“Another one? Who’s the first?” Earl said aloud. What the fuck kind of game was this? And then he noticed the small hole at the woman’s temple where a barely discernible splotch of blood matted her hair. “Holy fuckin’ shit,” he whispered, adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream. “What the hell?” A story! Quickly he punched out Charity’s number, wanting an explanation. Who was this girl? Where had he seen her? Had she killed herself? Or had someone else done it? How the hell had Charity gotten the picture?

The phone rang several times.

“Pick up!” he growled. What was wrong with her? She’d just called him, damn it.

More rings as Earl paced in front of his desk.

Finally, Charity’s recorded voice asking the caller to leave a brief message and number. Really? For the love of—! “It’s Earl,” he said sharply, as voice mail began to record. “Got your message. Call me.”

Then he clicked off and stared at the photo again, and with a creeping sensation born of being in the business for so long, he felt a little frisson of excitement. Charity was teasing him with this picture, but he knew in his heart she was onto something big. Something earth-shattering.

“Hey!” he called over to the online department, where Gerry was talking to Jeanette.

His son glanced up as Earl, half-jogging, made his way past the empty desks and cubicles to the Internet department.

“Take a look at this.” As he reached Gerry, he held out his phone so that both his son and Jeanette could see the small screen. “You know this girl?”

“Maybe?” Gerry said in his usual fog.

“Sure. That’s Willow.” Jeanette had been sipping from a super-sized soda cup. “Uh, Willow . . . what’s her last name?” she asked Gerry.

“Valente?” Gerry offered, his eyebrows slamming together over bloodshot eyes as he studied the image on the phone. “Oh, shit, yeah, that’s her. Yeah. Pretty sure. But how . . . I mean . . . she’s naked?” He stared at his father as if Earl Ray had been looking at porn. “What is this?”

“Don’t know. It’s from Charity.”

“In San Francisco?” Jeanette pulled a face. “What would Willow Valente be doing down there?”

Gerry let out a strangled sound. “It looks like she was being dead, that’s what she was doing.” He paled and took a step back. “Maybe I can find something on the Internet.” He kicked out his stool and began typing on his keyboard.

“Dead?” Jeanette repeated. “I thought she was just naked.” She leaned in closer, her eyes popping. “Oh, God, you’re right.” She too turned ashen, her hand flying to her pale lips as her soda cup slipped to the floor, ice and cola slopping onto the carpet. “What the fu—what is this?” She was already reaching for a tissue on her desk, then bending down to sop up the mess.