Chapter 12 - Shadows on the Stairwell

Chapter 1Shattered Beginnings

June races through the sprawling colony, her breath coming fast as she gathers what she needs. The house she bought with Charles nearly twenty years ago feels cavernous without him.

Where's my phone? she thinks, scanning the room before spotting it plugged into the charger. She yanks the device free. Tonight is Lily's first recital, and she plans to record every second—not just for herself, but for Meg, her sister, who's tied up running the farm miles away. They send pictures back and forth, trading glimpses of their lives. It's their way of staying close despite the distance.

June checks the clock. We have to go. She strides to the bottom of the stairs, looking up She yells, "Hurry, girls! We don't want to be late."

Lilly and Millie—her twins—couldn't be more different. Lilly inherited her father's musical talent. Millie, like June, couldn't carry a tune, not that the child cared. Millie loves sports, preferring jerseys over dresses and ponytails over styled waves. Lilly, on the other hand, adored fashion, always experimenting with hairstyles and color palettes.

June glances at her watch. We should've left ten minutes ago.

"Coming, Mom!" The twins shout in unison from upstairs.

June sighs, shaking her head. They'll never be on time. She told them hours ago to get ready, yet here they are—late, again. We wouldn't be running late if Charles were alive. He was a little too strict sometimes, but the girls listened to him. When he spoke, they obeyed, and there weren't ever any backtalk or any delays. If only I had that kind of authority.

A lump rises in her throat. She wipes her face as she pictures her husband in her mind. Nearly a year since Charles' heart attack, and still the grief comes in waves—crashing down when she least expects it. She tries to be strong for the girls, to hold onto some sense of normalcy, but some days, pretending is exhausting.

She checks her watch again. "We have to"

Her words falter in her throat.

Lilly stands at the top of the staircase, glowing.

"My baby is growing up," June thinks, blinking back tears. Soon, she'll be teenagers.

"You look beautiful, honey."

"She hopes Roger will notice her," Millie teases, racing past her sister on the stairs. Lilly flushes. She's had a crush on Roger since grade school, though he hardly knows she exists. But tonight, she's determined to change that.

"I'm going to make it impossible for him not to notice me." Lillie grins, checking her reflection one last time before heading downstairs.

June sighs. "You're both too young to even think about boys."

Millie rolls her eyes. "We're not babies, Mom."

"I know. But you're not old enough to date either."

"Some of my friends have been dating for over a year."

"And half of them will end up teen moms," June argues.

"It's not like it was in your day—hooking up with every guy you date."

June's face reddens at what her daughter just said. "Millie!"

"Well, it's true. I heard you and Dad talking about your younger, more—promiscuous days."

Before June can scold her, Lilly cuts in: "Shotgun!"

Millie groans. "She rode shotgun last time!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!" Blocking the car door, Millie crosses her arms. "Tell her it's my turn, Mom."

June exhales. "I don't have the time or patience for this. Both of you—back seat. Now."

Lilly stomps her foot. "That's not fair!"

"Yeah," Millie mutters, climbing in with a huff. She slams the door. Lilly does the same.

As June backs out of the driveway, she glances in the rearview mirror. The girl's arms are crossed; their faces are stormy. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.

At least it'll be a quiet ride.

She turns onto the road and checks the clock. I'm going to have to speed if I want to get us there on time.

Gripping the wheel, she presses the pedal down, sailing through an intersection as the yellow light flickers red.

"Look out!"

Lilly's scream shredding the silence.

June jerks her gaze to the right—just in time to see the semi barreling toward them.

She slams down on the gas. The diesel clips the back end of the car.

They spin. And spin. And spin.

Rain drizzles from the starless sky as first responders work the wreckage.

Millie wakes to the sharp scent of antiseptics. Her body is strapped to a gurney. She then hears the distant wail of sirens. The ambulance lights blind her as she glances around.

"Lilly?" she croaks through her painfully dry throat. She looks over to find Lilly sobbing beside her.

Licking her parched lips, Millie asks. "What's wrong?"

Lilly lifts a shaky finger, pointing outside. "They let Mom die."

Millie turns her head. Her mother lies motionless on the pavement, blood pooling beneath her. A paramedic stands over her, shaking his head.

Panic surges through every inch of the child's body. "Don't just stand there—do something! Please, do something!" Millie cries.

The ambulance doors shut.

"You can't just leave her like that!" Millie struggles against the straps.

An EMT steps forward, placing a gentle hand on her arm. In a calm voice he says, "We did all we could."

Millie barely hears him.

Lilly leans close, whispering something.

Millie's tears stopped.

She turns to the paramedic, eyes steady.

She smiles. And nods.

Chapter 2Deadly Connection

 Tossing his keys on the table, Sam shrugs off his backpack, then darts down the pictureless hall to the back. I've been looking forward to our chat all day, he thinks, firing up his computer. He's been chatting with this hot chick for nearly a month, and tonight, he's going to ask her for a date.

Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, he smooths it out and quickly scans what he wrote. He's been rehearsing the conversation every chance he gets, hoping to get it right. I don't want to screw up the way I did with Shelly. He recalls what a bumbling mess that turned out to be. She gave him you've-got-to-be-kidding look, laughed, and walked away. He was so humiliated that it took him months to summon up the courage to ask again. That was the loneliest time of my life. He glances at the computer's home screen, takes a deep breath, and says, "Hopefully that will all end tonight."

Sam pulls up his WhatsApp and clicks connect. Using the screen as a mirror, he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, then straightens his wrinkly shirt. The connection continues to ring. Sam nervously shifts in his chair. Please answer before I chicken out again. For the past two weeks he's tried to find enough courage to ask her out. The computer continues to make a strange ringing sound. Maybe she had to work late tonight. 

Darting to the bedroom, he grabs a clean shirt, runs a comb through his short, sandy blond hair, and then checks himself out in the mirror. Much better. He dashes to the kitchen for a quick snack. He returns to the computer and finds a missed call from her; he calls her back. Her angelic face appears after the second ring. 

"Hi, love," she smiles.

"Hi, ah, how was your day?" he asks, eyeing the notes beside him. I need to ease into this; don't rush or sound too desperate, he thinks. Smiling, he glances at the screen again. 

"Uneventful. What about yours?'

"Busy." He shakes his head and adds, "People don't take the heat advisories seriously."

"My surprise will cheer you up."

Sam moves closer to the screen. "What do you have in mind?" He asks, readjusting his manhood. She'd promised sexy time weeks ago and hoped tonight would be the night.

"First you need to click on the photo I just sent you."

He clicks on the link. A picture of her posing naked appears on his screen. "You're hot." He feels his manhood rising to attention as he admires every inch of her sleek, tanned body. 

Smiling, she says, "Now turn around."

He turns to find her naked in his doorway. "Lana?" 

"Goodbye, Sam." 

"Goodbye, but…

She lifts her gun in front of her.

Sam glances at the weapon and then at her. "I don't understand."

"You should've saved my mom when you had the chance." She squeezes the trigger. Two muffled shots rang out.

Sam flops back in his chair. 

****

Rachel and her detectives are working on a cold case at their desk. The recent lull affords them a chance to finally review an investigation that's been weighing heavy on their minds for months. It was a triple homicide and a disappearance on the same day.

"Kirk, Jeff, you go talk to the victim's mother. Jerry and I will see what else I can come up with." Diego fled the country shortly after his brother's death, leaving no traces behind. They always assumed he fled in fear of his life. 

"Yes, sergeant," they say in unison, pushing away from their desks. 

"Hold on a second," the sergeant says, reaching for the ringing phone.

"Sam didn't come to work today. I see." Looking up, she motions for her detectives to go on. "I'll have someone do a wellness check on him. What's the address? We will be right there."

She looks up to find Kirk and Jeff are long gone. Turning, she says, "Jerry, you're coming with me today." With his poor health, his job is mainly research. 

"Why, what's going on, sergeant?" 

"A neighbor found Sam Gallo dead in his home."

***

The sergeant and her crew arrive to find a tearful group of EMTs on the front lawn. Rachel is barking out orders as she and Jerry continue across the lawn. "Jerry, talk to the EMTs and see if they can tell you anything."

"You've got it, sarge."

Rachel heads to the house to find a tall, muscular officer standing at the door. He has a stern look on his face. His arms are across his chest. His intimidating stature, deep voice, and no-nonsense approach have gotten many to confess. Some even soil themselves.

"Officer."

"Sergeant," he nods, then steps aside. "They're in the back."

"Thanks." She walks down the narrow hall to the office in the back. The sergeant reaches the back room to find the ME inspecting the body.

"It looks like he took two at close range to the chest." She examines the wound, looks up, and says, "A 45 would be my guess."

"What is his time of death?"

