And if he were actually being released, then Rivers was going to make certain he was followed.

Maybe then this case would break wide open.

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 9

Sometimes you just get lucky.

Sometimes a story falls in your lap.

Sometimes it just screams to be written.

Today was Charity Spritz’s lucky day.

And about damned time.

She was thirty-three, for God’s sake, and not getting any younger. A glance in her rearview mirror confirmed it. Frowning, driving through this cold-as-an-iceberg town, she thought of her life.

Unmarried.

No children.

A dead-end job.

Until today.

Because she’d gotten lucky.

She actually allowed herself a smile.

All the hard work and sacrifice had been worth it. Finally. She even noticed the sparkling Christmas lights strung across the streets, the painted snowmen and women on storefront windows, the Salvation Army volunteer, all bundled up and ringing his bell as shoppers in heavy coats, gloves, boots, and caps hurried past.

Maybe Riggs Crossing wasn’t so bad after all, because it was going to give her the biggest story of her life. “Thank you, James Cahill,” she said to the empty car as the town in its fake Christmas glory became a sparkle of lights in her rearview. She had to concentrate on the road ahead. Her fourteen-year-old Hyundai minivan slid a bit; it was not an ideal snow vehicle—well, not an ideal vehicle for her, period. But she’d bought it for a song from her older half-sister, whose kids had basically lived in it. The stains on the carpet and an ancient nest of forgotten french fries she’d recently discovered under the passenger seat only gave testament to the fact that this vehicle was not for her. Not for the long game. She was definitely more of a Cadillac or Mercedes or BMW girl. Someday. But for now, the paid-for van was like her mobile office, complete with computer, cameras, Wi-Fi, sleeping bag, and change of clothes—just in case she needed them.

Or in case she couldn’t make the rent.

She shuddered at the thought and remembered that today her luck had changed.

And a good thing. She was sick to her back teeth of being assigned to some stupid-ass local-interest story. Who gave a rat’s ass about the new agenda for the school board, or what new taxes were about to be levied, or who won the best pie contest at the local fair, or, God help us all, who was voted the sexiest bachelor in Riggs Crossing?

Save me!