“Anyway,” Michelle went on, turning to face Hannah. “With Mike and Rick off the case, Lonnie says there’s nobody left who’s ever run a murder investigation before. That’s why Lonnie wants to give me suggestions for you. Since he can’t take an active part in the investigation, he can’t talk to you directly. He wants me to be his courier and tell you what he says.”

“Wonderful!” Hannah’s tone was sarcastic. “That makes three people who want me to be their puppet investigator. Doesn’t anyone think I’m capable of catching the killer on my own?”

Norman moved closer and slipped his arm around Hannah’s shoulder to give her a little hug. “I do. And look on the bright side. Only three people from the sheriff’s department want to give you advice.”

“You’re right.” Hannah gave a little smile. “I suppose it could have been four.”

“Uh…actually…” Michelle stopped speaking and sighed. She couldn’t quite meet her sister’s eyes when she continued. “Actually, it’s four. Lonnie’s brother Rick is in on it, too.”

When the phone rang at the witching hour, Hannah wanted to ignore it. She did her best to pretend that absolutely nothing was amiss. She rolled over, pulled the blankets up to her chin, and attempted to go back to sleep. But of course she couldn’t. She wasn’t the type of person who could ignore a ringing phone at midnight.

She picked up the phone, held it to her ear, and answered it in a voice groggy with sleep. “’Lo.”

“Hannah. Wake up, Hannah. I’ve got to see you, and this is the only safe time. Meet me in your garage by the Dumpster in fifteen minutes.”

“What?”

“It’s Mike. Wake up! Meet me by your garage Dumpster in fifteen minutes. It’s important.”

The curtains of sleep began to part and Hannah sat up in bed. “Mike?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to get off the line now. They could be tracing your calls.”

Hannah clicked on the lamp on her bed table. Tracing her calls? Surely not! The isolation from his colleagues must be taking its toll in the guise of paranoia.

There was no way she was going to get dressed to go out at midnight, spend five minutes telling Mike that he was crazy, and then come back upstairs to undress and go back to bed again. She slipped on her robe, the warmest one she owned, and thrust her bare feet into her fleece-lined moccasins.

Her parka was next. Hannah zipped it up to her chin and pulled a wool ski cap over her ears. At least she’d be warm enough. She was just debating the wisdom of brewing a pot of coffee in the eleven minutes she had left when she heard a soft voice at her elbow.

“What is it, Hannah?”