"According to rigor mortis and body temp, I'd say it was sometime late yesterday evening. I'll be able to narrow it down further once I get him to the lab."

Rachel scans the crime scene, pieces it together in her mind, points to the laptop, and says, "He's about to get on his computer when he hears footsteps behind him. He turns to see who it is, and the intruder shoots him." 

"That sounds like a logical theory since the laptop lid was open, but the power was off."

Rachel turns to find a forensic tech behind her. "Are there any signs of a struggle?"

"No, and no signs of a break-in either."

"Sam would've had to have known who the shooter was."

"Nothing appears to be missing, so it's not a burglary gone wrong."

Rachel glances at the victim again. "Two bullets straight to the heart tell me the shooting is personal. Are there any cameras in the area?"

"I couldn't find any in the house, and he doesn't have an alarm." 

"Be sure to check all his devices to see what you can find and." Stopping, she turns and says, I'm sorry, Bill. I forgot who I was talking to." Placing her hand on his arm, she adds. "Just do what you always do. She starts to leave, turns, and says, "I'm glad you're back."

"I am too. And, Sergeant, I won't disappoint you."

Rachel smiles and says, "You never do." 

 The higher-ups thought it'd be better and more budget-friendly to put a younger tech in the field while cutting the higher-paid techs hours back. After months of giving Bill's replacement step-by-step instructions on how to do his job, the frustrated sergeant storms into their office demanding they bring Bill back. When they denied her request, she threatened to go to the mayor. Born and raised in Berryville, Rachel's deep roots connect her to the most influential city seats. Of course, it doesn't hurt that her husband is the police captain, her father is a retired DA, and her stepmother is the mayor's assistant.

Rachel returns to the station to find Jeff and Kirk at their desks. "So, what did you guys find out?"

"We were right; Diego ran because he was in fear of his life. I asked for a name, and he said the threats have been taken care of."

"He's back in town?"

"He claims he got in late last night and said he wanted to be here for his mom's final days."

"What about the shooter?"

"Right. I guess Russ, the one who killed Diego's brother, had a car accident a few nights back, killing both him and his brother Jesse."

"Russ and Jesse Demarcus?"

"That's the one. Our initial investigation showed that they were coming home drunk from a bar and slid on black ice, flying off the side of the cliff."

Nodding, Jeff adds. "Forensics didn't find anything to prove foul play."

"Can you tie the two brothers to the shooting?"

"A gun was found in Russ's car; I'm going to see if ballistics can run it for a match."

"Well, we caught a case while you two were out. Sam was found shot in his home."

"Sam, the EMT?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Cap just got a call about a Eureka Springs EMT who was found shot in his car."

Chapter 3COD Heated Exchange

The sun shines brightly through the kitchen window as Millie sits at the table, reflecting on the day ahead. It's Saturday, so Millie figures the hospital is going to be swamped. Overworked and understaffed is the story of my life, she thinks, taking a sip of coffee. She's wanted to be in the medical field since she was a child, although many times she wishes she'd listened to her mom and chosen a different, less stressful career instead.

"Morning, honey."

She looks up to find her handsome, shirtless husband stumbling into the kitchen. His short brown hair is tousled. The sleepy look on his face makes him seem like a young kid. "What are you doing up so early?"

Steven kisses the top of her head. "I wanted to see my beautiful wife before she left for work—and to give her this." He pulls out a small wooden box. "Happy fifth anniversary, hon."

She figures he's forgotten about their anniversary with his dad's funeral and all. "The design is beautiful," Millie says, running her finger across the etching.

"Open it," he urges, shifting anxiously.

She opens the box to find a sparkly gold ring. Her birthstone sits in the center, surrounded by small diamonds.

"It's beautiful, honey."

"Allow me." He takes the ring and places it on her finger.

Millie admires it, then says, "I love it." Sliding off the stool, she pulls her husband closer and kisses him.

"How much time do we have?"

She glances at the clock. "I've got to go." She kisses Steven again. "To be continued, I promise." Scooping up her things, she darts down the hall.

"I'll be looking forward to it!" he yells as the door closes.

Finding the ER is packed when she arrives, Mille tosses her purse into her locker and then hurries to the nurse's station.

"Sorry I'm late," she says breathlessly, plopping down in her chair.

"It's been a circus since midnight," the older nurse mutters, grabbing her notes.

Millie gets a patient update and decides to make her rounds. Her first stop is Marty Hull, a well-known drug seeker.

"So, what seems to be bothering you today, Mr. Hull?"

"It's my back again. I think I threw it out when I was with my lady friend."

She checks his chart—waiting on an X-ray. "Can I get you something while we wait?"

"Another pain pill would be greatly appreciated."

"I'll see what I can do." His doctor has a standing order for placebos—with the stipulation to call if something is wrong.

Wincing, he says, "I'd appreciate it."

What an actor, Millie thinks, rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she steps into the hall.

She heads to the next room and finds another frequent flyer—a term they lovingly use for patients who are at the hospital more than they are at home.

"Good morning, Ms. Rose. What brings you to the ER today?"

"Didn't that lazy-ass charge nurse tell you anything?" she snaps.

"I want to hear what happened from you."

"EMTs found me passed out at the park. I was told my blood sugar was dangerously high when I finally came to."

"Have you been following the diet we talked about?"

"I'll starve to death if I do."

"I'll have a nutritionist come in and talk to you; see what she can do."

"A lot of help they'll do."

Stepping back into the hallway, Millie spots two police officers talking to an EMT while others speak to her staff. She approaches one of the doctors.

"What's going on?"

"Sam Gallo was found shot in his home this morning."

"What?"

"Evidently it happened sometime late last night."

"That's awful." A tap on her shoulder draws her attention, an officer stands behind her.

"We need to ask you a few questions about Sam Gallo."

"Yes, of course."

"Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

"The break room should be free."

Once settled, Millie shifts nervously in her chair, glancing at the officer. "Can we make this quick? I've got many patients who need attention."

"You've heard about Sam Gallo, correct?"

"Yes, but I don't see how this has anything to do with me."

"One of your coworkers told us that you and the deceased got into a heated debate."

Millie recalls their argument the evening before. "We had a few words, but …"

"So, what was the argument about?"

"He was stocking up the ambulance from our stockroom instead of the supply room, which leaves the ED short. I've asked him several times not to do that, but he never listens to me."

"Your coworkers said you threatened him."

"My only threat was going above his head."

Suddenly, a flashback slams into her—Millie sees the car demolished at the roadside. Her mother lies dead on the pavement, surrounded by a pool of blood. Her sister Lilly sits nearby on a gurney, eyes wide, whispering something. It was the last thing Millie heard her say.

What did she say to me? Millie thinks, straining to recall.

"Mrs. Clark."

"Yes, I'm sorry. What was that?"

"That's the only threat you made?"

"Yes, of course."

"Where were you last night between 6 p.m. and midnight?"

"I was at home, waiting for my husband to get back. He's on active duty—he came back for his father's funeral."

"You were home alone until when?"

"It was close to midnight when he pulled into the drive."

"We'll be in touch."

Chapter 4Echoes Before Midnight

Millie tosses around in bed for what feels like hours. The sheets twisted around her legs like vines. No matter how many times she flips her pillow or shifts her position, sleep remains just out of reach—taunting her with its absence. The soft rise and fall of Steven's breathing beside her only amplifies her frustration. She lies still for a moment, staring at the ceiling. "It's no use," she sighs.

Sliding out of bed, she tiptoes downstairs, the floorboards creaking under her bare feet with every careful step. Plopping onto the couch, she grabs the remote and begins flipping through the stations. "With over a hundred channels, you'd think I could find something besides infomercials.

With a groan, she tosses the remote onto the cushion beside her and slumps back into the sofa. Her gaze drifts to the window, where the moonlight casts silver shadows across the quiet street. Maybe a long, relaxing drive will wear me out, she thinks.

She heads to the laundry room, grabs a clean outfit still warm from the dryer, and quickly changes. Running her fingers through her hair, Millie twists it into a messy bun, then glances in the hallway mirror. "That'll have to do." She snatches her keys from the table and slips out the door; the night's cool air gently brushes her skin, sending a chill down her spine. Shivering, she takes a quick look around before climbing into her car. 

*****

Joe lounges on the couch in his dimly lit apartment, the flickering TV casting shifting shadows across the paneled walls. Rachel's still at work; the kids are tucked in bed, and Joe is enjoying the peace and quiet. He reaches for the bag of chips beside him. His eyes never leave the screen. Rachel would have a fit if she saw me eating these. He smirks. Rachel doesn't like him eating a bunch of junk, letting him know every chance she gets. 

