Time of Death. BEVERLY BARTON

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 wouldn’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