Lisa Jackson - Most Likely To Die

Sweet ZDK will be our home.

The sisters’ voices give way to the hushed nocturnal woodland descant: chirping crickets, a rushing creek, and the September breeze that gently rustles the maple boughs high above the clearing.

Then another sound reaches Brynn’s ears…

The faint, yet resonant crack of a branch splintering underfoot.

She clutches her friend Fiona’s arm, asking in a high-pitched whisper, “Did anyone hear that?”

“Hear what?” Tildy’s tone is sharp.

“Shhh!” Standing absolutely still, afraid to breathe, Brynn listens intently.

They all do.

There is nothing.

Nothing but crickets, the creek, a gust stirring the leaves overhead. Just like before.

After a long, tense moment, Cassie says, “I don’t hear anything, Brynn.”

Brynn doesn’t either. Not now.

But someone is there.

She can feel it.

Someone is lurking in the shadows among the trees, listening.

Perhaps even watching…

And recognizing.

September,

Present day

Cedar Crest, Massachusetts

It happened ten years ago this week, just after Labor Day…and just a few miles from here.

In fact, if one knows where to look one can pinpoint up in the greenish-golden Berkshires backdrop, beyond the row of nineteenth century rooftops, precisely the spot where it happened.

And I know where to look…because I was there. I know exactly what really happened that night, and it’s time that-

“Oh, excuse me!” The elderly woman is apologetic, having just rounded the corner from Second Street. “I didn’t mean to bump into you…I’m so sorry.”

She looks so familiar…

It takes just a split second for the memory to surface. Right, she used to be a cashier at the little deli down the block. The place that always had hazelnut decaf. Yes, and she was always so chatty.

What was her name? Mary? Molly?

What is she doing out at this hour? The sky is still dark in the west, and none of the businesses along Main Street are open yet.

Don’t panic. She probably doesn’t even recognize you. Just smile and say something casual…

“Oh, that’s all right, ma’am.”

Good. Now turn your back. Slowly, so that you don’t draw any more attention to yourself.

Good. Now get the heck out of here, before-

“Excuse me!”

Dammit! The old lady again.

What can she possibly want now?

“You must have dropped this when I bumped you.” With a gnarled, blue-veined hand, she proffers a white envelope.

“Oh…thank you.”

Could she have glanced at the address on the front before she handed it over? If she did, could she have recognized the recipient’s name?

“It’s going to be a nice day today.” She gestures at the glow in the eastern sky, above the mountain peaks. “We needed that rain, though, at this time of year.”

“Mmm hmm.” Just nod. Be polite.

“Well…enjoy the day.”

“I will.” But not as much as I’ll enjoy tomorrow. “You, too.”

With a cheerful wave, the woman turns and makes her way down the block.

The post office is just a few doors in the opposite direction. These last two envelopes-the ones to be delivered right here in town-must go out in this morning’s mail.

It’s important that they be mailed from here, so that the recipients will realize that the sender is nearby.

The timing is just as crucial. All four cards need to arrive at their destination tomorrow, on the anniversary.

The others went out first thing yesterday morning-one to Boston, one to Connecticut. That excursion was uneventful. It was raining, and there were no witnesses…

Unlike today.

Now isn’t the time to start taking chances. Not after months of painstakingly laying the groundwork. Not when it’s finally about to begin at last.

Millie.

That’s her name.

The post office can wait. The first pickup won’t be for at least another hour.

What a shame, Millie.

What a shame you weren’t more careful.

Dear Reader,

When our wonderful editor, John Scognamiglio, asked me to participate in writing a novel with fellow writers Lisa Jackson and Wendy Corsi Staub, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. After all, who wouldn’t want to collaborate with two of the most talented suspense/thriller authors in the business? Lisa came up with the basic idea and created the background for the story and the characters. She wrote the first third of the novel, telling the story from St. Elizabeth’s alumna Kristen Delmonico’s point of view. Then Wendy took the book from Portland, Oregon to New York City, and gave us Lindsay Farrell’s story. I came in for the final chapters, taking readers down South where Rachel Alsace lives in Huntsville, Alabama, and then back to Portland for the twenty-year reunion that brings these old friends together for the first time since high school.

Police detective Rachel Alsace once worked for the Chattanooga P.D. with another female officer, Lindsay (Lin) McAllister, and now Lindsay is a private detective for the Powell Agency in Knoxville, Tennessee. Rachel takes note of a serial killer case making headlines in many area newspapers-The Beauty Queen Killer case-because she knows her old friend has been personally involved in tracking this vicious murderer.

When Chattanooga millionaire Judd Walker’s wife, a former Miss Tennessee, was murdered, Lindsay assisted the lead detective on the case. During the investigation she found herself falling in love with the victim’s husband, a man on the edge of self-destructing. Filled with agonized grief and a mad thirst for revenge, Judd hired the Powell Agency, headed by his long-time friend Griffin Powell, to conduct an independent search for his wife’s killer. Four years and numerous murders later, the Beauty Queen Killer is still on the loose, and Judd has still not come to terms with the death of his wife.

Look for Lindsay McAllister and Judd Walker’s story in my next romantic thriller, THE DYING GAME, April 2007. And for those of you who have been clamoring for Griffin Powell’s story, I have good news. You will get the chance to learn more about this to-die-for billionaire P.I. and his mysterious past as he works with Lindsay and Judd to track down a killer who has outsmarted not only the Powell Agency for four years, but also local law enforcement and the FBI. All of Griff’s secrets will be revealed as he’s drawn into a very deadly and a very personal new game of murder in his own novel coming in February 2008.

I always love to hear from readers. You can e-mail me at bbarton@beverlybarton.com. For more information about my books and me or to sign up for my e-mail newsletter, go to my website at www.beverlybarton.com.

Thank you for reading MOST LIKELY TO DIE. Now, take a sneak peek at the prologue of THE DYING GAME!

Warmest regards,

Beverly Barton

The intensely bright lights blinded her. She couldn’t see anything except the white illumination that obscured everything in her line of vision. She wished he would turn off the car’s headlights.

Judd didn’t like for her to show houses to clients in the evenings and generally she did what Judd wanted her to do. But her career as a realtor was just getting off the ground, and if she could sell this half-million-dollar house to Mr. and Mrs. Farris, her percentage would be enough to furnish the nursery. Not that she was pregnant. Not yet. And not that her husband couldn’t well afford to furnish a nursery with the best of everything. It was just that Jennifer wanted the baby to be her gift to her wonderful husband and the nursery to be a gift from her to their child.

Holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the headlights, she walked down the sidewalk to meet John and Katherine Farris, an up-and-coming entrepreneurial couple planning to start a new business in Chattanooga. She had spoken only to John Farris. From their telephone conversations, she had surmised that John, like her own husband, was the type who liked to think he wore the pants in the family. Odd how considering the fact that she believed herself to be a thoroughly modern woman, Jennifer loved Judd’s old-fashioned sense of protectiveness and possessiveness.