The apartment, although cramped, has become home. They moved in when Rachel was pregnant with their first. Two more kids later, it's tight but manageable, and Rachel's family is close by. Her sister, Becca, is across the hall, and her biological mom is a few doors down. They're built-in babysitters, Joe often joked.

The front door clicks open. Joe's hand darts to the chip bag, shoving it between the cushions. The crinkle is deafening. Smooth, he thinks.

Rachel steps inside, dropping her purse and keys on the table.

"I was wondering if you were ever coming home."

"Got caught up in research," she says, kicking off her shoes. "Lost track of time."

Joe brushes chip crumbs from his shirt. "Find anything interesting?"

"I want to talk to Millie Clark tomorrow. Apparently, she and Sam had words hours before he died."

"Does she have an alibi?"

"She says she was home alone waiting for her husband. No one can confirm it."

The movie credits roll, soft music playing in the background. Joe yawns and stretches. "That was a good movie."

"Becca and I watched the show a few weeks ago. She liked it. I thought it was all right. I didn't like the ending."

"You never do like to see the bad guys win," he teases, handing her the remote. "I'm heading to bed."

"I was thinking the same." She smiles. "You might want to hide your chips before the kids find them."

Joe raises an eyebrow. "How'd you know?"

Chuckling, Rachel shakes her head as she walks down the hall.

They've been married fifteen years, but their story started long before that; they were grade school friends and later high school sweethearts. Everyone expected them to marry, but life had other plans. Joe joined the military. Rachel moved to Harrison for nursing school. Years later, fate brought them back together during a case Joe was working on. Rachel was determined to prove her cousin Emma's innocence, and Joe tried to prove her wrong.

Rachel left her nursing career behind not long after solving the case, joining the force, and climbing the ranks. She became a detective in five years and a sergeant four years later.

Rachel peeks into her son's room. Joe Jr. is fast asleep, his face peaceful in the moonlight. Ten already. She crosses the hall to check on her youngest to find him curled up in his toddler bed. My baby will be in preschool this fall. Where has the time gone?

She tiptoes into Lulu's room. The princess's night-light glows softly, casting a warm hue over the fairytale wallpaper. Lulu sleeps with one arm draped over her life-sized doll, the picture of innocence. Rachel smiles, remembering the chubby toddler who used to babble nonsense and waddle across the room. I can't believe she's in second grade already.

As she steps into the hallway, Joe is waiting. He sees the look on her face.

"Is everything alright?"

"They're all sleeping like little angels," she says, wiping a tear.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"Our babies are growing up," she whispers, pressing her face against his chest.

"They can't stay little forever."

"I know," she says, her voice trembling. "But still..."

Joe takes her hand. "I know what'll make you feel better."

Rachel pulls back, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, Joe, I just can't tonight."

He rolls his eyes. "Is that all you think about? You sex-crazed woman, you."

She laughs. "Well, I."

"I meant a hot bath," he says, chuckling.

She grins. "That I can do."

They barely reach their bedroom when the phone rings. Joe picks it up and glances at the caller ID. "It's the station."

Rachel checks hers. "Mine is too."

"Bower," they say in unison. They glance at each other and smile as the caller begins speaking.

"We'll be right there, Jerr," Joe says, hanging up.

The captain and sergeant pull up to the crime scene and find the yard taped off. The forensics team is combing through the grass, flashlights sweeping in arcs. Finding the ME's vehicle parked in the driveway, they assume Sharon is inside the house.

Jerry walks over to meet them. "His name's Evan Brown," he says, tapping his chest. "He took two straight to the heart—just like Sam."

"Who called it in?" Joe asks.

Jerry points to the far corner of the lot. "Delivery guy. Jack Nolan. He says he heard Evan calling for help when he was dropping off food. He ran in and found him bleeding out on the living room floor. Call 911, but it was too late by the time paramedics got here."

"Did Evan say anything before he passed?"

Jerry shakes his head. "The victim begged for help, but that was it.

Joe nods. "Tell Kirk to check for any cameras in the area. See if anyone saw anything. And I want you to do a deep dive on Evan Brown."

"You got it, Captain."

Rachel walks back over, her brow furrowed. "Forensics say there's no sign of a break-in or struggle. The alarm was off disarmed at 7:15 from the panel, which the company says is his usual time. According to their logs, he typically resets it around midnight. The alarm company log shows the door opening at 7:14, then again at 11:35—the time the driver says he arrived."

Joe processes that. "So, the intruder either followed him in… or was already inside waiting."

"Does anything appear to be missing?" he adds.

Rachel shakes her head. "No."

Chapter 5Two Deaths and a Drive

Millie pulls into her driveway, exhausted and ready to collapse. Her eyes are red and dry, her eyelids heavy with fatigue. She glances at the clock to find it's nearly three a.m. I can still get a few hours of sleep before my shift. She yawns.

Quietly, she makes her way inside. Taking off her shoes, she tiptoes up the stairs. Moonlight shimmers through the colorless blind, giving her just enough light to see. When she steps into the master bedroom and hears Steven snoring softly, a comforting sound she's grown to love and often misses when he's away.

She glances down at her clothes and then toward the dresser holding her nightgowns. "I'm too exhausted to change," she thinks, falling into bed.

Millie startles awake when the alarm blares. Sunlight pours through the blinds. "I feel like I haven't slept a wink," she grumbles, switching off the noisy device. Every fiber in her weary body aches with the simplest movements. If only I could get a few more minutes of sleep.

Falling back onto her pillow, she jerks the covers over her head.

"It's time to get up." Steven calls from the doorway. 

"I'm up," she mutters, shoving the covers aside. "I wish I could stay in bed for the next week, but I can't." She throws her feet over the side of the bed.

"You could always call in."

"I'm tempted to believe me."

"Then do." He gently strums his finger down the side of her face, smiling. "You and I could spend the day in bed."

She slips her feet into cozy pink slippers. "As tempting as that sounds, I just can't do that to them."

Steven hands her a steaming coffee cup. "Good thing I added espresso."

"I'll need a triple shot the way I'm feeling." Millie takes a small sip. "I'm not sure that'll be enough."

Steven brushes the tangled hair from her face and kisses her forehead. "The hospital is going to be the death of you, working all night and then again today."

"I wasn't called in this morning, Steven."

"Oh?" He sits on the bed beside her.

"I couldn't sleep, so I went for a drive."

"Is something bothering you?"

Millie's face pales when she recalls what she was told. "One of my coworkers was found dead in his home."

"That's awful."

"Everyone is afraid we might be next."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he pulls her close and says, "Don't worry, honey. You're safe with me."

"I am now, but what about when you leave?"

"I'm sure they'll catch the killer by then, and if not, I'll install an alarm and maybe adopt a dog."

"Thanks, honey. You're the greatest." She sips her coffee again. "I'm sorry I woke you last night."

"You didn't. The garage door did. He chuckles. "I figured that I probably deserve it for putting off fixing the stupid thing. "He looks at the clock. "You better get ready."

She glanced over to find she only has ten minutes to shower and change. "I've got to hurry," she thinks, springing to her feet. 

Steven takes her empty cup. "I'll have another ready when you come down."

She rushes to the bathroom, calculating the time in her mind. I don't have time to shower today.

She starts to pull her t-shirt over her head when she notices a small reddish-brown stain near the hem. Holding it up to the light, she frowns. That's blood, alright.

She checks her arms and doesn't find a single mark. So where did it come from?

A tap on the door interrupts her thoughts.

"You better hurry, honey, if you don't want to be late." 

"I'm almost finished." She glances at the stain again. I'll figure out where it came from when I get home.

Changing into her scrubs, she heads downstairs. Steven hands her a fresh coffee mug, kisses her cheek, and smiles. "Hope you have a wonderful day."

"I just hope I will survive."

***

Millie pulls into the hospital parking lot and finds several police cruisers. A group of officers is chatting near the corner. What's going on? Millie hurries inside.

She reaches the entryway and sees police questioning staff. Call lights flash above patients' doors. Some are yelling at nurses; others have family members lingering in doorways, looking for help.

"What's going on?" she asks the charge nurse as she zips by.

"Help me answer these call lights, and then I'll explain."

"Sure."

Once things settle down, Agatha turns to Millie, sighs, and says, "Thanks for the assistance."

"I'm glad I could help. So why are the police questioning everyone?"

"Evan Brown was found shot in his home."

Millie gasps. That's horrible." 

Agatha eyes her carefully and asks, "Didn't you and he have words yesterday?"

"I wouldn't call it an argument, really. Well, not on my part anyway. I told him he needs to start dropping off patients and leave instead of flirting with all the nurses for hours at a time. He said, "I've turned into a withered old hag since I married Steven."

"That's an interesting story, Miss Clark. Mind if we talk?"

Millie turns to find a tall, rounded officer behind her. He has short, brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a five o'clock shadow that gives some color to his pale skin.

