priority.
Tiptoeing from the room, Adam walked to the kitchen, emptied the stale coffee and old grounds and started a fresh pot. The sound of hammering broke the early-morning silence.
Raking his fingers through his thick, mussed hair, he went toward the front lawn to check it out. He spotted two middle-aged women in jogging suits about halfway between him and the curb. One steadied a yard sign. The other pounded the stake that would anchor it in place.
“What’s with the racket? It’s barely dawn.”
The woman kept hammering.
“This is private property,” he called as he started walking in their direction. His socks became wet with dew as he hurried across the manicured grass.
The woman with the hammer waved it at him threateningly. “We don’t want murdering mothers in our neighborhood.” She stood back so that he got a good look at the sign.
CHILD KILLER
The words were printed in bright red spray paint that dripped from the letters like fresh blood.
Fury gripped him, bunching his muscles, knotting in his stomach. He rushed toward them and yanked the sign from the ground.
“Hadley O’Sullivan is going through hell right now. She hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten, can barely breathe she’s so worried about her daughters.”
“Not according to what I read in the paper.”
“Get off this property now.”
One woman backed away a few steps. The other held on to the hammer and stood her ground. “If you’re here with her, you’re probably as guilty as she is. You’ll both burn in hell.”
There was no reasoning with her and Adam was in no mood to bother. “Set foot on this property again and I’ll have you and any other lunatics you bring with you arrested. Is that clear?”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“If you’re not gone in five seconds, the threat becomes reality. One. Two.”
Both women retreated to the curb. A passing car slowed to a crawl. Someone in the passenger side rolled down the window and stuck out a camera with a large telephoto lens. Adam resisted the urge to give a fitting one-finger salute.
The two women finally climbed into their station wagon and drove away, taking their sign and hammer with them. Adam picked up the morning paper and plodded back inside. Hopefully he’d seen the end of the two misinformed vigilantes, but he wouldn’t count on it. Even misdirected rage had a way of inciting more hatred.
He went to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and sat down to skim the morning’s headlines. His eyes zeroed in on an article at the bottom of the first page.
No Sign of Break-in at Home of Missing Twin Girls
* * *
THAT EXPLAINED THE SIGN.
He read the article. While it didn’t directly label Hadley a suspect in the twins’ disappearance, it definitely leaned in that direction.
“Is that this morning’s paper?”
He looked up. Hadley was standing in the doorway, her hair disheveled, her slacks and cotton shirt wrinkled and in disarray. There were dark shadows beneath her red-rimmed green eyes.
“Today’s Dallas Morning News,” he said, wishing he could shield her from the disturbing article, but knowing it wouldn’t help. If he didn’t show it to her, she’d hear about it from someone else.
“Sit down and I’ll get you some coffee,” he offered.
“Thanks. Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
“Very little. The same as you.”
“I’ll sleep when the girls are home again.”
Adam sat a mug of coffee next to her elbow. “Drink this and then I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“Didn’t I just force down a meal?”
“More like a couple of bites and that was hours ago.”
She took a few sips of coffee and then slid the newspaper over so that she could see the front page. Her expression grew pained as she read. As exhausted as she was, she understood that the bizarre facts surrounding the case were making her look guilty. At least now, she might consider getting an attorney.
Adam doubted if even that would be enough if this dragged on much longer.
If he were going to make any kind of stab at being a hero, it was time to act.
* * *
HADLEY DIDN’T NOTICE the hot coffee sloshing from her mug until Adam rushed forward with a paper towel to dab it from her arm.
“Did you get burned?”
“If I did, I’m too irritated to notice. This article deliberately makes it look as if what actually happened is too preposterous to be true.”
“Ignore it. You know reporters like to spice up a story.”
“Detective Lane is not a reporter and he also insinuated last night that I’m somehow implicated in everything