My gaze went to the stained-glass window, the hint of dawn leaking around the edges. The sun would be up soon, and I didn’t know anything about vampires crossing over except they had to be six feet under or in a light-tight room. That, and that they woke hungry the next sunset. Oh God. What if Ivy was dead?

I looked at the jewelry box on her mahogany dresser that held her “in case of death” bracelet that she refused to wear. Ivy had good insurance. If I called the number engraved on the silver band, an ambulance would be there in a guaranteed five minutes, whisking her away to a nice dark hole in the ground to emerge when darkness fell as a beautiful reborn undead.

My stomach churned and I rose to go to my room for my tiny cross. If she was dead, there would be some reaction, even if she was in transition. Passing out in a church is one thing; having a consecrated cross touch your skin is another.

Nauseated, I returned. Charms jingling, I held my breath and dangled my bracelet over Ivy. There was no response. I brought the cross close to her neck behind her ear, breathing easier when again there was no reaction. Silently asking for her forgiveness if I was wrong, I touched the cross to her skin. She didn’t move, her pulse at her neck staying slow and sedate. Her skin, when I pulled the cross away, was white and unblemished.

I straightened, saying a silent prayer. I didn’t think she was dead.

Slowly I crept from Ivy’s room, shutting the door behind me. Piscary had raped Ivy for one reason. He knew I had figured it out. Ivy said he wanted to talk to me. If I stayed in my church, he would go for my mother next, then Nick, and then probably track down my brother.

My thoughts returned to Ivy, huddled under her covers in a shock-induced sleep. My mother would be next. And she would die not even knowing why she was being tortured.

Shaking inside, I went into the living room for the phone. My fingers were trembling so badly, I had to dial it twice. It took a precious three minutes of arguing to get to Rose.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan,” the woman said, her voice so politically correct I could freeze an egg on it. “Captain Edden is not available, and Detective Glenn left word that he is not to be disturbed.”

“Not to be—” I stammered. “Listen. I know who murdered them. We have to go out there now. Before he sends someone after my mother!”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan,” the woman said politely. “You are no longer a consultant. If you have a complaint or death threat, please hold and I’ll transfer you back to the front desk.”

“No! Wait!” I pleaded. “You don’t understand. Just let me talk to Glenn!”