Clandestine Cover-Up. Pamela Tracy
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did was confirm for authorities just how dangerous he was. A class-three felony and her testimony put him behind bars for two years.
And already he was filing an appeal that had potential. Thanks to a new lawyer who was all over the minute details of attorney-client privilege, two years might not happen.
The entire drive back to Sherman, she debated her next move.
Stay in Phoenix? Move to Sherman? Find a job in New York City? Surely she could get lost there?
In the end, Sherman won. She’d already started rebuilding her life, even purchased her own building. In truth, she wanted to be in Sherman. She wanted to be near her sister and soon-to-be-born nephew. She wanted a small-town practice. But more than anything she wanted to feel safe again.
If that was even possible after the warnings and dead mouse.
Sheriff Jake Ramsey had phoned her in Phoenix a half-dozen times over the past two weeks. He’d checked out her place of business and her place of residence more than once. He’d taken fingerprints, and questioned her neighbors. He figured the target of the threats was Vince, or more likely, one of Vince’s brothers. If Tamara hadn’t found the note, Vince would have found it, shrugged and tossed it. Just another day in the life of a Frenci.
Tamara knew better. Yes, Vince had a connection to the building and grounds, but she had a gut feeling that the warnings and the mouse weren’t meant for him. After all, what were the odds that someone would go looking to slash his tires, find him at Tamara’s apartment, and then think, Oh, boy, let’s slash her tires, too!
As she pulled into the parking lot of the old church, she reconsidered yet again. Maybe she should have thought a little harder, waited a little longer before making an offer on this particular building.
The roof looked sound although a rickety weathervane leaned dangerously to the left. The small parking lot to the right of the building would need to be repaved. The walkway, too. The front porch would need to be both refitted and repainted. The front door looked sturdy enough if somewhat odd with the brown wrapping paper taped over the graffiti.
At least there was no new warning sign today.
She walked around the church. The lawn looked a little overgrown. It made sense. Since Tamara had purchased the church, Vince no longer worked for or was paid by Lydia. She needed to hire a handyman—and soon.
Reaching in her purse, she pulled out a business card.
The card said, “Vincent Frenci, handyman and general repair.” She knew the phone number on the card by heart.
She was pretty sure he wasn’t at church. At least, he hadn’t been there the one Sunday she had visited with her sister.
She’d taken the card out at least three times a day, each time telling herself she wasn’t going to call him when she got back to Sherman. No, she’d hire a landscaping firm.
But she dialed his number anyway.
It was totally against her character.
Yet exactly what she’d been planning to do every day for the past two weeks.
Vince parked his truck, exited and made his way toward the porch. Tamara was sitting on the front stoop, leaning back, and looking all the world like she was comfortable. Sensibly, she’d shed her jacket, but she still looked too warm in a white button-down shirt tucked into blue creased slacks. Black heels completed the outfit.
Her eyes were closed. Vince would have given the keys to his beloved truck just to know what she was thinking, what had put the half smile on her face.
He doubted she relaxed often, especially since a stalker had made her his target.
He stopped and looked down at her, enjoying the view. “Well, Miss Jacoby, I hear you are still the proud owner of a church.”
She opened her green eyes, not looking the least bit perturbed that he’d snuck up on her.
“I’m not so easily scared off,” she said. “Nothing’s happened for two weeks.”
“You haven’t been here for things to happen,” he pointed out.
“William Massey is still in jail. The courts are looking over transcripts trying to determine if his rights were violated during the trial because of my testimony. But—” she looked over at Vince “—my ex-fiancé says there’s nothing to worry about.”
He settled down on the stoop next to her, noticing how much bigger he was than she. His legs stretched two steps farther than hers. His arms, well, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them so he simply leaned back, using them as anchors.
She didn’t move over. He liked that.
“Are you worried?”
“Of course! I’m taking this very seriously. I, more than anyone, know how out of hand a situation can get. I’m watching my back. And—” she sobered “—I don’t for a minute think any of this is aimed at you. Jake is way off.”
“Jake is way off,” Vince agreed. “I’ve gone back and forth a dozen times. I wish the warnings were aimed at me rather than you.”
“So, why do you think your tires were slashed?” Tamara asked.
“I think my tires were slashed because someone is bothered by the fact I’m near you,” Vince said simply.
“That’s silly.”
He didn’t answer, just looked at her, until she nodded. “This means that anyone near me is in danger. Exactly what I worried about and why I don’t want to stay with my sister and her husband right now. And maybe why I made a mistake coming back here. Yet, here I am. It’s a crazy world.”
“How crazy is it?” Vince asked. Maybe if he knew just what had happened, what the papers hadn’t reported, and what Tamara had really gone through, then maybe what was happening now would make sense since it involved him. “Tell me about Massey.”
Tamara blanched. For a moment, he thought she’d walk away and leave him sitting there. Finally, she softly asked, “How much do you know?”
“I know that your firm was representing him and that he took a liking to you. I know he sent you love letters and followed you. I know he broke into your apartment and you managed to fight him off.”
She no longer looked relaxed. She looked rigid, uncomfortable, and Vince almost said, Let’s do this later, but then she started talking.
“You know a lot,” she acknowledged. “Working for a top law firm really helped keep the reporters at bay. The media had to be careful with every word lest they let something slip that either put me in danger or compromised the case.”
“You mean the papers didn’t want to be sued by your firm.”
“That, too,” Tamara agreed. “Why should they be so different? Everybody, my neighbors, my coworkers, they all started being so careful around me. They talked the sympathy game, but I could tell, they were mostly grateful that what was happening to me wasn’t happening to them. However, my sisters acted with righteous indignation. Lisa, right away, wanted me to come stay with her. Sheila wanted me to fight. Both didn’t think the law acted fast enough. Terry, my fiancé, couldn’t keep his annoyance at bay. See, my stalker interfered with other cases—both mine and his—and eventually Massey interfered with social events.
“I should have trusted my gut with Massey,” Tamara said morosely. “The minute he showed up at our law firm, my skin crawled. He looked like such an ordinary guy, but it took only a minute for me to recognize that the look of detachment was fake and that he’d mastered the art of mind games. We sat in the firm’s conference room and I wrote down everything he said. Now, I look back, and I realize I was such a different person back then.”
“Why did he hire your firm in the first place?” Vince asked.
“He