Death on a Deadline

y’all?”
    “Sure,” Alex answered quickly.
    “What’s a Mulligan?” I asked, convinced that Alex didn’t know what it was either, but in the tradition of men everywhere refused to admit his ignorance.
    “Yeah, because if it’s a sandwich, especially a breakfast one, that sounds good.” Carly glared in the direction of her missing ball.
    Elliott laughed and so did Alex, so maybe he did know what it was.
    “A Mulligan is a do-over. When you’re playing with friends, you can get a chance to do it over if everyone agrees.” Elliott grinned at Carly.
    “A sandwich would be better. But she can definitely do it over.” I smiled. Elliott was being a remarkably good sport. The least I could do was try to be one, too. I could always move him up on the suspect list later if I needed to.
    Carly’s inexperience balanced Elliott’s professional status, plus after his initial burst of irritation he was holding back a little, so by the eighth hole, we were about even.
    “What’s the par on this one?” I asked, adjusting my royal blue cap and scoping out the shot.
    “Three.” Alex smiled.
    “Sounds like the perfect place for me to make a birdie.”
    “You dream big, don’t you?”
    “Nothing wrong with that, is there?” I swung with all my might and the ball flew for a good distance, then dropped to the ground, just short of the green.
    “ Ohh, no!” Carly stamped her foot.
    “Who’s your partner, me or her?” Elliott asked her, laughing. Then he turned to me. “Don’t worry about it, you’re still doing great.”
    “Easy for you to say.” I grinned, hoping he would accept it as an apology for earlier. “But thanks.”
    “No problem.”
    A few minutes later, on the way to the next hole, Alex slowed to a stop and looked over at me. Carly and Elliott’s cart disappeared over the hill and no one else was in sight.
    I’d been thinking about who killed Hank, but Alex’s intense gaze sent the mystery fleeing from my mind. “What?”
    “You still pouting about missing that birdie?”
    “Nah. It wasn’t even close.” I shivered. Not nearly as close as his face to mine.
    “People don’t always get it right on the first try, water girl.” Alex leaned a little closer, and I was pretty sure we weren’t talking about golf anymore. “Sometimes things worth having are worth a second shot, don’t you agree?” he whispered.
    My heart pounded in my throat, and I nodded.
    He sat back in his seat. “Good.” He pushed the pedal and buzzed along merrily to the last hole, keeping his attention on the path.
    Forget murder. My heart may not survive another shot with Alex Campbell.

Eight

    “You know the first few weeks Alex was back in town, I didn’t see him at all, but now, everywhere I go, there he is.” The alley seemed to grow darker and more menacing as I fumbled with the key to the back door of the newspaper office.
    Carly followed my gaze to the right. “Church on Sunday and the diner last night. That’s not really everywhere you go. You didn’t see him at work today. . . .” Her voice, already distracted, drifted off.
    I froze with the key in the lock. “Is that something moving?”
    Carly clutched my arm, and we peered into the narrow alley alongside the red-brick building. A long line of tall evergreen shrubs shielded the dark thoroughfare from the park. I looked behind us at the guard light shining down on my car in the paved lot adjoining Main Street Park, mentally measuring the distance. Maybe we should make a break for it.
    A calico cat darted out of the alley, followed closely by a gray tabby. They disappeared into the park. I let out my breath, and Carly released my arm with a nervous giggle.
    “Whew, we have to get a grip,” Carly whispered as I turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door.
    “Yeah, I’d planned on not turning on many lights, but I think we need a new plan.” I flipped on the light switches and lit up the back half of the building. From the road, a passerby wouldn’t be able to see these lights, but it was enough illumination to shove away the last of the creepy feeling we’d had.
    Five minutes later, we found the Dear Pru file exactly where Marge told me it would be, in Hank’s office. We sat down, one on each side of the desk, and I spread the letters out in front of us.
    I picked up one out of last month’s archives and began to read aloud. “ ‘Dear Pru, I get no respect around here. What do you think I should do?’ Signed,