The Colonel's Daughter. Debby Giusti

florist shook his head. “Not to me, but it’s common knowledge. Plus, the local chamber of commerce keeps track of all the homecomings. Having the brigade back will be good for business.”

      Jamison pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket. “What time did you deliver the flowers to the Hughes residence?”

      “I didn’t. Mrs. Hughes stopped by the shop yesterday and placed the order before she went to the commissary. I had the table arrangement ready when she finished shopping.”

      “Did she say why she wanted flowers?”

      “No, sir, but Mrs. Hughes bought flowers once a month or so. Usually for a wives’ event. Sure is a shame.”

      “How’d you learn about her death?”

      “One of her neighbors stopped in earlier today. She was pretty shook-up. Fact is everyone’s upset.”

      “Do you recall the neighbor’s name?”

      “I can find it if you give me a minute.” Once again, he sorted through the order forms. His face lit up as he pulled a paper from the pile and held it out to Jamison. “Ursula Barker bought an arrangement shortly after I opened this morning. She lives down the street from the Hugheses and shared that the whole neighborhood is worried. Course, I don’t blame them with a killer on the loose. I’m worried, too. You guys have any idea who did it?”

      “I’m not at liberty to say.” A pat answer, but the truth was that the CID and military police had nothing concrete to go on so far.

      The florist pursed his lips. “Guess I shouldn’t have asked, but just like everyone else on post, I’m looking over my shoulder, if you know what I mean.”

      Jamison did know. No one wanted a murderer on the loose. He continued to question the florist but learned nothing more that would have a bearing on the victim’s death. After leaving the floral shop, Jamison called CID headquarters. He quickly filled Dawson in on his interview with the florist before he turned the discussion to his earlier stop at Prime Maintenance.

      “I talked to the supervisor. The only maintenance man on duty last night was Danny Altman. He’s prior military, worked in Atlanta and was questioned when his girlfriend died unexpectedly. Her death was ruled accidental.” Jamison passed on Altman’s Freemont address. “Find out more about the girlfriend.”

      “Roger that. I’ll talk to Mr. Altman and see if he remembers anything pertinent concerning last night, as well.” Dawson paused for a long moment. “I talked to

      McGrunner.”

      Both Dawson and Jamison thought highly of the young military policeman who had a good work ethic and the makings of a future CID special agent. He had been on patrol last night, and Jamison knew where Dawson was headed.

      “Look, Dawson, I drove by Colonel Logan’s quarters,” Jamison admitted. “That’s all.”

      “Military police were on patrol in the colonel’s housing area. You didn’t need to worry about Michele.”

      “The killer left two witnesses behind.”

      “Yes, but neither Michele nor her mother can identify him.”

      “He may not realize that. If I were a killer, I’d get rid of everyone involved.” The muscles in Jamison’s neck tensed as he thought about what could happen. “Did any of the neighbors hear sounds of a struggle?”

      “Negative.”

      “I blame that on the storm. Most folks were probably hunkered down inside their quarters. Thunder and wind would have muffled any noise coming from the victim’s quarters.”

      “Roger that,” Dawson agreed. “And if the killer had used a stun gun, Mrs. Hughes would have quickly lost muscle control and couldn’t have screamed for help.”

      What about Michele? The thought of her with the killer made Jamison clamp down on his jaw.

      Thank God she and Mrs. Logan hadn’t been hurt.

      He pushed the cell closer to his ear. “Any word from the medical examiner?”

      “Negative.”

      Seemed they were still batting zero. Although it might be a long shot, Jamison thought of another person who needed to be questioned. “The florist said a neighbor by the name of Ursula Barker told him about the victim’s death. Have one of our people check with Ms. Barker and verify the florist’s story.”

      “You think he’s lying?”

      “I just want to be sure.”

      Dawson was quiet for a long moment. “You’re still stalled because of the last case we worked on together.”

      “I told you, I’m okay.”

      “You can trust your instincts, buddy. Whatever you think you did wrong—”

      Jamison let out a blast of pent-up air. “Dawson.”

      “Seeing Michele yesterday...” The CID agent sighed. “I know how you felt about her.”

      “It’s over, Dawson. End of discussion.”

      “Yeah, right.”

      “Don’t forget Ursula Barker. Then get back to me.”

      Frustrated, Jamison disconnected and hustled to his car. His mind relived visions of when Dawson had taken the hit meant for Jamison. Fast-forward to yesterday and what could have happened to Michele.

      Climbing behind the wheel, he started the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. At one time, his instincts had been good, but he and Dawson had walked into an ambush any rookie cop could have seen coming. Now he had to check and double-check his actions to keep from making another mistake.

      Dark clouds billowed in the sky overhead, and a strong gust of wind tugged at his car. Gripping the steering wheel, Jamison eyed the rapidly worsening weather.

      What had he missed last night? Mrs. Logan and Michele hadn’t provided information that could identify the killer, but just as he’d told Dawson, if the perpetrator thought they could ID him, wouldn’t he come after them?

      Jamison called Dawson back. “Increase surveillance around Colonel Logan’s quarters.”

      “Did something happen?”

      “Not yet, but I want to make sure it doesn’t.”

      Disconnecting, he increased his speed.

      Michele was driving along narrow back roads with a storm rolling into the area. More threatening than the weather was the out-of-the-way location of the cemetery, where she would be alone and at risk. This time, he didn’t need to double-check the facts.

      Michele was vulnerable and unprotected.

      Every instinct warned Jamison to hurry.

      THREE

      Michele drummed her hand on the steering wheel as she sat in the line of cars snaking their way through the Main Gate. Up ahead a military policeman worked with two civilian gate guards, checking the vehicles leaving post.

      Across the median, a swarm of MPs searched the interior—as well as under the hood and in the trunk—of every car entering the garrison. Trucks were subject to more detailed scrutiny. With Fort Rickman on lockdown, law enforcement was ensuring that no one brought anything suspicious on or off post without their knowledge.

      Though she was reassured by the thoroughness of the military police, Michele was frustrated by the delay. Her eyes turned upward, taking in the darkening sky and the wind that picked through the Spanish moss hanging from the stately oaks that lined the side of the road. If she didn’t reach the cemetery soon, she could get caught in a downpour.

      The whole post was on edge, and rightfully so. Anyone with a smattering of knowledge about army operations could easily learn