appears to be a much younger man."
"Well, why not immortalize yourself, if it's your legacy?" Scott picked up the phone and looked at the images more closely. "It does almost look like a family 'portrait' if you can ignore the macabre setting. Mother with wings, Father standing somber, the younger faces of grown children…" He squinted, longing for his glasses. The figures in the glass window captured his interest, particularly their detailed facial features, "We have a saint and a sinner," he said pointing to the counterpoint between a halo of light and another in shadow. "Too bad the other woman has her back to us. Do any of them look familiar to you?"
She shook her head.
Scott took the Bible from her without a word. He flipped through it, searching for something. Finally, he filled the silence. "I haven't been to church in a long while. But I seem to remember that Matthew, the man himself, was a tax collector." He paused, a curious thought clouding the facts. "Taxes could mean money. Most killings are about money, not divine redemption."
He looked back down and ran a finger down the page. Scott started scribbling on the paper. "The postcards came with Bible verses, too."
"Right," she said curtly. She looked over his shoulder at the one he'd added to the Matthew quotes, it was from the second postcard:
* * *
2 Chronicles 7 13-14: If I shut up heaven that there be no rain, or if I command the locusts to devour the land, or if I send pestilence among my people; If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.
* * *
"Look at that—forgiveness. Doesn't sound too threatening," he said, opening the potato chip bag and helping himself.
She shrugged. "You could be right," she offered, with no strong conviction.
"Okay then but it does mention locusts, which is in direct reference to Darla," Scott theorized.
Still holding the pencil, Scott started to play with it. There was more to Tessa than met the eye. He hadn't taken her to be personally involved but he was reassessing everything. Still, he wasn't uncomfortable, more intrigued than disconcerted. She didn't appear to be hiding anything in the current circumstances but he still sensed that she was holding some of herself back. Perhaps that was justified. He wondered how long it would take her to see the coincidence with New York, Chicago and himself.
Her phone rang. With the picture taking up the screen, there was no way to see the caller ID. She hesitated.
Scott offered direction. "If it's your friend Marcus again, get us an address from the car registration. I'll need that for my insurance claim."
Chuckling, Tessa picked up the phone. "Hello."
Her eyes narrowed as G.J's voice poured through the line. "Guess who's back in town? Cy is with me. You remember Cy, don't you, Tess?"
She tried to bank the fear. The man in question was indeed Christopher Perelli; his moniker 'Cy' came from his enjoyment, as a younger man, in using a scythe as a weapon. The history that went with his self-given nickname only added to his reputation. The guy wasn't scared of anything and cared about nothing—a dangerous combination.
Tessa swallowed, but managed to speak with a lack of emotion. "I remember. Do you?"
"He told me I need to get the postcard back." G.J's words were slightly garbled, causing a shiver to run the length of her spine; Cy could get really nasty at times.
"By trying to kill me?" she responded, her voice unusually high and squeaky.
"He didn't miss. If Cy wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Now, I need the card back, Tess," G.J. was cold and to the point with his old friend; this change in him frightened her.
"I told you, I don't have it." As before, she spoke the truth; Scott had it.
"Get it," G.J. seethed. "Don't play me on this. Get me the card by tonight and we're all done, understand? You're
"Well, why not immortalize yourself, if it's your legacy?" Scott picked up the phone and looked at the images more closely. "It does almost look like a family 'portrait' if you can ignore the macabre setting. Mother with wings, Father standing somber, the younger faces of grown children…" He squinted, longing for his glasses. The figures in the glass window captured his interest, particularly their detailed facial features, "We have a saint and a sinner," he said pointing to the counterpoint between a halo of light and another in shadow. "Too bad the other woman has her back to us. Do any of them look familiar to you?"
She shook her head.
Scott took the Bible from her without a word. He flipped through it, searching for something. Finally, he filled the silence. "I haven't been to church in a long while. But I seem to remember that Matthew, the man himself, was a tax collector." He paused, a curious thought clouding the facts. "Taxes could mean money. Most killings are about money, not divine redemption."
He looked back down and ran a finger down the page. Scott started scribbling on the paper. "The postcards came with Bible verses, too."
"Right," she said curtly. She looked over his shoulder at the one he'd added to the Matthew quotes, it was from the second postcard:
* * *
2 Chronicles 7 13-14: If I shut up heaven that there be no rain, or if I command the locusts to devour the land, or if I send pestilence among my people; If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.
* * *
"Look at that—forgiveness. Doesn't sound too threatening," he said, opening the potato chip bag and helping himself.
She shrugged. "You could be right," she offered, with no strong conviction.
"Okay then but it does mention locusts, which is in direct reference to Darla," Scott theorized.
Still holding the pencil, Scott started to play with it. There was more to Tessa than met the eye. He hadn't taken her to be personally involved but he was reassessing everything. Still, he wasn't uncomfortable, more intrigued than disconcerted. She didn't appear to be hiding anything in the current circumstances but he still sensed that she was holding some of herself back. Perhaps that was justified. He wondered how long it would take her to see the coincidence with New York, Chicago and himself.
Her phone rang. With the picture taking up the screen, there was no way to see the caller ID. She hesitated.
Scott offered direction. "If it's your friend Marcus again, get us an address from the car registration. I'll need that for my insurance claim."
Chuckling, Tessa picked up the phone. "Hello."
Her eyes narrowed as G.J's voice poured through the line. "Guess who's back in town? Cy is with me. You remember Cy, don't you, Tess?"
She tried to bank the fear. The man in question was indeed Christopher Perelli; his moniker 'Cy' came from his enjoyment, as a younger man, in using a scythe as a weapon. The history that went with his self-given nickname only added to his reputation. The guy wasn't scared of anything and cared about nothing—a dangerous combination.
Tessa swallowed, but managed to speak with a lack of emotion. "I remember. Do you?"
"He told me I need to get the postcard back." G.J's words were slightly garbled, causing a shiver to run the length of her spine; Cy could get really nasty at times.
"By trying to kill me?" she responded, her voice unusually high and squeaky.
"He didn't miss. If Cy wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Now, I need the card back, Tess," G.J. was cold and to the point with his old friend; this change in him frightened her.
"I told you, I don't have it." As before, she spoke the truth; Scott had it.
"Get it," G.J. seethed. "Don't play me on this. Get me the card by tonight and we're all done, understand? You're
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