Don't Look Back. Margaret Daley

killed by someone he trusted. A cool breeze stirred the leaves on the live oak shading the driveway, causing the Spanish moss to dance as though someone were pulling its strings. Cassie hugged her sweater to her.

      “What do we do?” she whispered around the knot in her throat.

      “We check out his apartment and let the police know if anything is missing. Then we let them do their job.”

      The way he said “we” warmed her. She felt comforted just knowing she wouldn’t have to go through this ordeal alone. “Thank you.”

      “I’m just doing what any friend would do.” He guided her toward the stairs.

      Slowly Cassie mounted the steps, each one bringing her closer to the murder scene. She withdrew the key from under the mat and tried to unlock the door, but her hands shook.

      “Here, I’ll do it.” After taking the key from her grasp, Jameson inserted it into the keyhole and turned it. He eased the door open, then faced her, taking her quivering hands within his. “I’m with you every step of the way. If you want to do this another day, just say the word and we’re out of here.”

      She welcomed his presence more than he would ever know. She forced herself to smile, but she couldn’t maintain it. “I need to get this over with. If something is missing, it might help the police find out who killed Scott.”

      Wordlessly Jameson entered her brother’s apartment first, scanning the living room before allowing her inside. When she stepped through the entrance, she found it difficult to breathe. Her gaze was riveted to the spot on the carpet where Scott had been lying, the dry, red stain ridiculing her remaining composure. The faint stench of blood accosted her nostrils, and she gagged.

      She bit her lower lip and backed up, her fingers pressing into her mouth. Suddenly she wanted to cry, but no tears came. Scott was gone. She no longer had to protect him and look out for him, but she wished she still did.

      “I don’t know how I’m going to tell Mom Scott was murdered.”

      Jameson drew her past the place on the rug where they had found Scott and down the short hall. “Let’s start in his bedroom.”

      The first thing that struck her when she saw the room was how neat and orderly her brother had always been. Even his bed was made, whereas she often left hers a mess. They had been so different. She stood in the entrance and swept her gaze over the pieces of furniture, trying to visualize what Scott had.

      “His TV is still here. And his radio.” Cassie walked farther inside, trying to remember what she’d helped him move a few months back. “He really doesn’t have a whole lot besides his TV, radio and—” she spun around “—his computer. Did you see it in the living room?”

      “No. Where does he usually keep it?”

      Cassie crossed to the closet and opened it. “Wherever he decides to work. It’s a laptop.” After inspecting the contents of the shelf and floor, she turned toward Jameson. “If his murder is connected to his work, then the computer is important as well as his tape recorder.”

      “Then let’s search for them.” He made his way back into the living area.

      Cassie again paused in the entrance, glad that the couch blocked her view of the red-stained carpet. She did a visual sweep of the large room with the kitchen off to the left, but saw nothing out of place. A picture of her brother sitting at the small kitchen table typing on his laptop popped into her mind. She peered toward it, but its bare surface mocked her.

      While Jameson circled the spacious open area, Cassie hung back, frozen in place. Sweat broke out on her forehead and palms. She watched while Jameson opened cabinets and drawers in the small kitchen and even checked the refrigerator.

      Finally he faced her, his gaze reaching out to her. “I can’t find the laptop or recorder. Would they be anywhere else?”

      “Maybe in his car. I know the police inventoried its contents. They didn’t say anything about his laptop being in it.”

      “How about at the paper?”

      Cassie shook her head. “He has a computer there. And he always had his recorder on him in case something came up unexpectedly. There wouldn’t be any reason for it to be at the newspaper.”

      “Then let’s take a look at his car. If we don’t find them, we can tell the police they are missing for sure.”

      “Which means his murder is probably connected to something he was working on.”

      Jameson closed the space between them. “Yes. Do you know what story he was writing?”

      “No, he always kept things secret until his story came out. The last story published was that series on corruption at nursing homes run by the Bender Corporation. The last article was a few days ago.”

      “Let’s go check his car, then call Detective Harrison.”

      “Yeah, I need to get home and talk to Mom before someone else tells her.” But first she had to walk past that stain in the carpet.

      She started forward but couldn’t move. When Jameson turned back to her, her gaze shifted toward the area where Scott had been lying when they had found him Friday night. “I—I can’t…”

      Jameson held out his hand for her.

      A fine sheen of perspiration covered her face. She rubbed her damp palms against her jeans, then lifted one toward him. It quavered between them.

      His firm clasp surrounded her fingers. “You won’t have to come back here again, Cassie, if you don’t want to.”

      His calm voice soothed her raw nerves, but still her legs wouldn’t obey the command from her brain to walk.

      I can do this.

      Then suddenly Psalm 23 flowed through her mind, prodding her forward. When she got to the place where the red stain was, she said out loud, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”