214 Palmer Street(6)

“It was more than once,” Kirk chimed in hurriedly. “It happened four times. And on one occasion someone left a dead rat on our porch.”

Four notes and a dead rat? Sarah had no recollection of a dead rat and she only remembered one note. She’d found it in their mailbox. The outside of the envelope was unmarked. Inside was a plain piece of white paper with capital letters scribbled in marker. It said:

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID. HOW CAN YOU LIVE WITH YOURSELF?





Reading the words had taken her breath away. She couldn’t even imagine what this referred to. The person who wrote these words was clearly confused and meant the note for someone else.

The woman detective’s brow furrowed. “What did the notes say?”

“They were crazy,” Kirk said. “Talking about how the truth will come out and people will know what you did. We couldn’t make sense of it.”

“There were four of them?” Sarah asked. She closed her eyes, trying to think.

“Four in all, yes.” Kirk took off his glasses and gave them a polish.

The male detective asked, “Can we see them?”

“I handed them over to the police,” Kirk said. “Chief Kramer is a friend of mine. He handled it personally.” He restored the glasses to his face and took Sarah’s hand.

The detective nodded. “How long ago was this?”

“About a year ago. We got them every few weeks and then it just stopped. Gavin didn’t think it was anything serious. He thought that it was probably just neighborhood kids with nothing better to do. Either that or an unhappy customer from my car dealership.” Kirk smiled ruefully.

“We’ll look at the notes as part of the investigation.”

The lady detective jumped in with another question. “How about your job? Is anything happening at work that might seem contentious?”

“No,” Sarah said. “I do marketing for Garden Design Landscaping. There’re only eight of us and we all get along. We’re friends.”

“If we want to follow up, who would we talk to at your office?” She had a sympathetic tilt to her head.

Sarah closed her eyes and thought. “My boss, Brenda. Or my friend, Clarice. Either one.” She was on good terms with all of her co-workers, in fact, she’d often mentioned to Kirk how amazingly drama-free it was at her office. She was particularly close to Clarice, who served as the liaison between clients and the work crews. Clarice was a bright light, always bringing in treats and telling juicy gossip about some of their wealthier clients. The two of them had gone out to lunch the previous Saturday. Sarah hadn’t laughed so much in years.

“What about family members?” the male detective asked.

Kirk said, “Sarah doesn’t have much in the way of family. Her parents are both dead. But she gets along great with her cousins and sister. They all live on the east coast. And my family adores her.”

The detective nodded. “You didn’t recognize the handwriting on the notes?”

“No.” Sarah closed her eyes. “I only saw the one note. All I remember is that it was written in marker in capital letters. I don’t know about any other notes but that one.”

Kirk said, “My wife is very tired.” His voice had lost its softness. “Can we resume this later?” He was so protective of her. They’d been married for three years, and his devotion had never wavered. Sarah’s friends were in awe of the way he still ran around to open the car door for her, and sent flowers on the seventeenth of each month, to commemorate the day they’d met.

“I am really tired,” she said, shooting Kirk a grateful look. “I can barely keep my eyes open. And my head is killing me.”

Kirk said, “You should probably go now. My wife needs to rest.”

The female detective pulled out a business card and handed it to Sarah. “If you think of anything else, anything at all, give me a call.” The wording was right out of a TV show or movie.

Through bleary eyes, Sarah read the card, taking in the woman’s name. Erin Nolan. Easy to remember under normal circumstances, but given what she was going through, the card was a good idea. “Thank you.”

After they were gone, Kirk grinned and said, “I thought they’d never leave.” A joke to make her smile, but she wasn’t up to it. He stood up and adjusted her covers, then stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Don’t worry about anything, honey. I’m not leaving your side for even a minute.”

She closed her eyes, giving in to the fatigue. One final question came to the surface—something that had been nagging at her. Sleepily, she asked, “Why were they asking all those questions?”

“To help find the person who did this to you.”

Her eyes widened. She was suddenly awake. “The person who did this to me?”

“We discussed this. Don’t you remember? Someone attacked you. They think that Buster’s barking interrupted them.”

“Someone attacked me?”

“Sarah, we talked about this an hour ago. Don’t you remember?”

She shook her head. An hour ago might as well have been a lifetime ago. Between the pain and the exhaustion, she was experiencing life minute by minute.

“Buster was going nuts. He was facing our property, barking continuously. Mrs. Sullivan saw you from the second-story window and called 911. At least that’s what the paramedics told me. She came across our yard and was standing over you when they arrived, and they had to send her home because she was so upset she was getting in the way.”