In The Dead Of Night. Linda Castillo

cobra. She shoved Sara’s hand away with so much force that Sara’s fingers brushed a porcelain figurine and sent it crashing to the floor. The delicate china shattered into a hundred pieces.

      “See what you’ve done?”

      “Mrs. Tyson, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Sara looked down at the broken statuette, truly sorry, and wondered how the situation had spiraled out of control so quickly. “Please, let me pay for—”

      “You’ll never be able to pay enough.” Angrily, Laurel gestured toward the door, her hand shaking. “Now, get out or I’ll call the police.”

      Vaguely, Sara heard the bell on the door jingle as another customer entered the shop. In a last-ditch effort to get the woman to listen, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I have reason to believe my father didn’t kill anyone that night.”

      The woman’s hand shot out so quickly Sara didn’t have time to brace. Laurel’s palm struck Sara’s cheek hard enough to snap her head back. The sound was like the crack of a bullwhip in the silence of the shop.

      Sara reeled backward. She would have fallen if strong arms hadn’t caught her from behind. “Easy,” came a familiar male voice. “I’ve got you.”

      Nick Tyson steadied her, then quickly thrust himself between the two women. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded, his angry gaze flicking from Sara to his mother.

      Laurel thrust a finger at Sara. “She’s not welcome here. I want her to leave. Now.”

      Nick’s gaze went to Sara. He tilted his head as if to get a better look at her. His eyes narrowed to slits, and she got the sinking sensation that he was going to take his mother’s side. He surprised her by asking, “Do you want to press charges?”

      “You wouldn’t dare,” Laurel breathed.

      “Try me,” Nick shot back, but he never took his eyes from Sara.

      “No.” Shaken and embarrassed, Sara started for the door.

      The older woman’s gaze swept over her as she brushed past. An emotion Sara could only describe as hatred gleamed in her eyes. “You’re just like her,” Laurel said icily. “You look like her. You sound like her. You lie just like her.”

      “That’s enough,” Nick snapped.

      Sara told herself the words didn’t hurt. But deep inside, they cut as proficiently as any knife.

      By the time she reached the door she was dangerously close to tears. There was no way in hell she’d let Laurel Tyson see her cry.

      She yanked open the door. Nick called out her name, but Sara didn’t stop. She barely noticed the slashing rain as she ran to her car. Opening the driver’s-side door, she slid behind the wheel and jammed the key into the ignition. All the while, Laurel’s words rang in her ears.

      …your father was a killer and your mother was a whore.

      Those were the words that hurt the most, she realized. She’d loved her parents desperately. To have their names tarnished when they weren’t there to defend themselves outraged and offended her deeply.

      “You’re wrong about them.” Sara jammed the car into Reverse.

      When she glanced in the rearview mirror, her heart stopped dead in her chest. “Oh my God.”

      Hitting the brake, she turned. Blood-red letters streaked from the rain were scrawled messily on the rear window.

      Curiosity killed the cat.

      Chapter Four

      Nick’s temper was still pumping when he ran from the shop to catch Sara. He spotted her rental car just as she was backing away from the curb. He sprinted toward it. “Sara! Wait!”

      Of course, she couldn’t hear him with the windows rolled up tightly against the deluge of rain. But to his surprise, the car jerked to a halt. He waited, expecting her to pull back into the parking place, but the car remained still, idling halfway into the street.

      Only when a car horn sounded from the street did he realize she was blocking traffic. Crossing to the driver’s-side door, Nick bent and tapped on the glass. He wasn’t sure why he’d run into the rain after her. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want to leave things the way they were.

      The window hummed down. He started to tell her to pull forward when he noticed her shell-shocked expression. If he hadn’t been a cop, he might not have discerned the pale cast of her complexion, her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel or the way her eyes kept flicking to the rear window.

      “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said.

      “Yeah, well, I’ve got something to say to you.” He motioned toward the parking meter. “Pull in.”

      Shaking her head, she put the car in gear and eased it back into the parking space. Only when the rear window came into view did Nick notice the crude red lettering smeared on the glass. The rain had obliterated much of the letters, but there was enough left for him to make out what they spelled.

      Curiosity killed the cat.

      What the hell?

      He stared at the words for a moment, then strode to the window. “How long has that been there?”

      “I don’t know.” She blew out a pent-up breath. “It wasn’t there when I walked into your mother’s shop.”

      He looked up and down the street, but the sidewalks were mostly deserted because of the rain. “Did you see anyone near your car when you walked out?”

      “I was a little preoccupied but, no, I didn’t notice anyone.”

      Realizing he was soaked, he motioned across the street. “Look, the police station is right there. I’d like for you to walk over with me so we can talk about this.”

      “You mean the fact that your mother slapped me? Or the adolescent cliché some clown wrote on my car?”

      “Both.” Nick opened her door. “Come on. I’ve got hot coffee.”

      To his surprise she acquiesced. Without speaking, they crossed the street, jumping over the torrent of water at the curb.

      The police station was a small office on the first level of a redbrick building that also housed the local phone company and two apartments on the second level. Nick shoved open the wooden door, bypassed the stairs, and took Sara through a glass door and directly to the police department.

      His dispatcher, administrative assistant and part-time officer glanced up from his desk when they entered.

      “Damn, Chief, forget your rain suit?”

      “Left it in my other bag,” Nick said sardonically.

      Behind him, Sara brushed rain from her jacket, but she was hopelessly soaked.

      Noticing his dispatcher’s curious stare, he frowned. “B.J., this is Sara Douglas.” Nick glanced at Sara. “This is B. J. Lundgren, one of my officers.”

      “Nice to meet you.” Rising, B.J. offered his hand. “You’re staying up at the old Douglas mansion?”

      Sara nodded and shook his hand. “Word travels fast.”

      “Small town.” He smiled. “You’re…a relative?”

      “They were my parents.”

      “Oh.” B.J. nodded. “I’m the one who took the prowler call last night. Sorry ’bout that. Hope it didn’t scare you too much.”

      “It’s okay.” Sara glanced at Nick. “The power was out and Chief Tyson let me borrow his lantern.”

      Nick almost smiled. B.J. hung on to every word like a pup waiting for a treat. At twenty-four,