"Not at all, detective." Millie leans forward getting a closer look at his name tag.

"Everyone calls me Jerry."

After eight years in the military, Jerry joined the police academy—unaware his old military pal Joe had graduated earlier. Joe, now a sergeant, offered him a spot at the Berryville PD. Jerry works his way up to sergeant, with Joe rising to captain. Health issues forced Jerry to step down. His doctor suggested retirement, but Jerry chose a quieter role.

"Let's go into the nurses' lounge," Millie says, leading the way.

The space is practical. A refrigerator, microwave, and industrial coffee pot in one corner; a sink on the opposite wall. Large tables sit scattered throughout the room.

Jerry pulls out his notebook, glances up, and asks, "What time did your shift end yesterday?"

"You don't waste any time, do you, detective?" Millie says as she settles into her chair.

"Not when there've been two murders a day apart. So, what time did you leave?"

"My shift ends at seven, but I didn't clock out around seven thirty. I have to give the oncoming shift report and do rounds."

"Where did you go after you left the hospital?"

"I went home and took a nap. It was a busy day—we were short-staffed."

"What did you do once you woke up?"

"My husband, Steven, and I went out to celebrate our fifth anniversary. I can hardly believe that we've been married that long," she thinks, recalling the wedding and the honeymoon after.

Jerry glances up from his notebook and smiles. "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"So, where'd you two lovebirds go?"

"He took me to a fancy restaurant in Eureka Springs."

"Do you recall the name?"

"It was Rogue Manor. See, that's where we had our first date. Like the first time, we had to wait for a table. But let me tell you, detective, it was worth it."

"I've heard nothing but good things about that place. Where did you two go after that?"

"Home. It was late, and I had an early shift the next day." Millie starts to tell the officer about the drive she took this morning. but decides against it since it might raise red flags.

"Your husband can confirm this?"

"Yes." I need to call him and tell him not to mention last night's drive, she thinks.

"We'll be in touch." Jerry stands, walks across the room, and then turns back. "One more thing—who was driving your car early this morning?"

Her heart pounds. Her body trembles. Her tan complexion pales. He caught me in a lie, she thinks, trying to calm herself.

"Did your husband go somewhere around two a.m.?"

"No, that was me. I was driving through town."

"I thought you said you went home to bed?"

"I did, but I couldn't sleep, so I went for a drive."

"Did you stop anywhere or see anyone?"

"No."

"I see. Well, thank you for your time."

They think I killed Sam, and now Evan… Oh, this is bad. Really bad.

Chapter 6Dispatched to Silence

Some calls should be answered... others should never be made. 

The hot afternoon sun battered the dusty windows of the precinct's narrow enclosure, flooding the cramped workspace with oppressive light. The air conditioning wheezed in defiance, struggling against the relentless heat but losing ground with each passing hour.

Rachel and her fellow detectives' desks are angled diagonally in the center of the room. The area is tight, often feeling cramped. The city had called the space a compromise. The sergeant and her fellow detectives call it confinement. The city denied Joe's expansion request, but Rachel wouldn't let it go. After a long debate, the city decided to have a small room built, hoping to appease her.

The detectives feel like the small enclosure wedges them in, like clowns piled into a circus car. But the space does carve them completely away from the buzz and chaos of the main floor.

In the farthest pocket of the room, located at the back of their work area, Rachel is standing in front of the whiteboard. Pictures of their two victims are pinned on either side. They are both EMTs who are recently and violently deceased. Beneath each image is a timeline tracing their final hours in tight, linear detail.

The sergeant begins to list the victim's commonalities in one column and differences in another in the center of the board. Once she's finished, she takes a step back and reviews what she's written. 

"The two EMTs have worked for Carroll Regional Hospital for over fifteen years.

Rachel taps the first photo. Sam is single, with no girlfriends or exes as far as we know. He's liked by everyone, with no known enemies that anyone is aware of.

She turns to the second photograph. Evan, on the other hand, is charismatic and flirtatious, a serial seducer whose romantic track record was more scandal than love story. The women's marital status doesn't seem to matter to him. I imagine there are a few husbands who fantasize about his demise.

"But if Evan was the intended target," Rachel mused, "why kill Sam?" Her brow furrowed. "Did the killer think Sam arranged the hookup?

Their coworkers said that the two victims didn't socialize together outside of work, leaving their employment at Carroll General the only common link as far as I can tell. 

So, could it have been the murders that resulted from a call they were on? If that's true, everyone at the scene could be in danger too. Unless it was a call that only the two victims responded to. She mindlessly starts running her fingers through her hair, then catches herself. Chuckling, she says, "I'm mimicking the guys."

Combing their fingers through their hair is a habit both Joe and Jerry had adopted—an unconscious tick that emerged in moments of intense thought or suppressed frustration.

So, the next logical step would be to get a list of all their calls and go from there. Going back fifteen years is going to take a lot of time. Will the fire chief hand them over willingly, or will he hide under the HIPAA laws? HIPAA protects patients' privacy and other things. There's only one way to find out.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she turns to find Kirk walking across the room. "Please tell me you have something."

The detective shakes his head. "I'm afraid not." The only prints that were found at Sam's were his, and his computer and his phone were wiped clean." 

What about Evan?"

"We found dozens of prints, but only one was in the system."

"Let me guess, they were his." 

"You got it." Kirk rolls his eyes and adds, "The rest are probably from his numerous dates."

"What about his electronics?"

"They were factory reset like Sam's was."

Rachel barely had time to digest the frustration before the desk sergeant's voice cut through the noise.

"Sergeant, your cousin Emma is here. Says it's urgent—something about your case."

Rachel's pulse ticked higher. "Maybe this is the break we're looking for." Rachel says, darting for the door.

Rachel steps out into the lobby to find Emma pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor, a concerned expression on her face as she mumbles softly to herself.

Seeing Rachel stepping through the doors, Emma dashes towards her. "I hate to bother you at work, but I just remembered something that might help you with this case." 

A thought suddenly comes to mind. Rachel glances around. Seeing that Emma is alone, she asks, "Where are the kids?"

"Mom is watching them."

Rachel blinks. "What?"

"Chill, cuz, your kids are fine."

"But."

"Mom can handle them for a little while, and Beca promised to check on them now and then."

"You didn't guilt her into watching them, did you?"

Emma chuckles and says, "Has anyone ever guilted Mom into anything?"

"True, so what happened?"

"She handed me my things and then shoved me out the door, telling me I need to live a little. I tried to argue, but she said that I'd be doing her a favor by letting her have them for a while, seeming overjoyed at the idea of having them all to herself." Pausing a minute, Emma adds. "You really should ask Mom to babysit sometimes. Even an hour would do Mom a world of good." 

Jeanie is Emma's aunt, Rachel's mom, but Emma's been in Jeanie's care for so long that she refers to her as "Mom," which is only right since Jeanie is the only mom she's ever known. Emma's mother, Jeanie's sister, abandoned the child when she was young. 

"I don't ask because I'm afraid it will be too much for her with her health issues and all. JJ can take care of himself, but Lulu and Noah can be a handful."

Emma nods. "I understand your concerns, really I do, but it upsets Mom when you don't ask her. She wants to feel like you still need her."

"I do."

"She doesn't feel that way. In fact, just last week she said that not asking her to watch the kids makes her feel useless."

"She isn't useless."

"Mom says that's how she feels, either that or you're punishing her by not letting her see the kids."

Rachel exhales. "I could bring them over more often, I guess."

"That will make her feel a little better but asking her to watch them would help more."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Emm. Guess I need to explain why I don't ask."

"Explain what? That you're worried watching the kids would be too much for her because of all of her health issues? Confirm her worst fears?"

Rachel imagines the conversation in her mind. "You're right, that would only make things worse."

"How about if she watches them for an hour or two on my days? That way she'll have time with them without wearing herself out."

"Two hours tops, and you promise me that you'll pop in now and then to make sure she's alright."

Nodding, Emma extends her hand. "Deal."

"Now that we have that settled, tell me about what you remembered."

She glances at the crowded area and then asks, "Is there somewhere private we can talk?"

Rachel points to an open office. "Let's go in there." Closing the door, Rachel asks, "You said you remembered something about this case?"

"It may not be anything important, but I thought I'd better mention it, just in case."

"Something you might think is small could be the break we're looking for." 

Chapter 7Through a Lens of Doubt

Emma hesitates, unsure whether to speak. Doubts press against her chest—what if what I say isn't true? What if I misdirect suspicion, slowing the investigation and prolonging the killings? But what if what I know matters? What if it stops the deaths?

Rachel shifts uneasily. She runs her fingers through her hair as she studies Emma's conflicted expression. "What is it, Emma?"

