back of my house to hers. It’s a shortcut. Go right down the hall and out the back door, and you’ll probably meet her.”
Sam nodded and hurried out the back. Right away he saw the trail that curved out of sight, but no Sandra.
He jogged down the path, and just beyond the curve, a body lay slumped on the ground, facedown. Sam rushed to her side. Blood spread from a bullet wound in her back, and he jerked out his phone, dialing 911. When the operator answered, he identified himself. “I need an ambulance at . . .” What address had he put into the GPS? He couldn’t remember. “Look up the 911 address for George Selby on Lake Drive. I’m outside at the back of the property.”
Sam knelt and pressed against the side of her neck. Nothing. Gently, he turned Sandra over. No exit wound. He pressed two fingers against the inside of her wrist. His heart jumped. Was that a pulse?
Someone screamed his name.
49
I can’t imagine what’s taking Sandra so long.” Mr. Selby glanced toward the back of the house, then turned back to Emma. “You ever had a feeling you should remember something but you’re not sure what it is?”
“Absolutely.” Sam had been gone for a few minutes, and the older man had been staring into space. She wondered why he’d fallen silent. Emma glanced around the ranch-style house that looked as though it hadn’t been updated in twenty years, and noticed a potted peace lily blooming in the corner. “What a beautiful plant,” she said. “I have one but I can’t ever get it to bloom.”
Mr. Selby snapped his fingers. “That’s it! There was this guy who sent flowers to Mary Jo’s funeral.” He swallowed hard. “At least Sandra thought it was a guy—there weren’t no card, but Sandra remembered someone giving her the same kind a couple of weeks before.”
“Flowers?” It couldn’t be. “What kind?”
He scratched his head. “Daisies—them fancy kind. You can ask Sandra about them when she gets here.”
Emma’s breath stilled in her chest. Mary Jo had received daisies? That couldn’t be a coincidence.
Mr. Selby stood. “I’m going to make us a pot of coffee.”
“Really, I don’t want any coffee,” Emma said. She wanted to know more about the flowers. And where was Sam?
“Well, I do, and Sandra will want some, and maybe you’ll drink a cup once I get it made,” he said and walked toward the hall.
“Wait, and I’ll help you.”
“No, you sit right there. Won’t take me a minute to get it started. Sandra bought me a newfangled coffeepot. All I have to do is push a button and it grinds the coffee and then brews it.”
Sounds of Mr. Selby opening a cabinet reached Emma as she picked at the Velcro on the brace. “Are you sure I can’t help you?” she called.
“No, I’m—who are you?” Mr. Selby demanded, his voice loud. “No—”
Thwock.
Emma’s breath froze in her chest. She’d heard that sound before. Friday night.
A crash came from the kitchen, and she jumped up.
Run!
Her feet wouldn’t move. She couldn’t leave Mr. Selby. She crept to the hall and listened. Silence. Did the intruder know she was here? If she called 911, he would hear her. But Adams County had recently gotten the text-to-911 capability, and Emma pulled out her phone and quickly shot off an emergency text.
Intruder. 3544 Lake Road. Shots fired. Possible gsw.
Footsteps, then a screen door slammed. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. When she didn’t hear another sound, she eased down the hallway.
Pausing just outside the kitchen, she cocked her head, listening. The jackhammering of her heart overrode any other sound until a low groan raked her ears and she became aware of sirens approaching. How could they have gotten here so fast?
“Help . . . please . . .” His voice sounded so weak.
Mr. Selby. She scrambled around the corner and screamed for Sam.
The older man lay face up on the floor. Emma’s head buzzed at the sight of blood staining the front of his shirt. She pressed her lips together and knelt beside his body. So much blood. She needed to staunch it. Emma frantically scanned the room.
A towel hung from a hook by the door. She grabbed it and pressed it against his chest. Blood quickly saturated it, staining her hands. The room swirled. She could not pass out.
“Police! Put your hands in the air!”
“He’ll bleed out if I do!”
Nate Rawlings pushed into the kitchen. “Emma? What happened?”