Page 28 of The Murder Club

“You refused?”

“I tried to ignore them, but the messages kept coming.” She set down her empty teacup, her hand not quite steady. “So I closed my account. I hoped that would be the end of it.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“Yesterday morning I got this text.”

She grabbed her phone from the table and scrolled through her messages. Once she found the one she wanted, she turned the screen for him to read.

“‘The club is officially open. Ready or not,’” he read out loud. “Do you recognize the number?”

“No.”

“Did you respond?”

“Not to that one.”

“You got another text?”

“This morning.” She turned the phone around and did more scrolling before turning it back for him to read through the messages.

A sharp fear pierced his heart as he reread the texts a dozen times. “A different number,” he pointed out, his unease spiking. “There’s more than one person harassing you. Or the person is using burner phones when they contact you. I don’t like either scenario.”

She shuddered, obviously troubled by the messages. “Neither do I.”

“Did you check out the link?”

She pointed toward the computer. “It goes to a newspaper story about Pauline Hartford from Grange who fell into her pool and died last night.”

“Is that Pauline Hartford?”

“Yes.”

Dom sorted through the information Bailey had shared. It wouldn’t be suspicious that one of the members of the murder club would hope to lure Bailey into a private game. Lots of people hooked up on the Internet. But once she shut down her account, the person should have accepted her blatant rejection. The fact that they insisted on continuing with a game she’d refused to play changed the vibe from a little weird to dangerous stalker.

Add in her recent trouble at the nursing home and Dom’s inner alarms were blaring.

Someone was going to a great deal of effort to screw with Bailey’s life.

“And you thought the pearls she’s wearing somehow ended up on your back porch?”

She grimaced, as if trying to convince herself she was overreacting. “It could be nothing, but I was feeling a little skittish when I got back from Grange today.”

“Today?”

“Yes. I went to see where Mrs. Hartford died.”

Dom’s brows lowered at the realization she must have gone from his house straight to the nearby town. It was aggravating that she hadn’t bothered to share her worries or to let him know where she was going.

It didn’t matter that he had no right to expect her to share everything that was happening in her life. And that she was perfectly capable of driving wherever she wanted without his permission.

The thought that she might have been in danger crushed any rational reaction.

“You went alone?”

She blinked, predictably confused by his sharp tone. “I had the dogs with me. I just wanted to see . . .” She shook her head in frustration. “Actually, I don’t know what I wanted. I guess I wanted to reassure myself her death really was an accident.”

Dom sucked in a deep breath, regaining command of his emotions. Typically he was an even-tempered guy who could pacify the most outrageous customers. A skill he’d developed as a child to deal with the angry bill collectors, neighbors, and even family members who Remy had managed to piss off.

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