Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [3]
But her best friend—her only true friend in Dunmore—was off on her honeymoon and would be gone two weeks. She didn’t begrudge Cathy her happiness, her fourteen glorious days of uninterrupted lovemaking with her new husband. But Cathy’s romantic dreams finally coming true only reminded Lorie of the impossibility of that ever happening for her.
Padding through the house to the front door of her 1920s clapboard bungalow located just outside the city limits of downtown Dunmore, Lorie sighed. Romantic dreams didn’t come true for women like her. She’d had her one chance at happily ever after and she’d blown it big-time. Just because Cathy had gotten a second chance didn’t mean she would.
She opened the front door, scanned the porch, sidewalk, and front yard, and located the Sunday paper hanging precariously between two small azalea bushes. Damn! It was raining like crazy, had probably set in for the day, and the cold March breeze felt more like a February wind. She shivered as she rushed down the steps, grasped the cellophane-wrapped paper, and ran back into the house.
She could smell the delicious coffee brewing. By the time she peeled off her wet housecoat and gown and put on something warm and dry, the coffee would be ready. After taking a couple of tentative steps down the hall, she stopped, said damn, and then turned and went back to the front door. She had forgotten to get Saturday’s mail out of the box at the end of her driveway. She might as well do that now while she was already soaked.
After retrieving the mail and getting drenched to the skin, Lorie tossed the small stack of envelopes and the Sunday newspaper down on the half-moon table in her tiny foyer before she headed for the bedroom.
Ten minutes later, drinking her first cup of morning coffee, dressed in lightweight fleece lounge pants and a matching pullover, Lorie slipped the newspaper out of its protective cellophane sleeve and took the paper and her unopened mail into the living room. She relaxed in her plush easy chair, placed her feet on the matching ottoman, and scanned the morning headlines. The Life section of the paper was what interested her today. A color wedding photo of her best friend, Catherine Cantrell—no, she was Catherine Perdue now—stared up at her from the wedding announcements page. Cathy had never looked more beautiful.
Tears threatened, reaching Lorie’s throat and lodging there. She swallowed hard. Be happy, Cathy. Be happy. You so deserve it.
And maybe that was the reason she would never be truly happy. Lorie Hammonds didn’t deserve to be happy.
She folded back the page and laid the newspaper aside. She would cut out Cathy’s picture and then look through the rest of the paper later. As a general rule, Saturday’s mail was light, even at Treasures of the Past, the antique shop she co-owned with Cathy, but better to go through it now and toss out everything except the bills. She picked up one envelope after another, discarding half a dozen requests from various charities. If she regularly donated to each of these organizations, she would quickly give away her entire paycheck. She laid the one bill—her credit card statement—on the end table. She would write a check tomorrow and mail it off. Sooner or later, she would have to move into the twenty-first century and pay all her bills electronically.
One envelope remained in her lap. She picked it up and looked at it. Her breath caught in her throat.
No, it can’t be. Please, don’t let it be another one.
Don’t jump to conclusions. Just because it looks like the other one doesn’t mean it’s from the same person.
She flipped over the envelope a couple of times, studying both sides carefully. Her name and address had been printed on a white mailing label. No return name or address.
Just like the other letter.
And just like the