nightmare of finding her husband’s blood-soaked body had shaken Leah terribly. The overwhelming details of planning his funeral had taken an even greater toll on her over the past few days, despite Clint’s efforts to help out. But until now, she’d been stoic, perhaps numb with grief. She certainly hadn’t seemed afraid.
Yet he’d seen the terror in her eyes tonight, and her farewell had seemed tinged with despair.
He raced to his pickup with the crying child in his arms. Why hadn’t Leah confided in him? He would do anything in the world to help her.
Now, he prayed that wherever she was going and whatever she was facing, she’d be back tonight. She’d never leave Sarah. Sarah was her life, especially since his sister’s relationship with her now-dead husband, Earl, had seemed pretty rocky lately. Leah poured all of her love into Sarah. She would never abandon her little girl—unless—No! Leah couldn’t have had anything to do with Earl’s murder, and she would never leave Sarah unless she thought Sarah would be in some kind of danger if she stayed with her. Danger? What was he thinking?
As he carefully buckled Sarah into her car seat, then climbed behind the wheel of his pickup, Clint whispered a prayer for his sister—a prayer that she’d be safe and back soon.
ONE
Mandy Erick flinched as the door of the Greyhound slid shut behind her.
The bus lumbered away, taking with it her chance to reach Texas or California or Oregon anytime soon. Leaving her standing on the edge of Loomis, Louisiana, a backwater town in the middle of nowhere.
Though maybe the middle of nowhere was the safest place for someone who’d had to leave her old identity behind.
A cool, late April rain dripped off her hair and into the collar of her thin jacket, and she wished she’d had time to pack an umbrella. A raincoat. For that matter, an extra pair of shoes.
But lingering could’ve meant being discovered. Being stopped before she could leave town. A few minor possessions were a small price to pay for her life.
Blinking at the raindrops on her eyelashes, she squinted toward what had to be the downtown area. Mostly dreary, rain-streaked brick buildings as far as she could see in the early morning light. No cheerful neon signs, no traffic. Not a soul in sight.
She could only hope that in a few hours the town would bustle to life, because blending anonymously into the fabric of this place would be impossible if there wasn’t a lot of activity here.
Small-town locals noticed strangers. Gossiped about them. Remembered when they showed up and when they left, and might take pleasure in sharing all those juicy tidbits with other strangers who could come along and start asking too many questions—a thought that made Mandy shudder.
But she’d had no choice. She’d had just enough cash to make it this far and couldn’t risk using her credit or debit cards.
She turned to study the shabby little diner tucked into the trees at the far end of the gravel parking lot.
Not much bigger than a two-car garage, the building had peeling paint and the outside sign was partly burned out, leaving just BIT—CAF and its name to the imagination. Still, there was an Open sign propped in the front window, the lights were on inside and anything had to be better than standing out in the rain.
Hiking her backpack up higher on her shoulder, Mandy grabbed the handle of her suitcase and trudged toward the café.
From somewhere in the dim recesses of her memory came the words of a childhood prayer. She snorted in disgust. Prayer might have worked back then, but it had been a long, long time since God had shown any interest in helping her, and she had the scars to prove it.
Mandy was definitely on her own.
The lone waitress came back to the booth in the corner every ten minutes or so, offering more coffee. Probably wishing Mandy would finally leave, since she’d finished her egg-and-a-piece-of-toast breakfast far more than an hour ago. But where did you go in a town like this at seven in the morning—and in the rain?
“More coffee?” The waitress, skinny and weathered, looked as if she’d been left out in the elements for a few years to cure, but there was a warm hint of concern in her voice this time around.
She stood at Mandy’s elbow with a coffeepot in one hand, her other hand on her hip, then snagged an upended cup from a neighboring table, filled it, and slid into the opposite side of Mandy’s booth. The faded badge on her yellow scrub top read Nonnie.
“Where’re y’all headed?”
Mandy shifted in her seat and avoided the woman’s knowing eyes. “West. I…have relatives out there.”
“Gotta long ways to go.” Nonnie took a long sip from her cup and then cradled it in her gnarled hands. “Lookin’ to stay around for a while?”
“I—” Mandy glanced around the small diner, wondering if she dared asked about a job. She realized at once that with the low base pay most waitresses received, plus the minimal tips possible in a place like this, she wouldn’t be able to afford rent, much less save money for her escape. “I don’t know.”
Nonnie seemed to read her mind. “Small place, I know. Me and my hubby own it, though. He cooks, I tend tables. We’ll have a good little crowd of regulars starting around seven-thirty.” She pulled a thin newspaper from her apron pocket and pushed it across the table. “I grabbed this from the back, just in case you’re looking for a job or a place to stay.”
Mandy ventured a quick glance at her but found only genuine concern on the woman’s face. “Thanks.”
“You best be careful, though. There’s been trouble ’round here this spring. Pretty little gal like you oughta watch her step.”
“T-trouble?”
“Three murders since January, and a sweet young woman went missing, so maybe there was a fourth. All of that, yet there’s some who still put way too much stock in frippery.” She gave a snort of disgust and tapped the headline of the paper that read Mother of the Year Pageant in Full Swing! “Whoooeee—you’d think them gals were runnin’ for president. And most of ’em wouldn’t be my idea of a good momma. Fancy ways, careers—their golf club more important than the PTA. But you can bet money talks, and one of those rich gals will win. Happens every year.”
“Murders?” Mandy’s stomach tied itself into a queasy knot.
Nonnie shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe it. “This town was quiet for decades. And then last winter…”
The woman’s eyes suddenly shimmered with tears, and Mandy wondered if she’d been close to some of the victims. “Have they caught whoever did it?”
“Nope. Some folks figure it’s…” She clamped her mouth shut. “But that’s just idle gossip. I don’t believe a word of it.”
Mandy’s unease grew, tightening its grip on her middle. Danger was following her. Now she’d landed in a place where she’d need to be on her guard even more. “Were the murders related?”
“Probably, to my mind. Everyone in Loomis is connected some way or another. Roots run deep in a place like this—some tangled in secrets and dark ways you just don’ wanna to know, chérie.”
The waitress made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go on, check the classifieds. It’s just our local paper, but you might find something. You can use our phone, if need be.” She stood. “I’d best go pass a mop over this floor so it can dry before things get busy.”
Mandy watched the woman scurry back to the kitchen, then took a deep breath as she pulled a pen from her backpack and started scanning the ads.
She had no money to continue on, and she needed to find a safe place where she’d be beyond Dean’s reach. With a low-profile job and a cheap place to live for a month or so, she could build