Killer Headline. Debby Giusti

from doing my job.”

      “You’ve got to use some common sense. Let the FBI and the cops handle the mob. They’ll bring the Martino family down, but it will take time and good investigative skills.”

      “Which you’re saying I don’t have?”

      “Of course not.” He wasn’t getting anywhere tonight. He glanced at the wall clock. Four-fifteen. Violet needed to crawl back into bed, and he needed to head over to police headquarters. He wanted to learn what O’Reilly found out about Jamie Favor. The cops would keep watch over Violet for the rest of the night. Besides, dawn would be here soon enough.

      He placed the mug on the table and pushed back his chair. “Coffee hit the spot. Thanks.” He glanced at the chair wedged against the doorknob. “As I said earlier, might be a good idea to have dead bolts installed.”

      “I will.”

      She followed him out and waved goodbye as he walked down the front steps. Violet Kramer was stubborn and from what she’d said tonight, evidently, she didn’t like cops.

      That didn’t put him in good stead. He wasn’t one to let things bother him. But for some reason, Violet’s opinion was important.

      Violet was still thinking about everything that had happened the next morning. A break-in and another man apprehended in her front yard. Were both incidences tied with the mob? Surely not, no matter how much Clay West tried to convince her they were.

      The Chicago FBI wanted her out of the picture, and Clay was determined to scare her into backing down. He’d learn soon enough that she didn’t scare easily.

      Violet finished writing a short article on the Missoula Women’s Circle and their philanthropic work, which Stu had requested last week. Hopefully, he’d find the information to his liking.

      Task completed, she checked her old college Web site where she kept hoping someone would leave a comment with information on Aunt Lettie’s long-ago murder. But just as always, that in-box remained empty. Violet opened her working e-mail and found it void, as well.

      Her phone rang.

      She pulled the receiver to her ear, wondering if she’d hear Clay’s voice. Not that she was interested, of course.

      “Hey, Vi, it’s Ross Truett. I got my hands on that photo you requested. Should arrive in your e-mail momentarily.”

      She smiled. “I owe you.”

      “Let me buy you dinner and we’ll call it even. I’ve got business in Missoula on Friday.”

      “Sounds great. Call me when you get to town.” Violet hung up and drummed her fingertips on her desktop, waiting for the incoming e-mail.

      Ross was a college friend from a moneyed family who had rapidly worked his way up to assistant editor of the Yellowstone County Reader. The young editor had everything going for him. At least that’s what her mother would say. She’d also say how happy she’d be if Violet connected with Ross on a permanent basis. Correction. Her mother would be thrilled. But as far as Violet was concerned, he wasn’t Mr. Right.

      Clay West came to mind.

      Talk about Mr. Wrong.

      Hopefully, he’d be heading back to Illinois in a few days. Cute as he was, the detective had a cocky, smug attitude. She’d teach him a lesson or two about trying to change a woman’s mind when she had her course set. Once she had gathered enough evidence to complete the Mafia story, Clay would realize she played hardball.

      Then she had another thought. What if she wasn’t the reason Clay had come to Montana? What if law enforcement suspected a third woman would be murdered? Made sense they’d want their undercover cop in place when surveillance learned of an another impending Mafia hit in the Treasure State. Perhaps this time in Missoula. The cops and the Feds wouldn’t want Violet snooping around for fear she’d interfere with their operation.

      And the next victim? Shouldn’t she be warned?

      Clay would probably remind Violet she was in danger, too. But the Mafia hadn’t found her yet. Despite what he had said.

      The message from Ross appeared on her screen along with an attachment. His comments were almost identical to what he’d said over the phone. Dinner the next time he was in Missoula. Attachment for your eyes only. Keep the photo under wraps.

      Violet saved the file to her flash drive then glanced around the newsroom. The others—occupied in their own work areas—either chatted on their phones or had their eyes focused on their monitors.

      Clicking on the attachment, she watched the photo unfold across her screen. A woman lay on the floor, her neck scraped and bruised. Death by strangulation was never pretty.

      Carlie Donald. May she rest in peace.

      Would there be a third victim? If so, God help her, as well.