The Listener

Christina Dodd

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Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Notice

The Listener

Preview: VIRTUE FALLS

About the Author

Copyright

THE LISTENER

Welcome to Virtue Falls

Founded 1902

Your Vacation Destination on the Washington Coast

Home of the World Famous Virtue Falls Canyon

Population 2487

At two-thirty P.M. on a Thursday afternoon, Coast Guard Commander Kateri Kwinault shoved open the door to the Oceanview Café, stalked inside, seated herself on a stool at the lunch counter, and slapped her palm flat on the surface. “I’ll take a beer.”

Rainbow finished wiping off a table, balanced the dirty dishes on one arm, and strolled over to the wall behind the counter. She dumped the dishes in one plastic pan, the silverware in another. In a tone of colorless courtesy, she said, “I’m sorry, we here at the Oceanview Café don’t have a beer license.”

Kateri slapped the counter again. “I’ll take a bourbon on the rocks.”

“I’m sorry, we here at the Oceanview Café don’t have a liquor license.”

“I’ll take a puff of weed.”

Rainbow put her fists on her ample hips. “I’m sorry, we here at the Oceanview Café don’t have a marijuana license.”

Kateri sighed. “I’ll take a full-fat, full-sugar, half-caff latte with two pumps of vanilla.”

“That I can do.” Rainbow Breezewing, waitress and all-round Virtue Falls busybody, hustled to the coffee machine and programmed it then, before she punched go, she returned, leaned down, and looked deep into Kateri’s eyes. “Real cow’s milk? Because you know what that does to your digestion.”

“I truly need full-fat cow’s milk,” Kateri said.

“Do you want to spend the afternoon being gassy?” Rainbow leaned closer.

Kateri backed up. “Fine. Soy milk. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s hanging with someone who saw me grow up.”

“You could go to the Halfway Bar.” Rainbow put the latte in front of Kateri.

“Yes, because that’s a classy place for a single woman to hang out.” And for all her joking, Kateri didn’t drink. For most Native Americans, liquor created results even more dire than cow’s milk. “Besides, I’m on duty.”

“So you took a break?”

“No use being the station commander if I can’t give myself some time off when I need it. I took the new kid out for a trial run up the coast.” Kateri took a sip and grimaced. “I hate soy milk.”

Rainbow leaned her elbows against the counter and propped her chin in her hands. “He didn’t work out?”

“He compared the Pacific Ocean with New York Harbor.”

Rainbow cackled like a hen.

“Precisely.” Kateri took another sip and put the cup down.

“What’s his name again?”

“Lt. J. G. Landon Adams. His uncle was a senator. His uncle got voted out, so Landon … Landlubber”—Kateri laughed, and realized she’d just found his nickname —“lost his job in the civilized world and had to come out here.”

“Bit of a culture shock?”

“He asked about the music scene.” Kateri met Rainbow’s gaze straight on. “Ensign Sanchez told him the high-school version of Oklahoma was quite good.”

Both women started laughing so hard Kateri had to hide her face in a napkin, and the four retired men in the corner turned indignant faces in their direction.

“Oh-oh.” Rainbow grabbed the coffeepot. “I’d better go warm up their cups or they’ll stop complaining about the government and start complaining about me.”

“Can’t have that.” While Rainbow was cajoling the old guys into a better humor, Kateri looked around the diner.

Rainbow liked to say the Oceanview Café was inspired by the fifties. In fact, the corner diner was built in the fifties and the only stuff that wasn’t original was anything that had been broken and replaced. The white-topped tables and red-seated chairs had chrome legs. The floor was tiny black-and-white tiles with stained white grout. Despite its name, the diner’s windows looked out not on the ocean, but on the two streets leading into the Virtue Falls town square.

Virtue Falls was located on a bypass off Highway 101 on the Washington State Olympic Peninsula, and sooner or later, everyone in the area showed up at the Oceanview Café. Tourists wandered in for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, and once they tried the pie, they always came back. Locals came in to eat, gossip, and use the free Wi-Fi. Cops and truckers came in for fresh donuts and coffee. The whole west coast population came in to tell Rainbow their joys and troubles.

Now two tourists came in and seated themselves at the far end of the counter. That meant the whale-watching vessel was back in port and the diner’s afternoon rush had started.

Rainbow got them water, took their order, clipped it up for Dax, the owner and cook, then headed back toward Kateri.

A timer beeped in Rainbow’s pocket, redirecting her. She walked to the refrigerator, pulled out the whole milk, poured a glass, and put it in the microwave for fifty-three seconds. While it was heating, she got the pie, measured a width of crust, cut the piece at precisely the right angle, put it on a plate, got a fork and wrapped it in a napkin, and with a roll of the eyes toward Kateri, she headed toward the middle table where Cornelia Markum worked.

