Saturday, November 10

3:00 p.m.

Liz awakened with a start. She sat up in bed, disoriented. She glanced at the bedside clock and then blinked in disbelief.

Three o’clock? In the afternoon?

The events of the night before came crashing back: going for a run, finding Tara, the police questioning her, returning to her apartment and being unable to close her eyes without the horror engulfing her.

In desperation, she had taken a sleeping pill. One of the ones her therapist had prescribed back when she had been in the throes of a breakdown.

Back when? Right, she was on such an even keel now. Steady as a rock.

More like delusional. Had she really told that police officer that the church had called her? Had she really believed it?

Did she still?

Liz moaned and dragged the comforter to her chin. She felt as if she had spent the night wrestling the devil himself. Her body ached, as if she was bruised all over. She shifted her gaze to her window, her vision blurring with tears.

Poor Tara. She had been so young. She’d had so much to look forward to-love, marriage, children. Grandchildren.

The tears welled and spilled over. Liz found herself saying a silent prayer, something she hadn’t done in a long time. A prayer that Tara hadn’t suffered too much. That she was safe now, in the Lord’s loving and protective custody. At peace.

A lump formed in her throat. The monsters who had done this to Tara were the same ones who had made Rachel “disappear.” She believed that, even without more proof than what the police would see as circumstantial. Her gut instincts told her she was right.

They weren’t going to get away with it, she promised. She wasn’t going to allow them to.

Liz threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, fired with steely determination. The room started to spin and she grabbed the bedpost to steady herself.

She breathed deeply through her nose, focusing on what she needed to do. She didn’t have time for a nervous breakdown. She didn’t have time to be weak-kneed or light-headed. She needed to pay her respects to Tara ’s parents today. She wanted to speak with Pastor Collins. Perhaps he could help her. She felt he knew more than he was saying-about Tara ’s problem and her sister’s disappearance.

She released the bedpost and made her way cautiously to the closet. First, she would visit the police department. After the tragedy of the night before, Lieutenant Lopez would have to admit she was onto something. He couldn’t deny the link between her sister’s disappearance and Tara ’s murder.

Lieutenant Lopez didn’t see it that way. He looked at her, expression both incredulous and annoyed. “Let me summarize,” he murmured. “You believe that whoever murdered Tara also did away with your sister. You believe this to be true because…”

“Because Tara was in my sister’s counsel when Rachel disappeared. Tara was somehow involved in the illegal activities my sister spoke of. They killed my sister, then when Tara began seeing me, they killed her.”

The man tossed his pen on the desk. “I’m in the middle of a murder investigation, Ms. Ames. I don’t have time for your imaginings.”

“Imaginings!” she repeated. “A girl is dead! My sister is-”

“Missing,” he supplied. “If your sister was murdered, where’s the body? If she had discovered some huge, illegal operation on the island, why didn’t she come to me with it? Or Detective Chapman?” he added, motioning toward the other detective, the woman who had questioned Liz the night before. He shook his head. “Or anyone else on the force, for that matter?”

Liz had to admit, their argument made sense. But she hadn’t given them all of hers. She had to make them see it her way. “ Tara knew who killed Rachel. She was frightened they were going to kill her, too.”

Both detectives straightened. “She told you that?”

Liz hesitated. “Not just like that.”

The lieutenant leaned back in his chair. He sent a glance to his detective. Liz interpreted its meaning: nutcase.

“Then how?” he asked. “Did the church tell you?”

“Of course not!”

His eyebrows shot up. “But didn’t you tell Detective Chapman that Paradise Christian called to you last night? That the building urged you to come to it.”

Heat flew to her cheeks. “I was overwrought. When I said the church called to me, I meant I felt a strong…pull to go there.”

“That’s not what you said,” the woman detective murmured. “You said the building-”

“I know. I was upset. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“But you are now?”

“Yes.”

Lieutenant Lopez stared directly at Liz. “Let me ask you something, Ms. Ames. Do you find it…odd that even though you’ve only been in town what, two weeks, you were first to the scene of the only murder this year and that you knew the victim?”

Liz glanced from the lieutenant to the detective, confused. “I don’t follow.”

“It makes you an automatic suspect. Standard operating procedure, Ms. Ames.”

“That’s…crazy. I was out for a run and-”

“At three in the morning,” the other woman murmured. “Alone. No witnesses. With no better explanation for being there than ‘the church called to you.’ What do you think we should deduce from that?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but everything I told you is true. That’s just the way it happened.” She looked from one to the other again. “Surely you believe me?”

For a long moment, neither officer spoke. Then Lieutenant Lopez cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to Tara and your claim that she feared for her life. She didn’t come right out and say that, correct?”

He had wanted to shake her confidence, she realized. He had wanted her rattled, a little frightened. Well, it wasn’t going to work.

Liz stiffened and met his gaze. “Correct,” she said clearly. “I deduced it through her body language and expressions. The things she didn’t say.”

The lieutenant looked at his detective again. “Quick, Carla, we just learned a new interrogation technique, write down everything suspects don’t say.”

The woman smirked and Liz stood. “I’m a trained professional. It’s my job to interpret-”

“My job,” he interrupted, following her to her feet, “is to unearth the truth. Not to guess, infer or deduce. I deal in facts. Not feelings. Period.”

“But-”

He cut her off. “You are overwrought, Ms. Ames. Understandably so. Go home, let us do our job.”

Liz took another stab. “Take a look at this. Someone slipped it under my door while I was in my last session with Tara.” She retrieved the note from her purse and held it out.

He took it from her, read it and handed it back. “So?”

“It’s a threat.”

“Or a joke.”

“It’s not a joke!” She took a deep, steadying breath. “I received this while in session with Tara. Less than twelve hours later the girl was murdered. Why don’t you get it?”

The man’s expression softened with compassion. “I’m really sorry, Ms. Ames. You’ve been through…something awful. First your sister’s disappearance, now this.” He glanced at the other detective. “I tell you what, I’ll keep an open mind about this. I’ll have Carla check out your story, see if we can discover who left you that note. Will that help?”

“Yes,” she murmured, relief flowing over her. “Yes, that will help.”