Emma's voice is low and careful. "Do you remember Millie, Lilly, and me being friends?"

"I know that you played at their house sometimes." Rachel nods.

"Right, do you recall their mother having an accident?"

Rachel's eyes narrow slightly. "I remember hearing something about it, but what has that got to do with the case?"

Emma's memories returned uninvited, vivid and aching. "I went to visit Millie a day before she left to live with her aunt, and she told me that the two EMTs on scene, Sam Gain and Evan, refused to help her mom, claiming there wasn't anything they could do for her. Millie was so upset, saying that they didn't even try." 

 Rachel's voice catches in her throat. "So, you think Millie is killing them to avenge her mother's death?" 

"No, not Millie; she wouldn't hurt anyone, but her older brother, William, might."

"I didn't know the twins had a brother."

"Not too many people do. He started getting into trouble after his father passed. He'd spend a few months in juvie, get out, and do it all again. His mom thought he was acting out and that he'd stop once he processed grief, but he never did. This continued for nearly a year. Finally fed up, their mother, June, sent him to military school, where he stayed until he was eighteen."

"How would he know what Millie's thoughts were if he was away?"

"William was at the funeral."

So, she could've told him then. "Did Millie ever say what kind of trouble her brother was in?"

"She said it was petty stuff in the beginning—stealing, vandalism, breaking curfew, skipping school—but then he started beating up his classmates. It was so bad that the boy nearly died. The police looked into it and found he wasn't the only boy William did that too." 

"I'm glad you told me, Emma. Thank you."

"Sure, no problem, cuz." She glances at her watch, then adds, "I better get back and see how Lulu's blue hair turned out."

Rachel's heart skips a beat as she pictures her daughter with neon blue locks. "Wait, what? You didn't." Rachel balls her fists at her side, clenches her jaw, and says, you better not have done anything to my daughter."

Emma laughs. "I'm just kidding, Rach."

 "You better be."

"Tattoos are okay, though, right? I know someone who will do it for free."

"No."

Chuckling Emma walks away. 

"You better not, Emma."

Turning, Emma smiles, waves, and says, "See you tonight, cuz."

"I'm warning you, Emma."

Laughing harder, Emma steps outside.

**

Millie moved with practiced urgency, tending to patients as her mind reels from the officers' accusations. Millie darts from one patient to the next, trying to keep her mind off the horrific deaths. 

Millie glances over at one of her supposed friends and glares. You didn't help matters a bit.

Agatha quickly pointed out that she had words with both victims just hours before they passed, causing her coworkers to treat her as if she'd already been convicted of this heinous crime. Of course, the police questioning her several times only confirmed what they were already thinking.

They'll stop talking when she walks by or look over at her and glare. She glances up from her computer screen, eyes her coworkers, and then thinks, "How can any of them believe that I'm a murderer? Knowing her friends think so little of her is devastating. Please help me make it through this day, she prays. 

She sees a small group talking in the corner. She then sees a second watching a video from their phone. Laughing, they walk away. I used to be a part of the crowd, she sighs.

Hearing footsteps beside her, Millie glances over to find the snooty witch from the north wing stomping towards the desk.

"Your patient in 112 has been yelling for the past hour, asking when he can go home."

""I'll be there in a minute, once I finish his notes."

"You need to do it now. We have an MVA coming in and need the bed."

"I'm almost done."

Jill shoves her hand across the desk. "Give me his discharge orders so I can take care of him."

Millie springs out of her chair. With her fists clenched at her side, she leans closer, glares at the nurse, and says, "I said I'll be there in a minute."

Overhearing the conversation escalating, Lisa leans towards Jill and glares at Millie. Her voice is barely a whisper but dripping with fear. "You better be careful; otherwise, you might be next."

Jill's face pales. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Just get to him as soon as you can, please."

Millie grabs a stack of papers and shoves them into the nurse's chest. "You want to discharge him so badly, then do it."

The room goes quiet. Millie glances around to find everyone frozen in place. "Get back to work." She yells. Tears blur her vision as she plops back down at the desk.

Everyone avoided her for the final hour and a half, often darting into a room or detouring away if she walked their way. When they did have to speak to her, they were tense, being careful with everything they said.

Thank God, I have tomorrow off, she thinks, glaring at her coworkers as she pulls out of the parking lot. 

Stumbling into the house, Millie pours herself a glass of scotch. Her normal go-to is wine, but after the horrid day she's had, she needs something a lot stronger than a few fermented grapes.

Seeing what she's pouring, Steven chuckles, then says, "It's been one of those days, has it?"

"You don't know the half of it, Steven." She sighs. Taking a healthy gulp, she grabs the container and tops off her glass. 

Steven grabs the decanter from her hands. "Whoa, slow down there, you lush."

She reaches for the bottle; Steven moves it further away. "Why don't we talk about it before you drink yourself to death?"

She guzzles half the liquid in her cup, turns, and says, "Another EMT was shot late last night, and everyone believes I did it. They think I killed Sam too." She finishes, collapsing into the chair.

Steven's face contorts with disbelief. "Why would they think that?"

Taking a gulp of her drink, she answers, because my supposed friend just happened to mention that I had words with both before they died. Of course, it didn't help that the detective questioned me several times."

"That explains why the police were here."

"The police came to the house?" Millie asks.

"Yeah, they asked me a few questions and left."

"What did they ask?"

"What time did you leave last night? Did I see you when you got back?"

 A terrified expression crosses her paling face. Her stomach twists. "What did you say?"

"I told them the truth, that you left around two, but I was asleep when you came in."

"So that was it? They asked a few questions and left?"

"Yeah, why?"

She anxiously glances at the stairs. "Never mind... I'm going upstairs to change." 

Taking the steps two at a time, Mille makes it to the top in record time. Racing down the hall, she darts into their bathroom and flings open the hamper. 

Millie glances inside to find the pants she wore to bed on top, but her shirt she wore isn't there. Maybe I left it in the bedroom. She searches the floor and finds a pair of Steven's socks. but no sweatshirt. Where could it have gone? She checks the closet, but it isn't there either. Running to the bathroom, she scans the floor. Where could it be? Defeated, she sits on the toilet and scans the room. Her gaze lands on a photo of her and her sister at the state fair, now mysteriously sitting atop the cabinet. She picks it up, confused. How did it get up here? Millie pictures the bright sunny day in her mind. 

Millie can still hear people yelling as the roller coaster swishes down the tracks. The heavenly scent of cotton candy and other delicious foods wafts through the humid air. We had so much fun, she thinks. 

Pounding on the bathroom door interrupts her thoughts. "Honey, the police are here to see you. They claim one of your coworkers, Jill Morrison, was found dead in her car."

Chapter 8Deadly Debate

Millie steps out of the bathroom, clutching the photo of her and her sister to her chest. Her eyes are wet, her breathing unsteady.

"Where did you find that?" Steven asked.

"It was on the bathroom cabinet." She glances at the picture, then back at him. A flicker of confusion crossed her face. "Wait… Are you telling me you didn't put it there?"

Steven shakes his head. "Last time I saw it, it was sitting on the bookshelf in the den."

"You're sure it wasn't you?"

"I'm positive, hon."

Millie frowns, thinking. "I must've brought it up here and forgotten."

"You've been misplacing a lot of things lately."

"I've just got a lot on my mind, that is all." She explains, brushing away her tears.

"Mr. and Mrs. Clark?" An officer's voice called from the bottom of the stairs.

Millie looked at Steven, fear in her eyes. Her face goes pale. "I don't think I can go through this again."

Taking her hand, Steven squeezes. "I'll be right by your side."

"I know it looks bad, Steven… but I swear I'm not guilty."

He cupped her cheek, wiping away the last tear. "I know."

Millie hears the slow, haunting echo of military taps in her mind as she begins to descend the stairs. This could be the end for me, she thinks, remembering her last run-in with the police. She takes a deep breath when she reaches the bottom of the steps. She glances over at Steven, who squeezes her hand, then at the officer, and says, "I was told you have a few questions for me."

"One of your coworkers, Jill Morrison, was found dead in her car this evening," Rachel says. Pulling out her notebook, she continues. "We understand you had words with her earlier today."

"She was trying to tell me how to do my job. I got a little upset. She apologized and left. Ask her friend Lisa Burk—she saw the whole thing."

The officer jotted the name in his notebook. "According to your timecard, you clocked out shortly after her. A minute and a half later, to be exact."

"I didn't see her." She thinks for a minute, then adds, "I don't remember seeing her at all after our argument—we work on opposite wings."

"You didn't follow her to the car?"

"No. I clocked out, got into my car, and left."

"What time did you get home?"

"Around seven-thirty."

"Why so late?"

"I was going to pick up a few things at the store, but it was packed, so I left."

