AS SOONas I heard the larks the next morning, I hustled out of bed and hurried to the bookcase. Books one and two had been incredible. I’d stayed up way later than I should have to find out who the killer—or should I say, killers—were. It left me breathless. Book three,The Corpse Wore Death, beckoned to me. So at five o’clock I sat on the porch, glass of water beside me, poring over the book. It opened with an intense sex scene, which turned out to be the cover for the murder. I shivered at the descriptions Charlie used when the killer went ballistic on his prey, because they were so damned vivid they made me glad I hadn’t read them the night before.
I finished just before ten and couldn’t wait to see Charlie. He’d be amazed when I told him I’d gotten through three of his books and couldn’t wait to tear into the fourth one. I got up, poured the last glass of lemonade for him, quickly made a fresh batch, just in case he wanted more, then went back out onto the porch.
Ten o’clock came and went. Ten thirty. Eleven. Noon.
My pulse quickened. He’d never been this late before, and my mind went over the possibilities. Maybe he’d been called into the library. Or he could have overslept because he’d been up late and gotten up too early the day before. But no matter what I told myself, none of those seemed plausible.
Panic gripped me, and I had no idea what to do. I tried calling his number, but it went to his voicemail. My voice shook horribly when I left a message. Then I recalled what he’d said about Clay. Being the sheriff, maybe Clay might know what was going on. His phone rang three times before he answered.
“Matt,” he breathed. “You okay?”
“Yes. No. No, I’m not.” I slid my hand through my hair as I struggled to maintain control. A battle I wouldn’t win. “I can’t get in touch with Charlie, and he hasn’t been by today. He comes by every day, but he didn’t today, and I’m worried.”
I heard him groan.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded. “I can hear it in your voice. Something’s wrong.”
“There was an accident yesterday morning.”
