The first warning is swift and to the point, but bookstore owners Glenn and Lindsay Reade don’t ‘get it’ until their lives are threatened a second time. All they’ve done is read a young girl’s diary and attempt to locate the owner. Just because the journal describes the girl’s rape and subsequent murder of the rapist is no reason for anyone to want them dead, is it? The book is obviously more than forty years old. Who in the tiny Berkshire town of Paris, Massachusetts could still care?
But someone does. And that someone is willing to kidnap and murder to protect their long buried secret.
He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Don’t talk. Just get your strength back. You’ve been unconscious for a day and a half.”
“How is Lana?”
Glenn didn’t answer for several seconds. “She...didn’t make it.”
Oh, God. “Faith. She’s sick too.” I tried to sit up, but fell back weakly, my hands to my temples. “Ooh. Someone shut off the fireworks.”
He laid a hand on my arm. “Relax. Faith’s fine. She just had a cold bug.”
Glenn sighed, and relented. “There’s not much to tell. They couldn’t save her.”
“A combination of Malathion and Parathion, in the brownies. Someone apparently used an eye-dropper. It wasn’t in all of them, only the ones at the front. The police figure whoever put it there got distracted before they finished.”
“In our home.”