Perfect Alibi. Melody Carlson

wanted her dead. She couldn’t help but think it was Brock Dennison. Despite his rock-solid alibi, this nightmare seemed related to him. She’d witnessed his dark side while dating Brock. And she’d watched him lose it when she broke up with him six weeks ago. In her mind, Brock Dennison was capable of anything. Even murder.

      “Are you okay, Mallory?” Logan moved closer, peering down with concern.

      She nervously slipped her phone back into her pocket. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

      “I really don’t like to intrude, but I have to say something. I mean, it really feels like something’s wrong. Want to talk about it?”

      She glanced to the left and the right, searching through the trees in every direction, almost as if she expected to spy a killer hiding out there. Or even Brock, although she knew that was crazy. But someone had set that fire. Logan had insinuated that it was arson. And even if it wasn’t Brock, someone had killed Kestra. And someone had threatened her. Was he out there now? Was he going to slit her throat the way he’d slit Kestra’s?

      Feeling completely overwhelmed and frightened to the core, she broke, beginning to cry. No, it wasn’t just crying, it was sobbing—loud and uncontrollable sobbing. The next thing she knew, Logan had wrapped an arm around her shoulders and, helping her to her feet, he led her—practically carried her—back into the house.

      When she regained her composure, or a semblance of it, she was seated on the old plaid couch in the living room, and Logan was sitting in her dad’s leather recliner directly across from her. Leaning forward, he studied her with more than just casual curiosity.

      “Wanna talk?” he asked gently.

      “I—uh—I don’t know,” she told him. “It’s kind of a mess and I really hate to involve you in it. I mean, well, it could be kind of dangerous.”

      He made a crooked smile. “Hey, I’m a firefighter, danger is kinda my thing.”

      She sniffed as she pulled out her phone again, trying to decide, but feeling too muddled to even think straight.

      “Is this related to the fire?” His brow creased as he rubbed his chin.

      She sighed. “I’m not sure. And, really, it makes no sense. Why would he...do that? But then again...there’s the text message. And unknown caller ID? I mean, I’m sure it’s from him. I mean someone I know...someone I don’t trust...someone I consider to be my enemy—and it’s pretty disturbing.”

      “May I see it?” Logan held out his hand in a way that suggested authority, but at the same time his eyes were full of empathy.

      She pulled up the text, then handed her phone to Logan.

      “‘You got lucky again. Ever see a burned corpse? Not pretty.’” Logan looked alarmed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “What do you think it means?”

      “It sounds like a very serious threat.”

      “Yeah...” She looked down at the worn braided rug beneath her feet. The homely old rug had been here for as long as she could remember. Her great-grandmother had made it long before Mallory was born. For some reason, the even lines and predictable colors gave her a faint sense of comfort.

      He handed her phone back. “Who sent you this?” he demanded.

      “I’m not positive. But I honestly think it’s my ex-boyfriend. Or someone connected to him. No one believes me, though.”

      “What kind of person is this?” He frowned. “I can’t believe you ever had a boyfriend who would write something like that. Even if he is an ex.”

      “See.” She held up her hands. “I told you that no one believes me.”

      “That’s not what I meant.” He looked frustrated. “I mean, it’s hard to believe a girl like you would be involved with someone who would send a text like that.”

      “Well, we’re estranged now. Very estranged.” She knew that was an understatement, but how much should she tell Logan? Could she really trust him? And would he even believe her? He already sounded doubtful.

      “But, even if you are estranged...” He ran his hand through his messy hair. “To send something like that—I mean, it’s a serious threat, Mallory. Whoever sent that is talking about someone getting burned to death. And we just put out an arson fire. Who do you really think sent this?”

      “As you can see, it’s from unknown.” She looked at him with apprehension. Why was he being so persistent on this? Was it possible that Brock had already gotten to him? The way that Brock seemed to have infiltrated some of the Portland investigators? What if Logan was a part of Brock’s deadly game? How many people did Brock control, anyway? Once again, it felt as if her head was spinning. Who could she trust? Anyone?

      “I need to take a photo of it,” Logan said suddenly.

      She retrieved it from her pocket, pulled up the text and handed it to him, waiting as he examined it more closely and then, using his own phone, took a couple of shots. “So you honestly think your ex-boyfriend sent this?” He studied her closely as he held her phone out to her.

      “I’m so tired that it’s hard to think straight right now.”

      Logan stood up now, clearly agitated. “What’s going on here, Mallory? You mentioned danger. And according to that text, you are definitely in some kind of danger. What kind of person is this? The guy who sent the text—who is he?”

      “I’m not sure it matters... I mean, who he is or what he is...since no one believes me, anyway.” She studied Logan closely. She wished she could trust him—she wanted to trust him. She needed someone trustworthy.

      “Look, a fire was set outside your parents’ home.” He spoke slowly, almost as if speaking to a child. And perhaps she was being childish—maybe fear and exhaustion did that to a person. “You receive a text that refers to fire and death, a message that is clearly some kind of serious threat.” He sat down on the couch next to her, staring intently into her face. “I’m not just asking you this as your friend, Mallory, although I’d like to think that we’re friends, but I’m asking you this as the Clover fire chief, investigating an arson crime.”

      “Oh....” She nodded soberly. “Okay, then.”

      “Who sent the text?”

      She took in a breath, sitting up straight, trying to think clearly. “I can’t be certain, since it wasn’t sent from his usual phone. But my guess is that it was sent by my ex-boyfriend. A guy named Brock Dennison.”

      “Brock Dennison? The anchor guy on the Portland news station?” Logan sounded shocked. “That’s the guy you’ve been involved with?”

      “How do you know that?” she demanded. “I mean that Brock and I are involved. I mean, we used to be involved.”

      “You just said it was from an ex-boyfriend.”

      “Oh...yeah.”

      “And you’re saying that Brock Dennison is threatening you?”

      She looked evenly into his eyes. “And you don’t believe me, do you?”

      Logan looked perplexed. “I didn’t say that. I mean it’s a lot to take in.”

      “No one believes me.” She folded her arms in front of her, wishing she’d just kept her mouth shut. Why had she even trusted him?

      “I’m sure that’s because Brock Dennison is kind of a celebrity. A small-potato kind of celebrity. Not that I’m a fan.” Logan frowned. “You won’t catch me watching Portland news.” He tipped his head to one side. “But you’re seriously saying that Brock Dennison—the Channel Six News guy—sent that text to you?”

      “That’s right.”

      Logan