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car to your home,” the officer said. “Your daughter’s right, it would be safer.”
    â€œFine.” Mom waved her hand. “Call your father.” She sighed and shook her head. “This can’t be good for Felicity.”
    â€œWhat can’t be good?”
    â€œMurder,” Mom said, and turned her wide brown gaze on me. “This is the second murder to get in the way of our planning your sister’s happy day.”
    â€œI’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.” I patted her hand. “This has all been so random.”
    Mom pulled her mouth into a thin line. “These things come in threes, you know. I’m praying that the next one killed is not a member of our family. It can’t hurt, right?”
    I had to agree. “You’re right,” I said. “A prayer or two might be fitting right now.”
    â€œI’ll call the church group and get them praying around the clock that you and your sister don’t have to witness another murder ever in your lives.”
    Now that was a wish I could get behind.

Chapter 3

    â€œI’m glad you called Warren.” Mom patted Dad’s knee as he drove us home. “Felicity needs her fiancé, just like I need you, dear.”
    â€œI’m glad my girls are safe.” Dad glanced in the rearview mirror. “Do they have any idea why that poor woman was killed?”
    â€œNo.” I leaned forward as far as the seat belt would let me, which was pretty far. Dad had an old Buick with enough space in the back to sleep ten. I kid; it would sleep four. “Detective Murphy said it may have been a robbery gone bad, but at first glance it didn’t seem like anything was taken. I do know some of those designer dresses are worth a quarter of a million dollars or more.”
    â€œWho spends that much on a dress you wear for a fewhours one day of your life?” Mom shook her head. “Ridiculous. That’s a nice down payment on a condo or a town house.”
    â€œThey are designer dresses with hand-sewn beading and crystals,” I said. “You don’t expect to be paid 1980s wages. Therefore, you have to be willing to pay today’s prices.”
    â€œSo, wait . . .” Dad made a mad maneuver to pass a slow-moving van. He barely cut back in in time to miss a head-on collision with an oncoming semitruck. The semi honked his horn in anger. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dad muttered to the semi. “What was I saying?”
    â€œYou said, ‘So, wait . . .’” Mom patted Dad’s knee as if that would help him remember.
    â€œI forget what I was going to say. What were we talking about?”
    â€œThe ridiculous price of dresses,” Mom said.
    â€œNo, that’s not it . . .”
    â€œThe murder?” I suggested.
    â€œClose,” Dad said, and hit the blinker and pulled out into oncoming traffic.
    â€œGun it, dear,” Mom said absently. “There’s another car.”
    â€œI see it.” Dad squeezed back into his lane just in time to hit his brakes as the traffic in front of us slowed to a crawl. “What was I saying?”
    â€œYou said, ‘So, wait . . .’” Mom repeated, and I swear I was in the middle of some kind of Abbott and Costello comedy bit.
    â€œI was telling you that as far as Detective Murphy could tell, nothing had been stolen,” I said in a desperateattempt to stop yet another
Groundhog Day
–like repeat of the conversation.
    â€œRight,” Dad said, and squealed the wheels to take the exit off of I-90 to Arlington Heights Road. “So the woman was killed and the shop left wide open, and as best the cops can tell, nothing was stolen?”
    â€œThat’s right,” I said. “But they need to check with the owner before they know for sure. Turn here, Dad.”
    â€œOh, right, I’m taking you home. For a moment there the car was