Don

Startled, Natalie bent to retrieve the purse while Andrew firmly took Ruth's arm. 'What's wrong?' he muttered.

'I… I don't know. Everything went black for a moment.' Ruth managed a twitchy smile, although her face was dewy with perspiration. 'I'm fine.'

'You're not.' By now they had reached the door of the church. 'Natalie, I'm taking Ruth home.'

'Oh, no,' Ruth protested. 'You'll want to go to the grave site…'

'I don't,' Andrew said emphatically. 'I want to take you home and have something to drink and a quiet talk.'

'Andrew-'

'There's no point in arguing with him,' Natalie said.

'It never stopped you,' Andrew retorted without sarcasm. Ruth smiled. 'Come on, Ruth. You're pale and your hands are trembling. It might be an attack of hypoglycemia, in which case you need nourishment.' Or the service might have been a reminder of her husband's funeral, Natalie thought. Her father looked at her. 'We'll see you later, dear.'

With that they were heading for Andrew's car. Natalie watched them. A handsome couple. Andrew's concern for Ruth was obvious. He would take care of her, even though her attack was probably nothing serious.

As she walked toward her car she saw Nick Meredith almost running toward a light blue car. He wore a suit and had driven his own car to the funeral, but she knew he was on the job and something was wrong. She stood by her car, fingers touching the door handle, watching Nick tear out of the parking lot and make a fast right onto a busy street. Who was he chasing? It had to be someone he'd seen at the funeral.

If Nick had not turned at that exact moment, he would have missed Lindstrom, head bowed, creeping out the door of the church. He was trying to lose himself among the other mourners. He failed.

By the time Nick pushed his way through the sedate line of people in front of him, Lindstrom had made it to a white Cavalier. He cast cautious looks around him and met Nick's gaze. Their eyes locked for a significant instant before Lindstrom swung his long legs in the car and turned on the ignition. Nick ran. He was already firing up his car as Jeff Lindstrom spun away from the Sacred Heart parking lot.

Nick had left his car unlocked. As he climbed in, he saw Natalie St. John standing beside her car, looking at him. Her long black hair lifted gently in the breeze and her dark eyes filled with curiosity. He didn't know if she had seen Lindstrom-probably not-but she knew something was wrong. No time for explanations. Catching Lindstrom would be explanation enough. The creep may not have killed three people, Nick thought, but he'd terrified Natalie on Hyacinth Lane and spied at her through her bedroom window.

Spied on her. Lain in wait for her. Nick's foot pressed the accelerator. This bastard wasn't getting away from him.

He was one car away from Lindstrom. The elderly man ahead puttered along in an old, rusted Cadillac that put out a cloud of smoke. Every time Nick tried to pass, the car weaved toward the left. Nick honked the horn to indicate he needed to pass. The old man gave him the finger. Surprised and infuriated, Nick checked oncoming traffic, then roared by the ancient Cadillac. The guy gave him the finger again and laid on the horn. Nick quelled the impulse to return the obscene gesture, but he couldn't resist blasting his own horn. He wanted to pull the guy over, but he had to concentrate on Lindstrom, who was getting away.

The Cavalier shot around a pickup truck, nearly colliding with a car coming in the opposite lane. Nick nosed near the pickup, whose bed was loaded with a couch, a chair, a dresser, a stained mattress, and dozens of boxes. The guy deserved a ticket. Nothing in the bed of the truck was secured properly and looked like it could come flying off at any moment.

Which is exactly what happened. Nick had drawn close, watching for a break in traffic so he could pass, when a box took flight. He saw it coming and flinched even before it slammed against his windshield. Pillows, sheets, towels, and underwear engulfed his car. He swerved right, his front tire hitting dirt and sending gravel spitting through the air. He eased back onto the pavement, mentally taking down the license number of the pickup. The driver would be receiving a citation tomorrow.

Smaller debris shot from the truck as Nick pulled to the left and accelerated. When he passed the driver's window, he saw a moon-faced man with a vacant expression bobbing his head and singing. Nick blasted his horn and rolled down the opposite window. The sound of a Garth Brooks song blared from the pickup. The driver looked at him blankly.

'Stuff is falling off your truck!' Nick shouted. The guy nodded and smiled amiably. 'Pull over!' This time another amiable smile accompanied by a thumbs-up signal. What the hell did that mean? Nick jerked his badge from beneath his suit jacket and held it up. 'Listen, shithead, stuff is falling off your truck!' he yelled at the top of his voice. 'Pull OVER!'

The guy's benign smile faltered. He looked in his rearview mirror. Then he slowed and began creeping off the road, leaving a trail of household items behind him. Nick didn't have time to fool with him, either. Dammit, where was the highway patrol when you needed them?

Lindstrom's Cavalier sped at least ten miles over the speed limit. He passed another car and gained even more speed. 'Damn!' Nick muttered as traffic grew heavier. He'd probably never catch the jerk now. While cops on television never missed an opportunity to launch a high-speed chase, real-life cops were more careful in traffic. The danger of killing innocent people was too great.

Then the white Cavalier wavered and shot violently to the right, tilting slightly. 'Blew a tire!' Nick shouted in glee. The car slowed and edged off the road. Two cars passed before Nick whipped up behind it. He leaped out of his car as Lindstrom slowly climbed from his. Lindstrom gave Nick an uncertain look, then threw him a guileless smile. 'Thanks for stopping to help. I never was too good at changing tires.'

'You know damned well I didn't stop to help with your tire.'

Lindstrom's smile disappeared. He tried to look wary. 'Hey, what's your problem?'

'My problem is that I'm the sheriff and I've been trying to get you to pull over since you left the church.'

'I didn't know you were the sheriff!' He glanced at Nick's Intrepid. 'That's not a police cruiser. I thought you were some nut trying to run me off the road.'

He was lying. He'd seen Nick at Lily's store. Then at the church his gaze had directly met Nick's before he'd jumped in his car and taken off as fast as he could. But Nick had no proof, so he had to let the matter drop. 'Why were you at Tamara Hunt's funeral?'

'I… well… curiosity.' Nick stared at him hard. 'Okay, I know how sick that sounds, but hear me out. I'm a reporter with the Cincinnati Star. I'm on vacation, and I came up here to see what I could find out about these murders. I've always wanted to write a true-crime book like Small Sacrifices. Ever hear of it?'

'Ann Rule.'

'Hey, you read!' Jeff grinned.

'Learned in elementary school.'

'I didn't mean it that way,' Jeff said quickly. 'I just meant that… well, maybe you didn't have time to read.'

'I don't care what you meant. So you want to write a book. Is that why you've been asking so many questions about Tamara and Warren Hunt and Charlotte Bishop?'

'Yes.'

'That's why you cornered Natalie St. John on a deserted road and gave her the third degree?'

'I didn't corner her,' Jeff said hotly. 'I just ran into her. It was daylight. Did she tell you I tried to hurt her or something?'

'No, but she said she had a hard time getting away from you.'

'Maybe I talked too much. Hey, she's a good-looking woman, don't you think?' Nick stared at him expressionlessly. 'Look, I didn't mean to scare her. I was just talking.'

'You were asking a lot of questions.' He paused. 'And what were you doing with Tamara Hunt's earring?'

'Earring? I don't know what you're talking about.'

'It fell out of your pocket while you were just talking to Natalie. Where did you get it?'

'Oh, the earring. I found it. Out on that road.'

'And what are you-a bag lady in disguise? You squirrel away bits and pieces of things you find?'

Jeff glared at him. 'No, Sheriff. Frankly, I did think it might be Tamara's. I was going to bring it to you.'

'Oh, were you?'

'Yes.'