Page 147 of A Dead End Wedding

"Pretty deadly games," I pointed out, touching my shoulder and then the back of my head. "First painting my car, then a rock to the back of my head, and now a shotgun? What's next, a shoulder-fired missile?"

"I know where we can get a grenade," Mr. Ellison piped up.

"No grenades!" I said, feeling my teeth clench around the words. At this rate, I was going to have to buy migraine medicine in bulk.

"What are we going to do?" Max asked, handing Daisy a piece of her chicken sandwich.

"Hey! You said no people food," I said.

Max shrugged. "It seems like the least of my worries, suddenly. So what are we going to do?"

I shook off the sadness and self-pity that had swamped me all day. "We're going to figure this out," I said. "Who is doing this, and why?"

Mr. Ellison jumped up. "I'll get a whiteboard. Let's make a list!"

The phone rang, and we all flinched. I laughed a little and answered it. "December Vaughn."

Jake's voice came through, staticky but clear enough. "Vaughn, Gina took off from rehab, and they can't find her. They said she kept talking about how she was going to get revenge on you."

The connection died before I could respond, and I slowly put the phone back down. Then I looked up at Max and Mr. Ellison. "We have another name for the list."

Then I smacked myself in the head, which hurt my shoulder and sent a twinge through the healing stitches in my head. Stupid. "I totally forgot about Mrs. Zivkovich. We have to call her right away. And add Croc to the list." I picked the phone back up, wondering how my life and my practice had gotten so far out of control. Maybe corporate law hadn't been all that bad, after all.

After an hour of discussion, our list of suspects looked like this:

GINA SCHIANTELLI

NERVIL/CROC

ADDISON LANGLEY AND HIS FIRM; COVER UP?

SARAH GREENBERG; YACHT THREAT?

SOMEONE FROM BDC?

But our list of incidents didn't match up:

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