Page 21 of In the Dead of Night

CHAPTER SIX

“Maybe you ought to sit down and tell me everything. No holding out.”

Sara slid into the chair opposite Nick and sighed. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“The beginning is usually a pretty good place.”

Setting her hands on the table before her, she gathered her thoughts. “Two days ago I received an anonymous phone call telling me my father was not a murderer.”

“Was the voice male or female?”

“I don’t know. It sounded…electronically altered.”

“Those devices can be purchased on the Internet for under a hundred dollars.” His expression remained impassive. “Go on.”

Quickly, she gave him the details of the call. “He said there was information that would vindicate my father.”

“What information? Did he give details?”

“He wasn’t specific.”

“How do you know the call wasn’t some kind of prank?”

She considered that a moment, trying not to feel foolish. “Gut, mostly.” She bit her lip. “He called me again this morning.”

“What did he say?”

Sara’s heart was pounding when she picked up her cup of coffee and sipped. “He told me I had seen the killer that night.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Did you?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“But it’s possible?”

She nodded. “I’ve spent years trying to remember everything that happened that night. I went through years of psychotherapy. I even underwent hypnosis.”

“To no avail.”

“Unfortunately.”

“What else did the caller say?”

Sara debated whether to tell him everything. The voice had told her not to trust anyone. But there was something about Nick that made her want to confide in him, trust him.

She set down the cup. “The caller mentioned a manuscript.”

“You think the notes you found in the attic have something to do with this missing manuscript?”

“Maybe.”

His brows snapped together. “What kind of manuscript?”

“He didn’t say.” Her gaze latched onto his. “Nick, your father was a true-crime writer.”

“He was a plumber who published two true-crime novels, neither of which made much more than a ripple in the publishing world.”

Uncle Nicholas, the plumber, had forged an unlikely friendship with her parents, the proverbial Hollywood couple. The memory always made her smile. “He was a nice man.”