Page 99 of Over the Edge

I’m getting impatient. This is dragging on much longer than I expected.

If there hadn’t been a witness in the kitchen that day, we’d be home free. Have to go. Schedule is full this afternoon.

You’re always busy.

Goes with the territory. Life will be less crazy after this is over.

If getting rid of Lindsey Barnes will speed up that outcome, I’m in.

I’ll keep that in mind. Happy Thanksgiving.

Not as happy as it could be.

There’s always next year.

Hold that thought. And keep Lindsey in your sights. We’re too close to our goal to let anything—or anyone—stand in our way.

Twenty-One

IT WAS PART OFAname.

Wrenching her eyes open, Lindsey bolted upright in bed. Groped for the switch on her bedside lamp. Squinted as soft light flooded her room at this post-midnight hour.

The mark on the arm of the person who’d killed James Robertsonhadbeen a tattoo. The image of it that had replayed in her mind as she slumbered was real. She could call it up just as clearly wide awake.

While most of it had been hidden by the sleeve of the long coat, two letters had been visible when the person reached down to pick up the dropped piece of jewelry that had come to rest mere inches from her hiding place.

Aneand ay.

The swirl at the end of theyhad curved back up over the letters and disappeared into the sleeve of the coat.

She had to tell Jack.

But not at this hour. Her news could wait until tomorrow. Perhaps shared over the piece of cheesecake she’d saved for him from Thanksgiving dinner two days ago.

Wouldn’t that be a pleasant end to the long holiday weekend?

Mouth curving up, Lindsey eased back under the covers as the wind outside whistled past, rattling the shutters. Hopefully the meteorologists were wrong, and the snow in the forecast would pass St. Louis by. If they did get dumped on, that could put a damper on a visit from Jack.

But not on her news—and waiting to tell him in person wasn’t an option. So first thing tomorrow she’d give him a call, whether a personal visit was in the offing or not.

And if new information kept surfacing, there might be enough fragments at some point to piece together a solid lead for the police to follow.

An outcome that would please everyone involved.

Except the killer.

HIS FAVORITE CHEFwas on the line.

Smiling, Jack grabbed his cell off the counter as he finished pouring his first cup of Sunday java. “Morning.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. I always get up with the sun. How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Lovely. How about yours?”

“Very pleasant. Bri outdid herself. I think she was trying to impress her new boyfriend and his grandmother.”

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