"I see." His eyes shifted to her hands. "You wouldn't mind taking a gunshot residue test, would you?"

"I think she needs to call her lawyer," Steven cut in, stepping between them.

"The only reason she'd need a lawyer is if she has something to hide," the officer challenged.

"It's fine, Steven. I'll take their stupid test." She glared at the detective. "Maybe then you'll leave me alone."

"We'll also need to check your clothes."

Without hesitation, Millie pulled her top over her head and tossed it at Rachel, the sergeant. She did the same with her pants.

"Do you need my bra and panties, too?" she asked, fingers unhooking her bra strap.

"That won't be necessary." Rachel looked at the scrubs. "This is what you wore to the hospital today?"

"Yes."

Rachel bagged the clothes and handed them to Kirk. "Now, we'll test your hands."

Millie held them out. "Knock yourself out."

Kirk passed Rachel a kit, and she went to work. "I'm sure we'll be in touch," Rachel said, turning to leave.

"I can't believe you stripped like that," Steven laughs as he's closing the door.

"They got what they wanted, and I got them out of the house."

Her eyes drifted to his luggage by the door. "You're leaving again?"

"I have to, hon. But if you need me, call. I'll be on the first flight back."

"I will."

"Promise?"

"I promise. When's your flight?"

"Midnight."

"That gives us a few hours to say goodbye." She tugs at his shirt, pulling him toward the stairs.

"Are you sure, after everything that happened tonight?"

"What kind of wife would I be if I didn't give you a proper send-off?"

***

Rachel pins a photo of their latest victim to the whiteboard. Picking up a marker, she writes the basics beside it:

Jill Morrison—35—single mom of two

Ex-husband Jake Morrison is in Kansas with his new wife and infant son.

Employed at the hospital for 15 years.

Rachel circled the years of employment, then did the same for the first two victims. "Hospital employment time seems to be our only connection," she murmured. Her gaze lingered on Millie's picture. "That… and her."

"I've got the GSR test results," Kirk said, walking in. Twenty years with the department—ten in forensics—Kirk had moved to detective work for a change of pace. "They didn't find any residue on her hands or her clothes. And the hospital cameras confirm she wore those scrubs all day."

"What about her timeline?"

"She left the hospital lot at 7:10, five minutes after clocking out."

"Five minutes would be enough time to do a quick bye and then pull away." 

"The camera doesn't show Millie's car anywhere near where Jill was parked."

Rachel opens her mouth to speak. Raising his hand, Kirk adds, "She couldn't have circled back because Walmart cameras show her pulling in at 7:15, the approximate time it'd take her to get there." 

Rachel nodded slowly. "That clears her for Jill's murder… but not the other two." She tapped the photos. "What about her brother, William?"

"He was in military school in Pryor, Oklahoma, from sixteen to eighteen. He graduated with honors. Now teaches on base."

"Go talk to him. See what you can find."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Rachel's phone rang. "Wait a minute, Kirk. Bower," she says on the phone. " She listened, then looked up and sighed. "We'll be right there."

Chapter 9Echoes from the Grave

Rachel eases her SUV into the nearly deserted hospital parking lot.

Three cruisers are already lined up like silent sentinels, their light bars dark.

Jerry waits by the entrance, scanning the lot like he's expecting trouble.

"What do we have?" Rachel asks as she pushes through the sliding doors.

"The victim took a single round, straight to the heart," Jerry says, falling in beside her. "The cleaning crew found him during rounds. No witnesses so far."

They step into an upscale office with its dark cherry furniture, leather chairs, and the faint smell of cologne lingering in the air.

Dr. Robert Langston sits slumped in his chair, glasses crooked on his nose, a neat hole dead center in his chest.

Papers are scattered across the desk as if a gust of wind—or something worse—blew through.

A pen lies on the floor beneath his dangling right hand.

Rachel studies him. "Time of death?"

"Sharon puts the time of death between eight and twelve based on lividity, rigor, and temp. Since there's no struggle, I theorize that the shooter walks in, fires, and walks out."

"Casing?"

"Through-and-through. Same caliber as our other victims, at least that's what forensics is saying. They'll confirm once it's in the lab."

Rachel's eyes sweep the room one more time. "Stay on this, Jeff. I want security footage—every entrance, every hallway. Anyone who even breathed near this room."

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Victim's background?"

"Dr. Robert Langston. Thoracic surgeon. Twenty years here. Squeaky clean record—no complaints, no lawsuits."

Rachel narrows her eyes. "Check for any unhappy patients or families. And see if he's tied to Millie Clark."

Jeff hesitates. "Yeah… about that. Millie was his scrub nurse. Until a month ago."

"Find out why she left. Now." Rachel turns toward the door. "Jerry, you and I will notify the family."

Rosehill Drive winds up into the Ozark hills, every curve revealing more expensive homes than the last.

Langston's house is a showpiece—two-story brick, ten acres of manicured lawn, and a view that could sell postcards.

Rachel pulls in beside a candy-apple red Porsche.

"That's one hell of a driveway," Jerry mutters as they climb the last of the steep brick walkway. "

"It's a small price to pay for the gorgeous view," Rachel says, admiring the picturesque scene. She glances at Jerry. "Ready?"

He exhales. "No. But let's do it."

Slipping by the tall white pillars framing the entrance. Rachel pauses again. "This is the worst part of my job." Jerry nods. Rachel raises her hand to knock when the door opens.

A young woman in a black-and-white maid uniform stands there, hair pinned in a perfect bun, a faint floral scent drifting from her.

"We need to speak with Mrs. Langston," Rachel says.

"It's about her husband," Jerry adds.

The maid's expression barely changes, but she steps back. "This way."

The foyer is long and dim, the only light spilling from the far end. She leads them to a pair of French doors, opens them, and steps onto a wide veranda.

"Ma'am," she says softly, "two officers are here to see you."

Mrs. Langston turns toward them. Her eyes are swollen, her nose red, and her face pale. "It's about my Robert, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so," Rachel answers.

The woman closes her eyes. One tear escapes.

Across town, Millie Clark walks to a quiet house.

She pushes the covers back, slips into pink fuzzy slippers, and ties her house coat tight against the morning chill.

The kitchen smells faintly of yesterday's coffee.

Crossing the kitchen, Millie notices a small cardboard box on the table. Lilly's name was scrawled in black marker across the side.

She frowns. "Where did that come from?" She recalls her and her aunt's previous conversation. "She did promise to send over some family things, so maybe that's what this is." 

Millie finds a photo album labeled Birthday pictures at the top of the box. She flips through it and then lays it aside.

 Millie's breath catches when she sees a small pink jewelry box. "I remember Daddy giving these to us for our ninth birthday," Millie says. Wiping a tear away, she pulls it out of the box. A tiny ballerina spins to the same tinny tune when she opens the lid. A silver necklace rests inside. Reaching in, she pulls the piece out, then reaches for the chain dangling around her neck. She swishes the charm back and forth as she recalls the day she and her sister purchased them. "BFs to the end," they each promised the other. "To the end," Millie sighed as the memory played in her mind.

She finds a small pink flip phone at the bottom of the box.

"Mom's old cell?" She flips the phone open to find it has a little battery left. My Aunt must've charged it before she sent it. Millie scrolls through the gallery and finds picture after picture of her and her twin. "Mom's favorite pastime was taking pictures of us; she thinks, recalling the numerous times she was told to strike a pose and how embarrassed she and her sister would get. "Please, Mom, not here," they'd beg as the camera flashed again. We hated that darn thing. She laughs as he continues to scroll down the screen. 

Millie finds a video at the very bottom. I don't remember her taking any videos of us. She clicks on the icon and waits. An image of Lilly and Millie sitting side by side on a gurney pops up on the screen. I do remember being in the ambulance, but I don't recall Lilly ever taking this. She thinks. 

Lilly's voice is raw, shaking when she says, "The EMTs killed our mother. They let her die."

Millie hears a man's steady, clinical voice in the background. "We did all we could."

"You pulled her out and walked away," Millie hears herself say.

"There was nothing more we could do."

"You didn't even try." The two say in unison."

Hopping off the bus, the EMT closes the door behind him. 

Lilly's face appears on the screen. "One of these days, I'm." Grabbing Millie's hand, Lillie squeezes it, smiles, and says, "We are going to make sure the EMTs pay." The screen goes black.

Millie stares at the phone, trying to process what she just heard. The three victims suddenly come to mind. "All three are connected to our wreck." She plays the video again. 

Millie's face pales, and her hands shake. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she solemnly mutters, "Is Lilly… getting revenge from the grave?"

Chapter 10Bloody Discovery

A whirlwind of thoughts races through Millie's mind as she stares at the phone shaking in her trembling hand. Is Lilly getting revenge from the grave? The words echo in her head. "Revenge from the grave…" she whispers. Millie collapses into the nearest chair. Her body feels drained, like it is no longer able to hold her weight.

