Countdown to Danger. Jill Elizabeth Nelson

right now. She sighed, dreading the moment Mom entered the house. “Does she know?”

      “Not yet. When we tell her, I want her to start spreading the word around town. Megan’s going to question everyone who might’ve seen anyone on the decks this morning.”

      Lynley’s breath tumbled out. “You’re taking this to the public? But John, the note said—”

      “We aren’t going to allow anyone near enough to you. That letter writer will not touch you.” His green eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Lynley. I can imagine how frightening this is—”

      The thump of a car door startled her. Another followed. An injection of adrenaline shot through her arteries and tingled along her arms and hands. There was no more time to give in to fear. She hurried to the door just as her mother unlocked it and pushed it open.

      Lynley fell into her arms, unable to hold back the trembling that set itself up deep inside her. This was a living nightmare.

      “Sweetheart?” Mom drew her close, her whole body tensing within Lynley’s grasp. “What is it?”

      “Mom, some idiot stuck a ransom note for me on the back door.”

      Kirstie jerked away. “What!”

      Gerard and John guided the two of them toward the cluster of sofa and recliners, and Lynley heard the door lock behind them. It wasn’t until John pressed a tissue into her hand that she realized she was crying, and for a moment the tears were so abundant she could barely make out his face. This wasn’t how she’d intended to behave.

      Mom looked up at John, then Gerard. “What on earth?”

      “We’re checking into it,” John said.

      Lynley wiped her face, blew her nose, accepted another tissue from John, furious with herself for behaving like a weak-kneed little girl.

      “Why don’t we sit down?” John drew Lynley forward, sharing a meaningful look with Gerard that Lynley couldn’t miss.

      They’d obviously already put some plans into place.

      Lynley sank into the sofa cushions between John and Mom. John touched her shoulder, then reached for the note on the side table. Gerard perched on the sofa arm beside Kirstie.

      As if to cushion the impact of the words, John read the note aloud, his voice soft and mellifluous.

      “Who did this?” Kirstie growled loudly enough to make Data jump.

      Lynley blinked. Sweet Kirstie Marshall became Mama Bear right there in front of everyone. Her eyes darkened like stormy skies beneath lowering brows. Lynley had seen it often, and though she’d been walking in terror since finding the note, she felt Mom’s strength reach out and engulf her.

      * * *

      John studied mother and daughter with admiration. Lynley had been touched by God’s grace when He gave her Kirstie Marshall for a mother. Though Lynley seldom spoke about her father, others had told him tidbits about Kirstie’s late husband. Ugly man. Kirstie had the courage of a fighter along with a tender mother’s touch. Lynley had obviously inherited all her best traits from Kirstie.

      “Someone’s after your money, Kirstie.” Gerard’s deep voice rumbled through the spacious living room.

      She looked up at him, eyes still dark and angry. “Barry seems to be stretching his big ol’ greedy, bony hands from the grave. He always wanted Uncle Lawson’s millions.” She winced, then tapped her fingers to her lips and looked at Lynley. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry to speak ill of your father.”

      “You’ve always taught me to tell the truth. Why shouldn’t you do the same?”

      John caught Gerard’s attention over the heads of the two women. “Your thoughts?”

      “We can all agree that this note was written to imply that an angry plaintiff from the trial is still fighting for retribution,” Gerard said.

      John nodded, glad to know he and Gerard were thinking the same thing.

      Kirstie’s cell phone beeped its text chime. She ignored it. Lynley reached into her mother’s purse, pulled out the phone and handed it to her.

      Kirstie waved it away. “We have more important things to talk about right now.”

      “And someone knows where you live. They might know more.”

      With a sigh, Kirstie took the phone and punched a button. Her eyes narrowed with renewed fury while she read. Her hand trembled.

      Gerard took it from her. He read the text, then closed his eyes with a groan.

      John grabbed the phone and looked at the text while Lynley read it aloud over his shoulder. “‘You’re a fool if you think I don’t know what kind of car your chief of police drives. You just shortened your daughter’s life. Get me the money before New Year’s Eve or she will die. You’re wasting time. Enjoy the muffins on your front porch. They’ll be your daughter’s last.’”

      John had no clue about where the text had originated, but he could easily predict that if it were possible to call and have it tracked, it would have come from the woods to the east of the house—perhaps down closer to the creek. “Whoever wrote this was at the front of the house sometime after I arrived but before I brought in the muffins. They apparently haven’t been watching all this time because they’re writing to you, Kirstie.”

      “This is simply meant to frighten us,” Gerard said. “We can’t let that happen. Every resident in Jolly Mill knows the truth—that Lawson Barnes bequeathed everything to our center, and nothing ever went to Kirstie.”

      “So that can help us narrow down our suspects,” John said. “Kirstie, why don’t you start calling friends and bring them in on this? Spread the word. In a tiny place like Jolly Mill, the more eyes we have on strangers sneaking through town, the more likely we are to catch this—”

      Kirstie nodded, her delicate chin jutting out with determination. “I’ll call Nora first, of course, then Carmen.”

      John nodded. Kirstie Marshall was already planning. Her love for her daughter was one of her strongest assets.

      Gerard frowned at the initial note. “This writer has been scanning information from the media. They were the ones who spread the lie far and wide that Lynley, a much-publicized defendant in the lawsuit, stood to inherit millions of dollars from a dead uncle.” His lip curled in disgust. “Isn’t it always about the money?”

      “So we’re all in agreement that we can rule out the plaintiffs in the malpractice trial.” John looked at Lynley, then Gerard and Kirstie.

      Gerard scrunched his flint-carved face. “We aren’t working with absolutes right now. Not yet, anyway. I wouldn’t rule it out, but their motive is greed. Somehow we need to convince this individual that there are no deep pockets for them to dig into.”

      John agreed. It was too soon to choose one direction to investigate. He’d seen bad results those times his colleagues made a judgment too early and let the real culprit get away.

      Kirstie held the red-and-green note up by the tip of her thumb and finger, as if it might be contagious. “You’re right. Someone knows that threatening my only child is the quickest way to get to me.” She dropped the paper on the coffee table. “They don’t know who they’re dealing with, do they, sweetheart?” She nudged her daughter with her elbow.

      Lynley nudged back. “Love you, too, Mom.”

      “Lynley,” Gerard said, “we’re not letting anybody near you.”

      “We can’t rule out Jolly Mill and rehab center residents altogether,” John said, “but I’m mostly working on the premise that this has to be someone from out of town.”

      Gerard’s phone chimed, and he grabbed it and flipped it open. “Megan? You have news already, honey?”

      John