Russell righted the coffee mug. “I take it you remember the murder. I guessed you would, since you had the ranch behind the place,” he said as John sopped up the coffee. “You knew Laura Beaumont then?”

Russell hadn’t heard Midge Atkinson enter the kitchen until he heard her sharp, low cry behind him. He turned to see her ashen face and the way she looked at her husband.

“I spilt a little coffee. No big deal,” John said as she rushed over to snatch the sodden paper towels from him, clearly furious. But was it over spilled coffee or what she’d heard when she’d entered the room?

“I was just asking about Laura Beaumont,” Russell said.

“I heard,” Midge snapped. “Don’t you men have some work to do?”

Russell finished his coffee quickly as she reached for his mug. Taking it from him, she returned to the kitchen and turned on the water in the sink.

He glanced over at John, who shook his head as if to say, “Let it go.” As she started to wash out the mugs, he saw her grip the edge of the sink as if hanging on for dear life.

“I’ve got some things to pick up in town,” John called to his wife and motioned for Russell to follow him outside.

“She doesn’t like talking about Laura’s death,” John said once they were out by their trucks. “So I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention it again.”

“Sure,” Russell said, wondering if that was all there was to it. But before he could ask why, John ended the conversation by heading to his pickup.

Dulcie slowly became aware of her surroundings. As she lifted her head from her hands, her whole body tensed. Listening, she heard...nothing. The banging on the other side of the creek had stopped. Had the wind died down as well? She couldn’t hear the weather vane.

Her gaze shot down the hall toward the window and the slack, unmoving yellow curtains. No wind. No sound. It was as if she’d suddenly gone deaf.

Get out of the house! Now!

Irrational panic filled her. She shot to her feet, teetering for a moment at the top of the stairs as she looked down into the dim darkness below her. Her feet faltered, but only for a moment as she rushed down the steps.

She only had two steps to go. She’d already taken them in her mind, had already seen herself grasp the doorknob, turn it and fling the door wide, bolting out into the heat and sunlight.

The man appeared at the bottom of the stairs as if materializing out of nothing.

Her scream was bloodcurdling as she grabbed for the stair railing in an attempt to keep from crashing into him. Her fingers slipped on the dusty rail, and finding no purchase, she fell the last two steps, slamming into him.