?” Sanders indicated with a sweep of his hand for the other man to sit. When Jared took one of the two chairs flanking the fireplace, Sanders took the other one.

  “Yes.” Jared rubbed his hands together. “The Sevier County sheriff’s department has no suspects, and although they say the case is still open, I think they’ve marked it off as unsolvable.”

  “I see.”

  Jared’s gaze met Sanders’s calm, cool stare. “I want to hire the Powell Agency to do a private investigation. I want to know who killed my brother and why.”

  “I am sure that Griffin is familiar with the particulars of your brother’s death, but I am not. I wish I did not have to ask you to go over the details for me, but—”

  “I’ll do whatever I need to do. Don’t be concerned about upsetting me.”

  “All I need today are the basic details,” Sanders told him. “Just enough to give me an idea of where to start. All of the agency’s resources will be utilized and I will put two of our best agents on the case immediately. You will be dealing directly with them, but you may contact me at any time with questions or complaints.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Jared said.

  “Ben Corbett and Michelle Allen are two of our best investigators. They will start tomorrow morning.”

  “Do I work out the arrangement for payments with you or a secretary or—”

  “When Griffin returns, the two of you can discuss that.” Sanders sat ramrod straight and looked squarely at Jared. “How was your brother killed? When and where? And who discovered the body?”

  Jared took a deep breath. “He was killed in January at our family’s cabin in the mountains outside of Gatlinburg. He and I were planning to spend a few days together. It was to be a reunion of sorts. We hadn’t been close, not since we were teenagers. We took different paths in life.”

  Sanders could hear the regret in the man’s voice and noted the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He would like to give comfort, but he simply did not know how. It was not in his nature. “Then you are the one who discovered his body?”

  Jared swallowed hard. “Yes. I found him.” He paused for a few seconds. “He was naked and lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He had been shot several times. I’m told the fatal bullet hit his heart.” He swallowed again. “It was the damnedest thing.”

  “What was?” Sanders asked.

  “Whoever killed him had not only stripped him naked, but they had put a mask on his face.”

  “A mask? What sort of mask?”

  “An elaborate mask, the kind you’d see at Mardi Gras or some fancy masquerade ball.”

  “I see.” Was it simply an odd coincidence that both Jared Wilson’s brother and Tagg Chambless’s wife had been shot several times, stripped naked, and adorned with a fancy mask? “Do you know if your brother had received any death threats? Had someone sent him any letters warning him that he was in danger?”

  “Not that I know of, but Dean lived in Los Angeles and we hadn’t seen each other in years. He wouldn’t have confided in me, especially not over the phone. Why do you ask?”

  Sanders shook his head. “I was curious if perhaps your brother had been threatened in any way before he was killed.”

  “I really have no idea. Is there anything else you need from me today, Mr. Sanders?”

  Sanders stood. “No, thank you, Mr. Wilson. I think I have all I need for the time being. Our agents will contact you in the morning.”

  After he saw Powell’s newest client to the door, Sanders considered the possibilities. Two similar murders did not mean they were connected. But what were the odds that the MO of two separate murderers now being investigated by Powell’s would be identical?

  He entered the diner, searched and found Lily Wong serving behind the counter, and quickly took a seat on one of the padded stools. While waiting for her to notice she had a new customer, he pulled the plastic-coated menu from the rack that also held a variety of condiments. She came over, set a glass of water in front of him, and asked if he had decided what he wanted.

  “Today’s special sounds good,” he replied and casually glanced at her.

  She smiled at him. Lily was a pretty young woman with a mass of rich dark hair neatly confined in a ponytail, large silvery blue eyes, and full, pink lips. He stared at her name tag. “And a cup of coffee, please, Lily.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll place your order and then bring your coffee.”

  He nodded and returned her pleasant smile, a smile he believed was genuine.

  I’m sorry that I have to kill your husband, Lily. But he must die, just as the others must die. I know you won’t ever understand the reason his death is necessary and I’m sorry for that, too.

  She set the filled coffee mug in front of him. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Just sugar,” he replied.

  She pointed to the small bowl that held individual packets of sugar and artificial sweeteners. A customer at the end of the counter called her name and requested more coffee.

  He watched her as she made the rounds up and down the counter, making sure every customer was well taken care of with fresh coffee, tea, cola, and water. And when she brought his plate, she laid down extra napkins beside it.

  “You seem to be very adept at your job,” he said.

  “Thank you. I try my best.”

  Before he could advance their conversation, she glanced down at her apron pocket. “Excuse me. I need to take this call.”

  Undoubtedly she kept her phone set on vibrate instead of ring while she was at work.

  She moved away from him to the end of the counter where no one was sitting, pulled her phone from her apron pocket, and said, “Hi, honey.”

  He pretended to be engrossed in the chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, and the green beans on his plate. While eating, he listened carefully to every word Lily Wong said.

  “Oh, Charlie, that’s wonderful. When do you start?” she asked. “Monday?”

  Apparently Charles Wong had found a new job.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “May we come in?” Maleah asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Chapter 5

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

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

  “You think I need a bodyguard?”

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

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

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

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

  “Who were these people?” Lorie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “He was shot several times,” Maleah said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Then you know they made several porno movies together,” Maleah said.

  “Yes, of course I know. I told you that I had a bit part in one of those movies.” Lorie glared at Mike, who lifted his gaze from the floor and glared at her.

  “When was the last time you saw either of them?” Mike asked.

  “Not since I left LA and came home to Dunmore.”

  “Heard from either of them since then?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve had no communication of any kind with either of them?” Maleah asked.

  “None.”

  “Do you know of anyone from the time y’all worked together who might have wanted to kill them?”

  “No. I have absolutely no idea why anyone would want to kill either of them or kill me. And my only connection to either of them is in the past, nearly ten years ago.”

  “I figured you’d have no idea who the killer might be,” Maleah said. “It could be something as crazy as an unbalanced fan who for some reason has decided to kill the actors from his favorite films.”