As she walked up, Cornelia’s computer pinged.

Rainbow put down the pie and the milk. “Here you go, hon. The milk is exactly 140 degrees. The pie is two inches at the crust. It’s blackberry today.”

Cornelia looked at the pie and the milk, then up at Rainbow. She raised her eyebrows.

Rainbow nodded. “You’re welcome,” she said, and headed back for the counter.

In a low voice, Kateri asked, “Has she ever said Thank you?’

Rainbow laughed. “God, no. But I wait anyway, thinking someday a smidgeon of human behavior will leak through the weirdness.”

Kateri turned on the stool to stare at Cornelia. She knew it didn’t matter if she stared. Cornelia was oblivious to everything but placing the napkin in her lap, sliding two bites of the pie into the glass, stirring it until the milk turned purple, then pouring one quarter cup of the milk into the plate. She waited precisely a minute, then began to eat.

“That’s quite a ritual.” Kateri turned back to the counter. “I never could decide whether she was autistic or a dysfunctional genius.”

“For sure the genius. Maybe autistic. But you have to admit, having your mother skip out when you’re twelve is going to do some damage.”

“I went to school with Cornelia. You know, when I lived here before. She was always … odd. Smarter than the rest of us. Our third-grade teacher had an Apple Macintosh, one of the early models, and it was her prize possession. That woman humiliated Cornelia for being too gifted in math class, told her if she didn’t stop acting so intelligent, she’d never catch a boy.”

“Was that Mrs. Noble?”

“Yep.”

“What a bitch.”

“So Cornelia programmed the Macintosh to make a farting sound every time Mrs. Noble moved the mouse. Took that woman about a hundred phone calls to Apple before she found the speaker Cornelia had installed into the computer.”

Rainbow cackled. “Good for Cornelia. That old harridan has been making children miserable for forty years.”

“Tell me about it.” Kateri had a white cowboy father and a Native American mother with a drinking problem. From the moment she was born, someone had been looking sideways at her, making fun of her, or picking a fight. Which was why she’d gone to the Coast Guard Academy. The fire that melts the candle forges the steel, and Kateri had been born in a furnace. Now she was an adult, back in Virtue Falls after a ten-year absence, commander of the local Coast Guard station and master of her own destiny. She, by God, intended to sail along with no more trouble. She nodded toward her former classmate. “That’s spooky. Why is Cornelia smiling?”

Rainbow filled the napkin holders. “I think that when she takes her pie break, she also takes a break from her work.”

“Which is … ?”

“Shit if I know. It’s top secret. Spy stuff. And she gets paid one helluva a lot for doing it.” Rainbow’s tone clearly expressed her opinion of anyone who worked for the U.S. Government.

“What does she ever spend her money on?”

“She doesn’t have to spend it. That’s what her husband’s for.”

Kateri cackled. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about Mason Markum. In fourth grade, I broke my heart over that guy. He was so cute.”

“Order up!” Dax slid a chicken strips and fries and a hummus plate with fresh vegetables and pita wedges across the worktop from the kitchen.

“He still is cute.” Rainbow picked up the plates. “Nice guy. Don’t get me wrong. He married her and hasn’t worked a day since. But he’s good to Cornelia, every summer he teaches kids how to swim, and he helps old ladies across the street.”

“So he’s a Boy Scout.” Kateri looked at Cornelia again. Cornelia, with her untrimmed brown hair, her hands and feet that looked too big for her body, her nearsighted brown eyes that blinked cluelessly behind her sturdy black glasses. “I’ll never understand how she caught him.”

“I think they caught each other. He was looking for a meal ticket and she fell in love with him.” Rainbow started around the counter.

“She loves him?” Kateri couldn’t believe it.

“Yes. What passes for love for her, anyway.” Rainbow stopped and studied Cornelia. “Sometimes that smile makes me uneasy, like she’s pointing a camera up my skirt to see what I’ve got up there.”

“Anything exciting?” Kateri asked.

“So I’ve been told.” With an exaggerated sway, Rainbow headed for the table of whale-watching tourists.

Kateri grinned. Rainbow had an excellent ego, and many men—and a few women—had lovingly tended it. Rainbow, middle-aged, liberal, independent, and hearty, was the glue that held Virtue Falls together.

***

Cornelia’s mother had told Cornelia many times that she needed to listen when other people talked.

Cornelia had tried that. She didn’t see the sense in it. People talked about their health, the weather, and the road work in front of their house. They never told the truth about what they thought. They seldom even told the truth about their health. They talked and they talked, and they never said anything. One day when Cornelia was twelve, her mother had lied and said she was coming home that evening. She never did, leaving Cornelia alone with a surly father and two humiliated older sisters. That had finished Cornelia for verbal communication, and for trying to please her mother.

