The Killer You Know. Kimberly Van Meter

on the shadows...and rattle some closets to see what skeletons fell out.

      Port Orion was about to have its bloomers blown up.

      * * *

      Quinn arose early, as she always did, and hustled down to Reba’s, her favorite diner, for breakfast. She had a standing order of coffee and Reba’s bestselling zucchini bread. Quinn liked to tell herself that she was getting her greens by eating zucchini bread for breakfast but deep down, she knew it was just delicious cake.

      And she was okay with that.

      She walked into the cozy diner and smiled at the waitresses, noting every familiar face that was always in the diner at this hour—Bill, Nancy, Georgia, Edwin—but her gaze skidded to a stop at one particular person who was certainly not local. Talk about tall, dark and mysterious.

      And easy on the eyes—in an intense sort of way.

      Black, austere wool coat, slicked back dark hair and an air about him that said, I’m not friendly so don’t even try, which pricked Quinn’s need to know more.

      Either he was part of the Trenchcoat Mafia or he was a Fed.

      Quinn was putting her money on a Fed.

      And what exactly was a Fed doing here in Port Orion? Well, there was one way to find out.

      She scooped up her order and went straight to his booth, sliding in on the opposite side with a smile.

      “You’re not from around here,” she said, going straight for the obvious. “So who are you?”

      He looked up and she was hit with stormy gray eyes that mirrored the skies when it was about to drop a bucket of water on the land. Her usual witty comebacks died on her tongue as she was momentarily stunned by the energy coming off him in waves.

      “You first,” he countered, holding her gaze, taking her measure as surely as she’d tried to take his.

      Remembering herself, she smiled brightly and extended a hand across the table, which he accepted briefly then released quickly. “Quinn Jackson. Reporter for the Port Orion Tribune and my Spidey-sense is telling me that you are a federal agent.”

      “Your Spidey-sense is not wrong,” he answered, though his gaze had narrowed a bit. “And to what do I owe the pleasure? Are you part of the welcoming committee?”

      “Not at all. I’m curious as to why a federal agent is in town, right when our poor town is being overrun by strangers because of the recent murder of Rhia Daniels, a pretty, little cheerleader girl, who, at first glance, was universally loved. Seems highly coincidental, right? I mean, what does the FBI care about a murder in a small town?”

      He took a slow, measured sip of his black coffee. Quinn grabbed six tiny cream buckets and dumped them into her own coffee, adding about five packets of sugar.

      She liked her coffee...less like coffee.

      “What did you say your name was?” Quinn asked, blowing on her coffee.

      “I didn’t.”

      “Ah, that would explain why I still have no clue as to who you are. Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?”

      A brief smile lit up his mouth before he answered. “Special Agent Silas Kelly, FBI.”

      Triumph at being right sang in her voice. “See? I knew it. Now my next question...what the hell are you doing here?”

      “I used to live here.”

      “Yeah? When?”

      “My entire family was born here.”

      “Hmmm, I’ll have to verify that statement from different sources. Back to my original question...what are you doing here? It has something to do with Rhia’s death, doesn’t it?”

      “Perhaps.”

      “Cryptic,” Quinn stated with a frown. “Okay, I’m going to assume that you’re here because of Rhia’s murder. So what’s so special that the FBI is getting involved? Government conspiracy? Not likely. Aliens? Probably not. Some connection to a different case? I can’t imagine. So you’ve got me stumped. Help a girl out and give me a hint.”

      “I’m not here to give interviews, Miss Jackson.”

      “What are you here for?”

      “That would be my business.”

      “So this is a personal trip, not official?”

      He hesitated and she capitalized on his minute pause. “Aha! Let me guess...you are here on semi-official business but you’re not taking over the investigation, which means you’re here on a fact-finding mission,” she finished, pleased with herself. “Tell me I’m not wrong.”

      But he couldn’t. All he would say was, “You can believe what you wish.”

      Well, this was going nowhere.

      “Let me tell you what I think... I think—” she began, fishing a little “—that Rhia Daniels was killed by someone that the FBI is interested in.”

      “Everyone is entitled to their opinion...or speculation.”

      “So you’re really not going to tell me anything, are you?” When he graced her with a sardonic expression, she said, “All right. Fine. Play it your way. I mean, we could work together and help each other out, but if you’d like to go it alone in a small town where the locals are wary of strangers...then I guess that’s your choice. But don’t come crawling to me when you get stonewalled at every turn.”

      “I’m not a stranger.”

      “Yeah, but how long has it been since you’ve been gone?”

      “Fifteen years.”

      “A lot can change in fifteen years.”

      She left him with that thought.

      And a smile.

      With any luck, that seed she’d just planted would sprout and grow wild.

Chapter 3

      Pastor Forrest Simms was in his office when two members of his flock came in, eyes and noses red from uncontrollable weeping.

      Violet and Oliver Daniels, Rhia’s parents.

      “Pastor,” Violet started, turning to her husband and clutching at his jacket. “I can’t tell him. You do it.”

      Oliver nodded gravely and swallowed before saying, “We wanted to tell you before you heard through the grapevine... Rhia is dead.”

      Forrest felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “How?”

      “She was murdered. Someone took our Rhia away. Who could do such a thing?” Violet was seeking answers that Forrest couldn’t give her.

      His gut churned as he searched for something to ease their heartache but his thoughts were crashing into each other. He leaned on platitudes to get him through. “She’s in a better place. She’s with Our Father. Take comfort in that where Rhia is, she is loved by the Almighty and knows only peace.”

      “I want her back,” Violet wailed, sobbing against her husband’s chest. “She was my baby. My miracle baby. And now she’s gone. Who would do such a terrible thing to such a sweet girl?”

      Oliver tried to hush his wife but he was barely hanging on himself. He looked to Forrest with an apology. “We’re sorry for interrupting your private time, Pastor. We just wanted to share the news personally, on account of how close you and Rhia were. She really looked to you for spiritual guidance and we will always keep you in our hearts for that.”

      Forrest nodded, his discomfort making his skin itch as if a thousand fire ants were biting him. “She was a lovely girl.”

      Violet