January Thaw (The Murder-By-Month Mysteries) by Jess Lourey Page A

blinking or dropping our gazes. When the door closed behind him, I snapped off the overhead lights and simultaneously flipped on the lights outside the door. The contrast made me feel a tiny bit safer. I watched him slip into a rusty white sedan. When Ray was out of sight, I darted out from behind the desk and locked the door, leaving on the outside lights. Then I scurried back to my desk and fumbled in the drawers until I located a penlight I’d received for free when I’d opened a checking account at Farmers and Merchants County Bank. I flicked it on and was pleased to see that the light was narrow but bright. I quickly located the crumpled paper and then tucked myself behind the tall counter where I could read the letter without anyone seeing me.

Eighteen
    I smoothed the paper on the carpeted floor and shone the flashlight beam into the center of it. I discovered it was a grainy photocopy of a handwritten letter:
    18 January 1865
    Dear Loretta:
    I wish I could write with better news. In Minnesota, they do not believe the messages I bring. I do not think I can stay here. I pack my bags to return home tomorrow. Should anything happen to me, look to the tunnel of justice.
    With a heart that beats only for you,
Orpheus Jackson
    I flipped the letter over. It was blank. I flipped it back and reread it. The letter raised more questions than it answered. Was the date accurate, and was Maurice Jackson a descendant of Orpheus’s? If so, who is the “they” and what were the “messages” referred to in the letter? And more importantly, what in the world did a hundred-and forty-year-old letter have to do with Maurice’s murder? I sighed and rubbed my temples. For all I knew, Ray and Hammer had killed Maurice and dreamed up this letter based on something he’d seen at the copy shop and were using it in a ridiculous attempt to throw the police off their scent.
    I wish I’d had time to read the letter before Ray left so I could question him. Then again, I was happy that he was gone. I peeked over the top of the desk and pulled the phone toward me, bringing it down to ground level. I dialed Jed’s number from memory.
    One ring.
    Two rings.
    Three rings.
    Click . “Hey, you! Thanks for calling me. You know it’s Jed, right? Well, I’m not here right now, so leave a message with the phone, and I’ll call you back when I get home.” Beep .
    “Hey, it’s Mira. Hope you’re well. I’m calling to find out what you know about any recent drug or gang activity in the area.” To anyone else, that message might sound a little offensive; Jed didn’t operate on that level. “Give me a call back.”
    I hung up and considered calling Johnny to ask him to walk me to my car. If I did that, though, where would it stop? I’d never be able to go anywhere on my own again. Besides, if Ray had wanted to hurt me, he would have. No way did he buy that I had a gun or an alarm. I just had to be alert from this moment forward.
    But not stupid.
    I called Gilbert Hullson and told him I’d be over in ten minutes to meet Jiffy and asked him to call the police if I wasn’t. I placed my skimpy research into the appropriate manila folders. Then I set the library door to lock automatically behind me and dashed to the car with such speed that my feet barely kissed the icy ground.

    Funny. Running to my car, I’d wished for ol’ Z-Force, the stun gun, more than anything in the world. Now that I’d spent thirty minutes sitting across from Gilbert, who had Jiffy perched on one meaty thigh and a fishing scrapbook on the other, I was glad I didn’t have Z. I would have either zapped Gilbert to shut him up or myself to keep awake. He had struck me as odd during our first meeting in the hardware store, but I’d found myself warming to him by the end of the conversation.
    Always trust your first impressions.
    The tiny bungalow two miles north of town hadn’t been hard to find, and the neat yard with a shoveled path leading to the house gave no