Now Cornelia considered herself an observer of human behavior. She knew most people in Virtue Falls didn’t consider her an observer—most of them treated her like a bug who had crawled into their fresh green salad of life—but that was because they used their eyes and their ears to observe. Cornelia stepped back and used her computer skills to eavesdrop.

It was easy. At first, to amuse herself, she had hacked into e-mail accounts. She had quickly discovered that people revealed more of themselves over time, in writing, than they ever did with their verbiage. Unfortunately, most of her neighbors were still consumed with the minutia of life, and wading through the reams of e-mail babble made Cornelia sleepy. She was looking for entertainment, not boredom.

Then she discovered texting.

Texting—short, brief, abbreviated shots of contact between (usually) two humans that included appointment reminders, screaming hatreds, professions of deepest love, breakups, assignations, witty quips, copious complaining, nagging, tears, drunk texting, announcements of marriage, divorce, and births. Texting was human contact in its most distilled form. Cornelia could randomly hack into the thousands of texts sent in Virtue Falls every day. Best of all, it was like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates: She never knew what she was going to get, or who was sending it.

She supposed, if she really hacked at it, she could discover who was sending which message. But to her, that was part of the game. Find a really juicy conversation, follow it for a while and, using her knowledge of her hometown, figure out who it was. Then, if she got the chance, she mentioned something about the conversation to one or both of the participants.

Sometimes it was too easy. Almost everybody in town came into the Oceanview Café occasionally, and some of them came every day to drink coffee, use the free Wi-Fi, gossip about their neighbors, and eat. Pie, usually. Dax made great pies.

Cornelia finished her pie, drank half of her milk, packed up her gear, went to the ladies’ room, and used the toilet. She washed her hands with soap for as long as it took to kill germs—the amount of time it took to twice sing “Happy Birthday to You.” She brushed her teeth, flossed, and returned to her table.

As usual, while she was gone Rainbow had cleaned it off except for the milk.

Cornelia found it disturbing when Rainbow got busy and couldn’t wipe off the table in time. Then she had to stand there and wait until Rainbow had a free moment and could do her job. Only then could Cornelia sit back down for the second part of her workday.

Routine was important to Cornelia.

But she hadn’t used up her self-allotted break time, and that made her happy. She could see what was going on this afternoon in Virtue Falls. She pulled out her tablet—it wouldn’t do to use the government’s laptop for leisure entertainment—and slid (metaphorically) into the local cell-phone tower. Once there, she hopped into the system and randomly chose one of the channels.

The first text conversation popped up.

Darling, will you be able to meet me tonight?

You know I will. I wish I had the strength of will to resist you … this isn’t right, but you’re all I think about.

Where shall we meet?

Cornelia yawned. High school kids were so dramatic. A couple more texts, and if things didn’t improve, she would move on to the next conversation.

Our usual place. It’s dark, it’s quiet … no one can hear when I make you scream. ;)

Well, that was more interesting.

I ought to handcuff you to the fence and leave you. Then *you’ll* scream. LOL

Much, much better.

I have to get home. You know that. If I don’t, she’ll miss me.

Cornelia’s eyebrows went up. A kid who lived alone with his mother?

Or an affair?

For a town the size of Virtue Falls, the place was rife with infidelity. Cornelia didn’t really understand the why of it; she supposed it must be the long, dark, stormy winters that made everyone grow impatient with his or her marital partner. Spring arrived, and boom! The cheaters were in full bloom, trolling for the chance to pollinate or be pollinated.

Cornelia giggled at her own whimsy.

In her experience, lovers were boring, so she changed channels and landed in the middle of a discussion about which rifle was the best to carry hunting for elk. It was like listening to her father.

Cornelia glanced around, looking for a challenge.

At the far table her old classmate, Erica Copeland, was furiously texting and frowning, texting and frowning.

Something was up.

Cornelia dug through the texts until she found:

I can’t tell another soul about this. Promise me you won’t tell. Although sooner or later everyone will know.

My God, Erica, what’s wrong?

Cornelia smiled the slightest bit. She had nailed this conversation quickly.

Erica typed furiously. My mother —my forty-five-year-old! mother is pregnant!!!

Erica had always been an exclamation-point abuser.

Oh. My. God. Dare I ask … by who?

Cornelia rolled her eyes. Now she knew who Erica was talking to. Only Meghan Moen was that catty.

By my father, of all people!!!

Okay, Cornelia was wrong. That was pretty catty of Erica, too.

