Chapter 1

      Four cartons of crayons, a ream of construction paper, ten glue sticks and a dozen boxes of tissues. Portia Perez smiled to herself as she pulled up in front of the discount store.

      Her best friend Layla West would think it was pathetic that Portia’s shopping list didn’t include a pair of three-inch red heels and something skimpy and sparkly, but Layla had never spent eight hours a day entertaining twelve little kids.

      As the owner and operator of Portia’s Playpen, a day-care facility, Portia would much rather have enough crayons and glue sticks than shiny high heels any day.

      As she got out of her car, the hot, early-morning August air felt like a slap in her face. There were times she didn’t think the sun shone any brighter in any other town on earth than it did in August in Black Rock, Kansas.

      The concrete pavement beneath her sandals already radiated with heat and she reminded herself to add a couple of tubes of sunscreen to her shopping list.

      She was almost to the store when she saw the first flyer. It hung on a light pole and as she glanced at it she froze. Her own face stared back at her.

      “What the heck?” She moved closer to read it and as she did her heart banged hard in her chest and all her breath whooshed out of her body. Portia Perez—Baby Beater and Child Abuser. If You Love Your Kids, Don’t Use Her Day Care. The words swam before her eyes, for a moment making her nauseated.

      She yanked it from the pole and then looked down Main Street, stunned to see more flyers on other poles. Shopping forgotten, she hurried down the street, taking down the flyers as she fought against the angry tears that threatened to erupt.

      Who would do this to her? Who would be so cruel? This wasn’t just cruel; it was criminal. Somebody was trying to destroy her business, her very livelihood.

      It took her fifteen minutes to take down all the flyers she saw in the immediate area. She held them in a trembling hand and stared across the street at the sheriff’s office.

      She needed to report this. It was slander at its worst. Surely Sheriff Tom Grayson would do something, find the person responsible.

      Who could be behind this? Her head whirled as she marched across the street and into the sheriff’s office. The minute she opened the door and stepped inside the tension that already coiled tightly in her stomach increased as she saw who sat behind one of the desks.

      Deputy Caleb Grayson.

      For almost ten years of her life Portia had gone out of her way to avoid any real interaction with the man. In a town the size of Black Rock they’d had occasions to run into each other, but any conversation had been polite and impersonal.

      It amazed her that after all these years just the sight of him created a faint twinge in her heart. But she couldn’t think about that now. She had more important things on her mind than an old heartbreak.

      “Portia,” he said in obvious surprise and stood from the desk.

      “Is Tom in?” she asked.

      “No, it’s his day off. What’s up?” He stepped closer to her, close enough that she could smell the scent of his cologne, a familiar scent that would always remind her of high school prom and things she’d never wanted to think about again.

      “This is what’s up … up all over town.” She handed him one of the flyers.

      He frowned as he read it aloud. “Portia Perez neglects and abuses your children that you put in her care. Portia’s Playpen is a place of pain for little ones without a voice. Don’t let this woman watch your kids.” He whistled low beneath his breath and looked at her once again. “You’ve apparently made somebody very mad.”

      “You have to do something,” she exclaimed. “They’re everywhere, each one more slanderous than the next.”

      “Did you see who posted them?” he asked.

      “No, but it’s … it’s all lies.” Once again she felt the pressure of tears welling up, but the last person in the world she would cry in front of was Caleb Grayson. “I want whoever did this arrested.”

      “Unfortunately this is more of a civil matter than a criminal one,” he replied. “I’ll ask around, see if anyone saw somebody putting them up, but there’s really nothing more I can do.”

      It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. In fact his apparent lackadaisical attitude about the whole thing irritated her. She wanted him outraged on her behalf. She wanted him out beating the streets to find the guilty and she wanted that person lynched at high noon in the hot sun.