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Authors: Heather Graham
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my card, right?” he asked her.
“Yes, of course. And I’ll call you if I think of anything that might help,” she promised.
Still, he hesitated. “How well do you know Gayle Alden?” he asked her.
She arched her brows. “I’ve known her forever. She was one of my teachers in high school. She retired last year and went to work for Beth.”
“What did she teach?”
“History.” Devin was silent, a smile playing across her lips. “You don’t think that Gayle could possibly—”
“I think that Gayle Alden is Sheena Marston.”
That genuinely surprised Devin, who shrugged after a minute. “I have to say, that’s possible. We did a lot of reenactments in class, and she made a lot of the jewelry and things for the costumes.”
He nodded. “What about the old guy?”
“The old guy?” she asked.
“The one you crashed into.”
Devin laughed. “Oh, Theo. He would be devastated that you called him an old guy.”
“How long have you known him?”
“A year or so. I think he’s from Ohio.” Her smile faded and she frowned thoughtfully. “Do you really think...I mean...is it possible that the person who killed thirteen years ago is back?”
“I don’t know, and that makes me nervous. I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about, but even so, be careful. If something seems suspicious, call the cops. Or call me. Do you have anything you can use for protection?”
“I really do wield a wicked hockey stick.”
He smiled. “I’m going to get you some pepper spray. I’ll call you before I bring it over so you’ll know it’s me.”
“Sure. Thanks,” she told him. “Well...” She smiled again and headed toward her door. He followed her up the little stone path.
“I just want to make sure—” He began.
“That I lock the door.”
“Yes.”
“I will,” she promised.
They both hesitated.
“Want me to walk through the house—just check it out?” he asked her.
“Um, sure. That’s not a bad idea. Ever. I guess.”
She moved to one side so he could enter first, then followed him as he went from room to room, and looked in closets and under the beds. He checked all her windows and the back door. At last he was satisfied.
“You’re alone—well, except for Poe, of course,” he told her.
“Thank you.”
He could tell that she was waiting for him to leave, so he did, but he waited outside the door until he heard the bolt slide into place.
As he walked back to his car, his cell phone rang.
It was Jackson Crow. He was official. And several other agents would be joining him shortly.
* * *
Devin finished cutting up bits of fruit for Poe and walked back into the parlor. “Hey, boy, you know what? I’m not so fond of Mr. FBI. I was living this nice happy life, just getting back into something approaching a social life with old friends, and now he has me doubting all of them.”
Poe had no answer. He was interested only in the fruit she was offering him.
“Meanwhile, I need to get back to the computer. My publisher wants a new Auntie Pim adventure out there every six months.”
There were a number of places in the house where she might have chosen to work. Auntie Mina might have been an herbalist and a Wiccan and slightly crazy, but she had also loved technology. There was cable television, and a wireless network. Auntie Mina had loved her little tablet that had let her watch her shows in any room.
After giving it some thought, Devin had chosen the parlor as her office. She loved the old mantel and the way the fire burned when the nights turned chill. She liked to look out at the stone path that led to the house and the gardens—now in need of work—that grew on either side of it.
Last night, though... She hoped never to go through anything like that again. Shehad discovered a murder victim.
A sight she would never get out of her mind.
But she wasn’t a cop. She wasn’t even a reporter anymore.
She made her living writing children’s books, and she needed to
“Yes, of course. And I’ll call you if I think of anything that might help,” she promised.
Still, he hesitated. “How well do you know Gayle Alden?” he asked her.
She arched her brows. “I’ve known her forever. She was one of my teachers in high school. She retired last year and went to work for Beth.”
“What did she teach?”
“History.” Devin was silent, a smile playing across her lips. “You don’t think that Gayle could possibly—”
“I think that Gayle Alden is Sheena Marston.”
That genuinely surprised Devin, who shrugged after a minute. “I have to say, that’s possible. We did a lot of reenactments in class, and she made a lot of the jewelry and things for the costumes.”
He nodded. “What about the old guy?”
“The old guy?” she asked.
“The one you crashed into.”
Devin laughed. “Oh, Theo. He would be devastated that you called him an old guy.”
“How long have you known him?”
“A year or so. I think he’s from Ohio.” Her smile faded and she frowned thoughtfully. “Do you really think...I mean...is it possible that the person who killed thirteen years ago is back?”
“I don’t know, and that makes me nervous. I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about, but even so, be careful. If something seems suspicious, call the cops. Or call me. Do you have anything you can use for protection?”
“I really do wield a wicked hockey stick.”
He smiled. “I’m going to get you some pepper spray. I’ll call you before I bring it over so you’ll know it’s me.”
“Sure. Thanks,” she told him. “Well...” She smiled again and headed toward her door. He followed her up the little stone path.
“I just want to make sure—” He began.
“That I lock the door.”
“Yes.”
“I will,” she promised.
They both hesitated.
“Want me to walk through the house—just check it out?” he asked her.
“Um, sure. That’s not a bad idea. Ever. I guess.”
She moved to one side so he could enter first, then followed him as he went from room to room, and looked in closets and under the beds. He checked all her windows and the back door. At last he was satisfied.
“You’re alone—well, except for Poe, of course,” he told her.
“Thank you.”
He could tell that she was waiting for him to leave, so he did, but he waited outside the door until he heard the bolt slide into place.
As he walked back to his car, his cell phone rang.
It was Jackson Crow. He was official. And several other agents would be joining him shortly.
* * *
Devin finished cutting up bits of fruit for Poe and walked back into the parlor. “Hey, boy, you know what? I’m not so fond of Mr. FBI. I was living this nice happy life, just getting back into something approaching a social life with old friends, and now he has me doubting all of them.”
Poe had no answer. He was interested only in the fruit she was offering him.
“Meanwhile, I need to get back to the computer. My publisher wants a new Auntie Pim adventure out there every six months.”
There were a number of places in the house where she might have chosen to work. Auntie Mina might have been an herbalist and a Wiccan and slightly crazy, but she had also loved technology. There was cable television, and a wireless network. Auntie Mina had loved her little tablet that had let her watch her shows in any room.
After giving it some thought, Devin had chosen the parlor as her office. She loved the old mantel and the way the fire burned when the nights turned chill. She liked to look out at the stone path that led to the house and the gardens—now in need of work—that grew on either side of it.
Last night, though... She hoped never to go through anything like that again. Shehad discovered a murder victim.
A sight she would never get out of her mind.
But she wasn’t a cop. She wasn’t even a reporter anymore.
She made her living writing children’s books, and she needed to
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