Her thoughts drift back to that horrid nightmare of a day two decades ago today. She was busy watching the nurse's race back and forth down the hospital corridor when the doctor approached with the news that altered her life forever.

"Your sister succumbed to her injuries," he had said as gently as he possibly could, though his cold, emotionless attitude only heightened the edges of their grief.

Her sister's sudden death had never made sense, knowing that Lilly had shown signs of improvement days before. Lilly had even promised her that they both would make it through. So, hearing she'd passed didn't seem logical to her. She refused to believe it until she saw Lily's casket. That specific moment in time continues to haunt her to this day.

"No," Millie mutters, shaking her head. "That's crazy. She couldn't possibly be doing any of these things. So, who is it? And how do they know what Lilly said?"

Could she have told someone about her plan? That's possible, but who would she have confided in?

Lilly was in the ICU the entire time, her visitors limited to immediate family. The only person I can think of that would carry such a grudge is our brother—but he was in military school right up until the day of the funeral. And why would anyone wait twenty years to get revenge? Could it be connected to Mother's twentieth death anniversary?

Her gaze returns to the plain cardboard box on the table. Someone had to have delivered it since there's no postage or any addresses. Who could have dropped the package off? Why didn't Steven mention the delivery before he left?

She remembers how frantic the last few days have been. Between the murders at the hospital, Steven's father's funeral, and his unexpected deployment. "It's possible he simply forgot."

The memory of their final night together replays in Millie's mind. She feels warmth between her legs. Smiling, she relieves their hot, passionate night and their desperate goodbye. The way they both are tuned into the other as though letting go would shatter them both. Her eyes fill with tears as the memory continues to replay in her mind. "Lingering on your goodbyes will only hurt me more."

Millie wipes the moisture from her face, then glances at the mysterious box again. I don't remember seeing it when I came in yesterday, and it wasn't there when I came down for a late-night snack. She steps toward the alarm panel to find it's still armed. She glances at the box again. Shaking her head, she says, "All these murders is making me paranoid."

***

On the other side of town, Sergeant Rachel Bower is carefully studying the whiteboard crowded with various photographs and scribbled notes, hoping to find a connection between the victims. The brutal killings of her former colleagues have left her mind in a maze of unanswered questions.

The door slides open. Detective Jeff Kirkland steps inside, his large muscular shoulders slumped in defeat. Jeff worked a little over a year in her division. He spent the first five years of his career on foot patrol before passing the detective's exam. Rachel sees promise in the newbie, but there are a few rough edges that need to be smoothed.

Rachel turns. "Bracing for disappointment?" she asks. "What did you find?"

Jeff shakes his head; his disappointment deepens. "Nothing that will help solve our case. Everyone loves Dr. Langston. Most of the staff referred to him as the best surgeon around. Well, everyone except Millie Clark, that is. They apparently had a blow-up over a medication he prescribed. He became irate at being questioned by a 'know-it-all' nurse and kicked her off his team."

Rachel arches a brow. "So, she would have a motive for wanting him dead. 

"That's not all I found out," the detective continues. "Several staff members claim Millie accused both Evan and the doctor of flirting with her staff. She claimed several family members had complained. She said that his behavior is unprofessional and threatened to go over their head. 

"Let me guess, these arguments just happened to be just a few hours before their deaths? ""The day before."

" Did you find any disgruntled families?"

"Everyone only had great things to say about him, which is impressive seeing how he's been a lead surgeon for fifteen years."

"My cousin Emma dropped by, and she said Millie claimed that it's the EMTs fault that her mother died, that the paramedics pulled her from the car and left."

"So, you're thinking this is all for revenge?"

Rachel points to the board. "All our victims had ties to that crash. I want you to double-check Millie Clark's alibis for every murder. I also want to know if she owns a firearm and find out who else worked the scene that night."

Jeff nods, already pulling out his phone as Rachel turns back to the board.

*****

Millie can't shake her uneasiness. "I have to know if Aunt Martha sent it. Grabbing the phone, she dials her aunt's number.

"Hello, Millie?" 

"Hi, Aunt Martha. How are you and Uncle Fred?"

"We're fine, sweetheart. What about you? I read in the paper about your coworkers being shot. Have they figured out who did it yet?"

Millie's voice trembles when she replies. "I'm afraid not. And that's scary, Aunt Martha, not knowing who it is or who might be next. Steven installed an alarm before he left, and I'm carrying pepper spray."

"That's good to know."

"That's not the reason for my call. I found a box on my table this morning without an address on it. I opened it up to see what was in it and found a few of Lilly's things. So, I was wondering if you or Uncle Fred might've dropped it off."

"It's probably the box you took back with you the last time you were here," Martha replies.

Millie frowns. "What box?"

"You don't remember?" Her aunt questions, concerned about her niece's well-being.

Millie thinks back to their last visit. "I… don't recall doing that.

"You picked out a few things from some old boxes and left."

 Can you check if the shed is locked?"

"I checked yesterday. Everything's fine."

A sudden thump echoes from the entryway, quickly followed by a quick knock. Millie stiffens. "Someone's at the door. I have to go."

Her heartbeat thuds in her ears as she races across the room. Disabling the alarm, she heads to the door. The crisp night air hits her with an eerie stillness when she opens the wooden barrier. She doesn't see anyone in the entryway, but she sees a small cardboard box identical to the one on the table sitting on the steps. Like the first, there isn't any postage or names.

She steps further outside and scans the street to find it's empty. A chill surges up her spine. She notices a dark red stain seeping from the bottom when she crouches to inspect it. The thick liquid glistens as it trickles through a small crack, inching toward her feet. Gasping, Milly stumbles back a step. A faint cry escapes her lips when she realizes what it is. Blood. It's blood, she whispers into the chilly night.

Millie's eyes frantically dart around to find the street remains still.

She hears tires crunch against the gravel drive. Millie turns and sees a patrol car pulling in. Millie glanced at the box again. Panic surges through every pore in her body as a female officer closes the gap.

Chapter 11Closing the GAP

Millie's gaze flicks from the small blood-stained box to the approaching officer. Air catches in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Her initial thought is to hide it. But she knows that would make her look more guilty in the eyes of the law. "A bloody package on my porch certainly won't make me look innocent. She concludes.

Her entire body begins to tremble. Her hands become clammy as a ribbon of sweat beads pops out across her forehead. The officer's issued work boots crunch steadily against the pavement, each step louder, seeming more judgy than the last. There's only one thing to do, Millie reasons, trying to control the panic clawing at her chest. She swallows hard, hoping to summon up what little courage she has left. "I'm so glad you're here," she blurts.

Rachel stops. Her eyes narrow as a flash of suspicion crosses her face. Her hand instinctively drops to her revolver. "Why? What's going on?"

Millie's voice wavers as she explains. "I heard a knock at the door. When I went to answer it, I found this." She points to the container beside her.

Rachel steps closer; her eyes harden as she continues to investigate the box. "I need you to move away from it now."

Millie practically leaps from the porch, glad to be away from the gruesome thing. Doom suddenly replaces the panic she'd felt moments before. This situation may not end well for me, she thinks.

Rachel crouches by the parcel, her phone in hand. She snaps a series of photos, turns, and asks, "Did you see who left it?"

Millie's voice is barely audible when she says, "They were gone by the time I reached the door."

Rachel points to the sign on the lawn. "I see you have an alarm system, so are cameras included with that too?"

"The alarm company is supposed to install them tomorrow."

Reaching for her radio, Rachel says, "Dispatch, I need forensics and additional units at 12275 Hummingbird Lane." There's a short burst of static, followed by confirmation. Nodding, she turns to Millie. "Was tonight the first time you've received anything like this?"

Millie recalls the strange box she'd found on the table. She then remembers her aunt claiming she took a few things the last time she was there. "Yes."

"You didn't touch or move it in any way?"

Millie shakes her head. "I found it moments before you arrived."

"And you claim that someone knocked, but when you went to answer it, no one was there?"

"I opened the door immediately, but whoever it was had already gone."

Rachel studies Millie's movements, knowing that they often show guilt. But all she sees is an exhausted woman trying to survive a tragic event. "Have you noticed anything unusual in your neighborhood recently? A strange vehicle driving by, or people who don't live in the area?"

Millie thinks back, then shakes her head again. "No."

"You have no idea what might be inside the box?"

Millie glances at the package, shivers, then shakes her head.

Headlights piercing through the darkness draw their attention. A few seconds later, a forensics van pulls up to the curb, followed closely by a few patrol cars.

Uniformed officers' fans out across the neighborhood. A few forensic techs begin searching the yard while the remaining two climb the steps.

