Death on a Deadline

the envelope bearing my name and put it beside the letter.
    He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Did you ever think about doing what it says?”
    “I get a threatening letter with a killer on the loose and you think this is an appropriate time to chide me about minding my own business?” My voice squeaked and I took a deep breath.
    “No, I’m going to investigate it, but in the meantime I think it’s real good advice.”
    “You’re going to investigate it?” I asked, trying not to screech. “The same way you’ve been investigating Hank’s murder. I’ve tried to tell you—”
    He jumped to his feet. “Tried to tell me? Tried to tell me that the mayor is the murderer, or wait.” He put his hand on one hip and tapped his lips with his finger in an exaggerated feminine motion. “Is it the golf pro? No, no, that’s not right. It’s the local pharmacist.”
    “Well, maybe if you listened once in awhile instead of making fun of me. . .”
    He yanked up the letter he’d been so careful not to touch a minute before. “Did you do this?”
    “What?” Could he be saying what it sounded like?
    “Did you make up this letter to throw me off Zac’s trail?”
    “Did you kill Hank Templeton?” I knew he didn’t, but it was no more ridiculous than his accusation of me. Fury rolled like a ball in my stomach.
    “Get out.” He pointed his finger to the door. “Jenna Stafford, I love you like a sister, but you’ve crossed the line from annoying to downright interfering with my investigation. I wouldn’t believe you if you had a taped confession!” The vein in his neck was bulging again.
    “But I—”
    “The boy that cried wolf.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “That’s what you remind me of—the boy that cried wolf.” He hitched up his pants by the belt loop. “So don’t come crying to me anymore.”
    I spun on my heel and left without a word, hoping to get out before he saw the tears streaming down my cheeks. Being unjustly accused always made me cry.
    John needn’t worry.
    I would never call on Lake View’s finest again.

Fourteen

    Carly and Zac were waiting in her van when I pulled into my driveway. I didn’t for one second think someone was in my house, but it was ironic to see my nephew motion Carly and me to get behind him as he led the way with a baseball bat clutched in his hands. How quickly boys go from being the protected to being the protector.
    As soon as Zac opened the door, Mr. Persi bounded toward us, wagging all over. Neuro hung back, in that way cats have, but I could tell she wasn’t agitated. “ It’s all clear,” I assured my nephew and took the Louisville Slugger from his hands. “Thanks.”
    “Cool dog.” Zac scratched the dog behind his ears. “Aren’t you, buddy?”
    The golden retriever grunted.
    “He agrees with you,” Carly said.
    I looked at the house—exactly as it was when I’d left them that morning. “I do, too.” I patted Mr. Persi and scooped up Neuro. “Wanna take him out back, Zac?”
    “Sure.”
    After they went out, Carly looked up at me. “You goin’ to be okay?”
    “I guess. Nothing a cup of hot chocolate won’t cure, maybe.” We sat at my bar and sipped our cocoa while I told her about m y visit to the police station.
    “I’m goin’ over there and give him a piece of my mind.” Carly’s knuckles were white as she gripped my Krispy Kreme mug handle.
    “You can’t. That would only make things worse for Zac.” We both watched out the kitchen window as the golden dog jumped to catch the Frisbee. Zac threw back his head and laughed.
    Carly’s eyes glistened with tears. “It’s not fair.”
    I reached over and took her hand. “We both learned that a long time ago, Car. C’mon, who needs the police? With God’s help, we can do it.”
    “I guess you’re right, but it frustrates me to no end how pigheaded John’s being.” She waved her hand toward the window. “Do you think he sincerely believes that boy killed somebody?”
    “I have no idea what he believes anymore.” I finished my cocoa and put my cup in the sink. When she handed me hers, I sat it beside mine and nodded toward the back door. “Let’s go out and play.” She needed some serious downtime and maybe it would help me to quit gritting my teeth—something I’d noticed myself doing ever since I left the station.
    “Does this mean you’re going through your second childhood?”
    “Hey, you’re older than me. Always will be,” I taunted as we hurried