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for Disease Control.”
    “I know what it stands for,” Annie said. “But why?”
    “Evidently, there’s a potentially dangerous substance surrounding the body. Like I said.”
    Annie looked at the group of people standing around the body. No wonder they were still. It was dark, the only illumination coming from flashing red lights and a few flashlights cutting light into the dark. But Annie could still see the worry in Detective Bryant’s face. Wait. Did he say he hadn’t called her?
    She tried to remember the voice on the phone. It had sounded enough like him. But at 3:00 a.m., who knew what anybody sounded like? One thing was clear: someone wanted to make sure she was here. And she was going to stay put. She leaned on her car and folded her arms, shivered slightly in the brisk air, watching the clouds of breath in the soft peach light.
    Did she want to see what the officers were getting sick over? No. Did she want to breathe in a potentially hazardous chemical? No. She’d stay right where she was and wait.
    It wasn’t long until a white van came along the slanted road to the parking lot and people dressed in white suits and masks came tumbling out. That gave her heart a start. Nothing like the CDC to make your heart race. Why would they be so interested in this particular case? It didn’t make sense—unless this situation was already on their radar. She watched as the group approached the crime scene and one person fell back, pulling off his mask just as vomit spewed from him, which made Annie’s stomach wrench.
    A few minutes later Detective Bryant and several police left the area and walked toward their car.
    “All clear,” he said. “It’s not anthrax.”
    “Anthrax? God, is that what you thought it was?” Annie said.
    He nodded. “You look like hell,” he said and smiled.
    “You’re no Prince Charming, either,” Annie said and smiled back. “I guess I need to check out the crime scene.”
    “I don’t think you should,” he said, his blue eyes heavy but still sparkling as the sun began to rise over the mountains. “It’s . . . ghastly.”
    “Ghastly?”
    “A dismemberment.”
    “What?”
    “The worst thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, looking away from her, his voice cracking.
    Good God, he was human, after all.
    She swallowed. “Any similarities with Sarah?”
    He nodded. “Red hair. Young woman,” he said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his sweaty forehead. “Those same symbols carved . . .”
    “Serial killer?”
    He nodded. “Hard to say, but it could be. But let’s not set off a panic in the community. Okay?”
    Annie nodded and turned toward her car door.
    “Annie?” he said, getting between her and the door. “I, ah, want you to be careful.”
    “Of course,” she said, not knowing whether to be touched or pissed because of his patronizing tone. “I can take care of myself, Bryant.”
    “If you’re getting phone calls from someone in the middle of the night who claims to be me, and you believe them, I have to wonder if you can.”

Chapter 9
    “Sarah Carpenter,” Vera said over her omelet. “What do you know about that family?”
    “Not much,” Beatrice said. “What’s the paper say?”
    Vera shook the paper out, folded it over, and placed it beside her cheese-coated plate.
    “Eighteen-year-old Sarah Carpenter—”
    “Eighteen? Lawd, have mercy.”
    “Eighteen-year-old Sarah Carpenter,” Vera said, starting again, “was found in Cumberland Creek, in the middle of Cumberland Creek Park. The daughter of Rachel and Paul Carpenter, Sarah was a homeschool graduate and a member of the local Divinity Homeschooling Cooperative, where she played piano and taught preschool. According to local officials, the cause of death is inconclusive, though an accidental drowning has been ruled out. ‘The investigation is under way, and we’ll endeavor to keep the public informed as it progresses, ’ said Detective Bryant, Cumberland Creek Police Department.