Rachel explains the situation as they snap on their gloves. She points to Millie. "You should go back inside where it's safe." Nodding, she quickly retreats to the house.

Closing the door, Millie steps further inside. Curiosity getting the better of her, she runs back to the foyer and peers through the glass.

The lead forensic tech kneels closer to the box. After a quick inspection, he asks, "No one tampered with it?"

"The homeowner claimed she just noticed it just as I was pulling up."

Snapping several photos from different angles, he carefully opens the lid. His expression hardens when he sees what's inside.

"What is it?" Rachel asks, peering over his shoulder.

"I see two items. A bloody sweater and a USB drive." He carefully lifts the soaked fabric from the container. Blood drips onto the cement as he slips it into the bag his partner is holding open for him. Turning, he retrieves the USB and places it in a second container. He then places the box into a larger plastic bin as his partner diligently records every step. Once the collection is complete, the two partners log each of the items.

"Be sure to get a close-up of the porch, steps, and walk." The tech takes a few pictures and then says, "We should have a preliminary for you by the end of the day." Packing up their equipment, they head towards their van. 

Rachel is about to knock on the door when the barrier swings open. She finds Millie pale and visibly shaken.

"I've been watching from inside," she explains. Her voice was wavering with every word.

"Can you think of anyone who'd want to do this to you?"

Millie's lips tremble as she recalls the last two days she's had. "The entire nursing staff hates me. They've even nicknamed me Black Widow, avoiding me any chance they get."

"Black Widow?" Rachel asks, surprised.

"They blame me for all of the deaths."

"That must make things at work very difficult."

"I try to ignore them." Millie's eyes show the pain she's trying so desperately to hide.

"Can I speak to your husband? He might've seen something unusual and didn't tell you."

"He had to return to the base this morning. Seeing the confused expression on Rachel's face, she explains. "He was only on temporary leave for his father's funeral. He asked for an extension with everything going on at the house but was denied."

"What time did he leave?" 

"His flight left at midnight."

Rachel jots that down. "You said the alarm company is finishing up today?"

"Yes. Steven insisted we add a few cameras. He even suggested a dog, but I don't have time for one. And I don't like having fur all over the house."

"So where have you been between your husband's departure and now?"

"I was here, at home, trying to catch up on my housework."

"Can anyone confirm that?"

"The alarm has been set from the time he left up until the time I answered the door."

Rachel hands her a card. "Call us if you think of anything."

Rachel is heading towards her car when one of the officers intercepts her. He clears his throat and says, "Sergeant, the neighbor across the street claims she saw Millie leave the house shortly after her husband. She said she wouldn't have thought much of it—given Millie's strange hospital hours—but then she noticed her getting into an Uber with another man. She said the man looked almost identical to Millie's husband except for the additional weight."

Rachel's brows knit, and her jaw tightens. "Track down that Uber driver and find out where they went." Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She turns to answer it. "Bower."

"Sergeant, it's Jerry. Lisa Burk was just found dead in the Walmart parking lot."

Rachel's eyes flick toward the house, her gaze burning like fire. This case just turned personal. "I'll be right there. In the meantime, I want you to check Millie Clark's alarm log; her carrier is ADT.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?"

"I want you to find out if her system was disabled anytime between midnight and now."

Chapter 12Shadows on the Stairwell

The sergeant arrived to find her team already swarming the scene. Blue and red lights flash across the desolate parking lot, brightening the dark, starless sky. Kirk and Jeff are talking to forensic techs near the perimeter. While Jerry, her second in command, continues to bark orders. 

Rachel takes it all in as she climbs out of her car. The cold air nipped at her cheeks as she crossed the lot. I've got the best crew, she thinks, with a smile. Straightening her uniform, she scans the activity, then strides toward Kirk. The medical examiner's van passes her as she continues towards the scene. 

In a brisk, steady tone she asks, "What did Sharon find?"

Kirk flips his notepad open, reviews what he's written, and then says. "Our victim is Lisa Burk. Sharon believes she was killed between midnight and four this morning."

Rachel recalls Millie's neighbor's statement. Could the two of them have conspired to commit this crime? If so, why? And who is this mystery man? She glanced at her watch, mentally calculating the time lapse. "I'm surprised that nobody reported it until now." 

Kirk gestured toward the store. "She is parked at the farthest end."

Turning towards the building, Rachel shakes her head. She then recalls often circling the lot hoping for a closer spot. "Nobody would willingly park this far out," she agrees. "How did she die?"

"She took two to the chest, like the others," Kirk replied grimly. Forensics found shell casings nearby. They believe it's a match to the previous shooting and said they'd confirm it once they compare them at the lab."

Nodding, Rachel pulls her flashlight from her belt. Her boots crunch in the loose gravel as she walks toward Lisa's vehicle. She shines the high-powered beam through the glass and peers inside. Her brows furrowed, an unease forms as she takes in the scene. Why would she even be out so early? Why did she choose Walmart when it's closed—and why did she pick this deserted corner of the parking lot?

"Maybe she's meeting with someone she shouldn't be seeing." His brows arch, and a faint smirk curves his lips when he adds, "Get a little something on the side."

Rachel recalls gossip among the hospital staff. Rumors about Lisa's revolving door of dates. It was the reason she'd earned the not-so-pleasant title of "the hospital's bedhopping drama queen." Exhaling sharply, Rachel clears her thoughts. "Or Lisa was lured to her death. Since she agreed to meet here late at night, it's only logical to assume she knew and trusted them."

She turned to Kirk. "Have forensics pull all of the footage from the parking lot cameras and have them check her call log."

"I've already got them working on it," he smiles, proud of himself for being a step ahead.

 "Joe has trained you well."

"I'd say it was a group effort—you, Joe, and Jerr."

"Who found her?"

"A cart pusher. He said he was collecting buggies when he saw her lying sideways in the car. He thought she was just napping at first; people tend to do that out here, but he saw the blood when he got closer, so he called 911."

*****

Millie had tried everything she could think of, hoping to get some sleep, warm milk, and a hot bath with lavender bubbles. She even tried a generous coating of warm lotion. The combining scents usually work well together, but tonight her antics failed. If anything, her old tricks only seemed to wind her up more.

The recording on her mom's phone keeps replaying in her head. She doesn't remember agreeing, but the video shows she does. What if the audio was also recorded on the USB port?

She realizes now that agreeing to Lilly's plan was reckless, but how could she have known what she thought of as their secret pact would spiral into this? 

Millie tried to reason that it wouldn't be held against her considering she was so young and they'd both just suffered a tragic event, watching their mother die.

That sweater looked so familiar. Millie suddenly recalls why. "I have one just like it," Millie says. Rushing to her closet, she flings open the door. She shoves the hangers aside and begins searching but soon discovers it wasn't there. Could someone taken it hoping to frame me? She feels a hard knot form in the pit of her stomach. She shakes her head and says, "I'm sure the company made thousands of the same sweaters that year. I need to get a handle on my sudden paranoia before it sends me to the loony bin. She snickers, recalling the last wild idea she had.

Millie turns to the rumpled bed and sighs. I might as well finish cleaning the house since sleep doesn't seem to be coming anytime soon.

Throwing on her housecoat and matching pink slippers, she shuffles towards the staircase, freezing at the landing.

The front door was open. A gust of icy air rushed inside, chilling her to the bone.

I locked the door. I know I did. I set the alarm, too. I think I did. 

Another blast of wind surged in, pushing the door further back. She then recalls having trouble with its tricky latch. That might explain it. 

Millie was halfway down the stairs when she heard a soft clatter in the kitchen. It sounded like something shifting against the tile floor. She stops in mid-step; her breath catches in her throat. Is someone here with me.

Her heart pounds furiously in her chest as she creeps back upstairs. She slips into her bedroom and locks the door. Running over to the nightstand, she searches for her phone, but it isn't there. I always put it here at night. She checks around it, thinking it might've fallen. Not seeing it there, she checks Steven's nightstand. She sees a half-empty bottle of water and a paperback but not her cell.

Panic surges in her as she races to the bathroom. She flips on the light, but her phone isn't there. "What am I going to do?" 

Her eyes flicker to the window across the room. Unlatching the glass barrier, she glances down. I could break an arm or leg trying to climb down. She then recalls her intruder lurking around downstairs. It might be my only chance. Her mind races trying to think of a plan. I could tie the bedding together to help me shimmy down. She's stripping the bed when another thought comes to mind. Steven's gun.

She darts for the closet and shoves the clothes aside. Steven had always insisted on keeping the safe locked, up high, and out of sight, claiming it's good practice for when they had kids someday. Millie punches in the code. She yanks the small metal door open to find the gun gone. She then hears the intruder coming up the stairs.