Nothing. There was absolutely nothing wrong with what she wanted. This was the twenty-first century. These days, more women worked than stayed home.
Most families needed dual incomes to survive.
No use putting it off any longer.
Dread welling to a fever pitch, Penny opened the car door and got out. She reached back in for her briefcase and purse, then closed the door. Her luggage would have to wait.
The dread she felt at walking into her own home heaped more guilt onto her already burdened shoulders. Why couldn’t she just be glad to be home and go inside and enjoy a joyous welcome home?
Because she knew what was coming.
“Just get it over with, Penny.” She trudged up the walk, then climbed the four steps.
At the front door she hesitated. An envelope had been tucked into the storm door. She pulled it free, read the name printed on the front.Penny Arnold.
Not handwritten, she realized. The letters spelling her name had been cut from printed material, then pasted onto the envelope.
The dread and guilt morphed into fear. Her pulse started to race. Her hand shook.
Penny dropped her briefcase on the porch and quickly tore open the envelope. She removed the sheet of white paper and unfolded it. Her heart thumped harder and harder with each movement. A piece of folded-up newspaper slipped out, fluttered down to her feet.
She told herself to bend down and pick it up but the words on the page held her frozen.
Pretty, pretty princess. See her smile ... see her die.
This was ... like the last one, only the message was different. Who would send such a statement? Why to her? She’d thought the last creepy letter was some kind of sick joke someone had misaddressed. Or the nasty work of her cutthroat competition. That bitch who owned the Property Shop didn’t think Wiggins was big enough for yet another real estate agency. Penny wouldn’t put this sort of thing past her.
What did this mean?
Grappling for composure, Penny bent down and picked up the newspaper clipping. She unfolded it and read the headline that had been highlighted.
Cherry Prescott Still Missing
The blood hurtling through her veins turned to ice. Penny couldn’t read the words fast enough ... a voice in her head kept screaming.No! No! This can’t be real!
The Prescott woman had come to Penny’s office. Penny had been too busy getting ready for Phoenix to deal with the ridiculous story the woman had been insisting she believed to be the truth. The encounterhad been unnerving. Particularly when Prescott had thrown all those questions at Penny—none of which had made any kind of sense.
Did Penny have dreams about drowning? Did she have a daughter? Had anyone ever called Penny or her daughter a princess?
Penny had been certain the woman was nuts. Not only did she not have a daughter, she hadn’t ever been called anything even remotely close to princess.
. . . until now.
She blinked. Read the headline again. Now Prescott was missing.
Her attention turned to the bizarre letter once more.
What was this all about?
The door suddenly opened. “Mom!” her youngest shouted. “Mom’s home!”
Penny dropped to her knees and hugged her precious children. The guilt surged once more, diminishing the other emotions. It was Christmas Eve, she didn’t have time to deal with this now. She shoved the envelope and its contents into the purse hanging at her side. Monday she would look into the Prescott thing. Maybe even talk to the police. If Prescott’s disappearance had anything to do with Penny someone would have called or ... something.
A couple more days wouldn’t hurt.
It was Christmas, after all.
15