The First Victim Read Online Free PDF Page A

out of the shower. Wrapping herself in an oversized towel, she sniffed the air appreciatively. Something was definitely baking, hopefully pistachio muffins, a Garden Gate staple and her personal favorite. Her stomach rumbled, a not-so-subtle reminder that she hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours.
    Emily had skipped lunch the day before, too busy working on the Armstrong account. Then she’d missed dinner trying to get up to Lakeside Acres. Running on adrenaline, she hadn’t been hungry last night, but now she was ravenous.
    Skirting around the bruise forming where the seat belt of her car had cut into her last night, she took her time toweling off. Wiping away the condensation from the steamed-up mirror, she took a good look at herself. She wasn’t sure if the dark circles around her eyes were a result of her restless night or the airbag’s deployment. Either way, she looked miserable. I am miserable.
    Shaking off the self-pitying admission, she reviewed what she had to do. Once she figured out how to get a car, she’d go get Laurie. Not that she had a clue what she’d do with her once she had her. She wasn’t equipped to take care of a fifteen-year-old girl she barely knew.
    A floorboard creaked outside her room. Someone else was up.
    She scrambled into a fresh outfit, not caring that it stuck to her still-damp curves. Hiding the canister of pepper spray in one hand, she cautiously opened the door of the Primrose Suite to peer down the hall. No one was in sight. Tiptoeing down the floral runner, just like she had when she and Ginny were kids, obeying her father’s admonition to stay out of the way of the guests, Emily reached the breakfast nook. A former sunroom, it had been converted to year-round use and was now used to serve morning meals to visitors.
    Slipping inside, she saw that coffee was already set up. That explained the noise she’d heard: Ginny’s dad was putting out the coffee. Snatching up a bone-china cup, she filled it with the steaming, fragrant brew. With no cream in sight, she sipped it black. Venturing farther into the room, she looked closely at the antique doll perched on a shelf in the far corner of the nook. Remembering her mother’s collection, Emily examined the piece, all bisque, too fragile for little girls to play with.
    Emily admired the craftsmanship of the doll’s painted eyes, cheeks and lips, along with the perfect curls of its sorrel hair. Emily reached out and touched the toy’s ivory hand.
    Sensing she was no longer alone in the sun-filled room, Emily froze in place like the doll. Slowly, she turned to face whoever was standing behind her.
    The tall, bald man standing there was an imposing figure. Well over six feet, with a barrel-like chest, he was staring at her.
    She tried to quell the panic rising in her as she realized he was blocking her escape route. There was something unsettlingly familiar about him. She had the distinct impression she should know who he was, but she couldn’t place him.
    “Hello, Emily.”
    Fear choked off her air supply. How did he know her name? She took a step backward, desperate to put as much distance between them as possible. She wanted to scream for Ginny’s dad to come rescue her, but her throat had constricted painfully.
    The man cocked his head, an almost birdlike movement, as though trying to look at her from another angle. “You startled me. I wasn’t expecting to find you standing there.” Focusing on her cup, he asked, “Cream?”
    Emily blinked, trying to comprehend what he was saying. Then she realized he was balancing a doily-covered tray laden with pitchers of milk and cream.
    Raising her eyes back up to his smiling face, she finally recognized him. Sad Sam. That’s what Ginny had called her uncle when he’d moved to Lakeside Acres the summer they’d turned fifteen.
    Relief flooding through her, Emily exhaled the breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding.
    “Yes please, Sam.” She stepped forward and plucked the