“Now, Laurel, is that any way to talk to your sister?” Abigail bit out, her slight British accent emerging to make her sound more than a little peeved. “You returned to town a full two days ago, and you haven’t answered my calls.”

Laurel shut her eyes and centered herself. She would not ask about Abigail’s familiarity with her schedule. “I’m in the middle of a case right now. We’ll have to chat another time.”

“No,” Abigail snapped. “We will speak now. I am in danger, and as my sister, you are going to help me.”

“Half sister,” Laurel returned, unwilling to deal with this right now. “I will call you later, Abigail.”

“No. Somebody is harassing me, and it has to stop. I returned late last night from a retreat to find flowers scattered all across my front lawn this morning, some already frozen and some still breezing along. It’s weird.”

Laurel stilled. She cut Huck a look; he was watching her carefully. “Flowers? What variety of flowers?”

Abigail sighed. “They’re black dahlias. A substantial number of them.”

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The high-end subdivision where Abigail Caine resided was quiet in the overcast afternoon. Angled rooftops and tall windows predominated in the wood, brick, and stone homes as Laurel drove past several mansions to the far cul-de-sac where Abigail lived, with forest on one side and another vacant-looking house on the other, a good distance away. Trees and landscaped yards made each home private, so it was quite possible the inhabitants hadn’t seen anything unusual happening at Abigail’s.

Laurel drove down Abigail’s icy drive, noting the many blackish-red petals covering the portion of the yard closest to the house. Snow and ice had crusted over them, showing they’d been there for at least a couple of nights.

She cut off the engine of her new, rented Nissan Rogue, which she’d picked up just yesterday. Since she wasn’t certain she’d be staying in town, purchasing a vehicle didn’t make sense. Then she sat as silence descended, heavier than an anxiety blanket. Unlike many of the other homes, Abigail’s had light shining through the flimsy curtains on the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.

Snow fell lazily from a darkened sky, covering Laurel’s windshield. Cold almost instantly seeped into her SUV, and she shivered.

The front door opened.

She exited the car and shut the door, studying the iced-over petals. There was no discernible pattern, and the snow had obliterated any possible footprints. These flowers had been scattered before the ones around the body found near the river. Odd.

“Laurel? Come in. There’s no pattern to the flowers or petals,” Abigail called, her breath puffing in the cold air.

Laurel turned and made her way along the freshly plowed driveway to the walk, meeting her half sister at the porch.