Horrified and in shock, Carmela inanely spun around the room searching high and low for another witness. On her third, dizzying whirl, the realization finally sank in that she was the only other person in the room. Well, at least the only living person.

Swallowing hard, Carmela gaped at the body. Oh, dear lord, could Jerry Earl really have been brutally murdered right in the middle of his own lavish welcome home party? Was that really his limp body sprawled at her feet? Was that the metallic scent of fresh blood stinging her nose?

The angry buzz of fluorescent lights rang in Carmela’s ears like a plague of cicadas and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe in the steamy, claustrophobic room. She spun on her heels, pushed hard on the louvered door, and raced back down the narrow hallway, greedily swallowing great gulps of fresh air and fighting the awful tide of bile that rose in her throat. Because . . .

I have to get help! view abbreviated excerpt only...

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