As Darkness Fell. Joanna Wayne

was so tired. So very, very tired.

      Slowly the images faded and she fell into the old nightmarish dream that had haunted her for as long as she could remember. The old church. The dark steep staircase. Dread so real she could taste it.

      She jerked awake, the silk pajamas soaked with cold sweat that still beaded between her breasts and on her brow.

      But it was only the nightmare that crept out from the dark recesses of her mind whenever she was stressed. Still, she flicked on the light. Frederick Lee was looking down on her, watching over her—at least, his painted eyes made her feel that he was.

      It was nice to have him there.

      CAROLINE STOOD with a dozen or more reporters at the news conference held at noon in Mayor Henry Glaxton’s office. The room overflowed with eager reporters, but it became whisper quiet the second the mayor stepped behind the podium and adjusted the microphone.

      He addressed the group in a smooth Southern drawl, expressing his condolences to the family of the victim, who’d now been identified as Sally Martin, and warning the citizens of Prentice to be cautious until the man who had committed the crime was identified and arrested. A task that he assured them was top priority.

      The chief of police took the mike next. His explanation of the murder was brief. Sally had been a waitress at the Catfish Shack and was last seen alive at about 10:30 p.m. when she’d left work alone. Her car was found in the parking lot of her apartment complex, her handbag in the passenger seat, apparently untouched. There was no sign of a struggle. Like the mayor, the chief declined to answer questions. He’d leave that to the lead detective, Sam Turner.

      “Which means we’ll learn absolutely nothing,” a reporter standing next to Caroline muttered. “Turner considers reporters disgusting parasites that exist merely to plague him.”

      Still, hands shot into the air as Sam joined the chief at the front of the room. He was no longer dressed in the faded jeans and T-shirt, but a pair of gray slacks and a light blue sports shirt, open at the neck. He cleaned up real good.

      SAM LOOKED over the crowd and felt an annoying dryness in the back of his throat and a tightening of his muscles. As far as he was concerned, news conferences were a waste of time and a damn nuisance. He should be out in the field tracking down the murderer, not standing here trying to appease a bunch of clueless reporters.

      “Do you think this was a crime of passion?”

      “I don’t stick labels on murders. I leave that to you guys.”

      “Do you think the killer knew the victim?”

      “It’s possible.”

      “Do you think this is connected to some kind of cult or devil worship?”

      “We don’t have any information to indicate that.” Sam pointed at a skinny guy in the back of the room.

      “If it’s not some kind of cult murder, how do you account for the marking on the victim’s chest?”

      “I’m not jumping to conclusions and I’m not ruling out anything at this point.”

      “But you do think it could be some kind of ritualistic killing?”

      “Anything’s possible.” How many ways was he going to have to say that before this was over? He glared at the waving hands, then pointed to the woman who’d thrown up in the bushes last night.

      “Do you think the killer will kill again?”

      Not the question he wanted. Not that he didn’t know the answer. The guy was a walking time bomb armed with a hunting knife. And if Sam said that out loud, he’d send the town into total panic and give the mayor a heart attack.

      “I think people should stay alert until this man’s behind bars.”

      All the hands were flying now. He glanced at his watch. Five more minutes before he could cut and run. Five more minutes that the killer was walking free.

      SAM TURNER was the first to leave the room when the conference was over. Caroline was the last. There was no reason for her to rush to the office and put a story together from the skimpy details that had been provided. The Prentice Times didn’t run a Sunday edition.

      She took the side exit, the one closest to her car. That side of the building was deserted, and for a second she had the weird feeling that someone was watching her. She turned and looked behind her. No one was there.

      Still, she locked the car doors the second she got in, realizing that this was the first time she’d done that since she’d moved here from Atlanta. Instead of starting the engine, she took out her notebook and scribbled down her thoughts, not in reporter framework, but just in the order they flew into her mind.

      A young woman had her throat slashed and blood smeared over her breasts. What would cause a person to do such a hideous thing? Anger? Passion gone berserk? Or had something in the killer’s mind just slipped off center? And would he strike again?

      Caroline’s cell phone rang, startling her so that she jumped and bumped her elbow on the steering wheel. She checked the number. It was Becky. She took a deep, steadying breath before she answered, trying to dispel the dark mood that had come over her.

      “Okay, I’m a louse,” she said. “I should have called and explained my sudden departure just when the party was starting to get fun.”

      “No need. We figured you’d rushed off to a story. Was it the woman whose body was found in Freedom Park?”

      “Yeah.”

      “I was afraid of that. That must have been totally gruesome.”

      “Pretty bad.”

      “We’ll have a beer later. You can tell me all about it.”

      “You’ll need more than a beer if I do.”

      “You sound upset.”

      “A little. Actually more than a little,” Caroline admitted reluctantly.

      “Maybe you should ask your boss to put you back in your old assignment.”

      “Just wimp out?”

      “Hey, if it involves murder, I would,” Becky said. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

      “Fine. How did the rest of the party go?”

      “Not a lot happened after you left. We danced awhile. The party started breaking up about midnight.”

      “So how does it feel to be the ripe old age of twenty-six?”

      “Not bad. I checked for new wrinkles this morning, but didn’t find any. Of course, it could be that my eyes are going.”

      “No. I’m already twenty-seven, and I can still read the very small letters they print my name in when they bother to add it to my copy,” Caroline said.

      “Tell them to make it bigger or you’ll quit.”

      “And who would pay my rent?”

      “I’ll lend you money. I have plenty.”

      Which was quite true. Not only were Becky’s parents well-off, but her grandmother had left Becky a trust fund that ran somewhere in the millions. Caroline wasn’t even sure Becky knew what she was worth. And not only was she rich, she was fun, petite and cute, with baby blue eyes and bouncy blond curls that danced about her tanned cheeks.

      “I’ll just keep working,” Caroline said. “It keeps me out of trouble.”

      “It won’t if you keep wearing that red dress you had on last night. You were hot!”

      “Do you think it’s appropriate for shopping at flea markets? That’s about the only place I go these days, except for work.”

      Caroline stuck the key in the ignition as she talked, then noticed a yellow square