I am so humiliated. I’m twenty-six years old, long past the time when I wanted a baby brother or sister. What were they *thinking*?

Maybe it just happened. Maybe they weren’t thinking of you.

At their ages? What are they doing having sex, anyway? Daddy had that spinal fusion last year. They were worried he’d be paralyzed. Now they’re having sex?

Cornelia’s fingers itched to type, Grow up.

But she’d hopped into a conversation a couple of times, and discovered that while the people involved didn’t know who interrupted them—she didn’t tell them—some of them speculated about her, and skittered away whenever Cornelia walked by.

Erica typed: What will the people in our church say?

Cornelia laughed drily. “Congratulations?” she said out loud.

Erica cast a startled look at her.

Cornelia kept her gaze on her screen.

When did you find out? Meghan asked.

They told me a half hour ago. Even though Meghan couldn’t see her, Erica dabbed at her eyes. I wanted to run for the church board. But this is going to reflect so badly on me.

You poor thing!

Poor thing? Erica was a selfish idiot. The blessed event had nothing to do with her or her religious aspirations.

Poor Mr. and Mrs. Copeland for bringing another child into the world who could possibly turn out like Erica.

Cornelia made a mental note to send a baby gift to Mr. and Mrs. Copeland. They were old… . Babies were up the middle of the night … so she would send a coffeemaker.

She promptly ordered online and sent it anonymously. After all, she couldn’t sign the card; she wasn’t supposed to know about the baby.

When she got back to Erica’s conversation, she was confused, because Erica was saying, I can’t tell another soul about this. Promise me you won’t tell. Although sooner or later everyone will know.

Had there been a shift in the time/space continuum?

Then Meghan said, Huh? What’s up?

And Cornelia realized it wasn’t Meghan anymore. Erica had started over, confiding her top-secret news a different person.

That was Erica, all right. She would make the rounds of her pompous, self-absorbed friends until she’d racked up sufficient amounts of sympathy.

Cornelia looked up in time to see Kateri finish her latte and stand up.

“Gotta go back,” Kateri said. “I can’t wait to tell Landlubber about his new nickname.”

Rainbow bunched her fist and swung it at an imaginary target. “You’ll knock him into shape in no time.”

“You know, with some guys, there’s no win to be had.” Kateri turned, caught Cornelia’s gaze on her, and lifted a hand. “Hi, Cornelia, how’re things?”

“Things?” Cornelia didn’t know what she meant. “What things?”

Kateri strolled over. “How’s work? How’s the husband?”

“My work is fascinating. And my husband is pleasant.”

“He is,” Kateri agreed. “I always liked Mason, even when he was a little boy.”

“Did you babysit him?”

Kateri looked surprised. “I’m not that much older than he is. Or you, either.”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“He’s twenty-six.”

“I know. I remember. You were in my class because you advanced two grades.”

“Yes. I should have done more, but the teachers said I was emotionally immature.”

“Imagine that.” Kateri patted Cornelia’s shoulder.

Cornelia didn’t know if Kateri was being comforting or patronizing. In fact, she didn’t know what she thought about Kateri. Kateri was tall, but no taller than Cornelia, and well-built, but not more than Cornelia. Yet unlike Cornelia, Kateri moved well. She wore her uniform with authority. She carried her Native American ancestry with pride, looking a little like Disney’s Pocahontas, but without the swirling leaves and the wild swishy hair. Kateri’s hair was black, gleaming black, but she wore it cut shoulder-length and, when she was in uniform, pinned up against her head.

Kateri was more than pretty. She was beautiful. She was stately. She was dignified. People liked her. Kateri was everything Cornelia was not.

Many times, as Cornelia was growing up, Cornelia’s mother had said that Cornelia could be pretty if she tried.

That didn’t make sense to Cornelia. Girls—all human beings—were either appealing, or they weren’t. Sexual appeal was nothing more than a few millimeters of bone and muscle in one place or the other, and while it seemed allure was unfairly distributed among the population, Cornelia didn’t see how trying was going to help her achieve that state.

But her mother had Cornelia taking ballet to help her with her regrettable clumsiness. The ballet teacher had been in despair, and once Mama had disappeared, Miss Stimpson avoided Cornelia as if her awkwardness was a communicable disease.

Cornelia still hurt herself walking down the stairs or burned herself when cooking, which was why Mason prepared their dinners. Yet, in the end, grace and prettiness had made no difference; she had a good job digging around in the bowels of the government computers, she had the handsomest husband in Virtue Falls, a man who treated her kindly and with awe, and no one in town spoke to her if they could avoid it. Yet she listened to them whether they wished it or not.

It was a good life.

Cornelia changed channels again.

She’s not happy. Killing her would be a kindness.

Oh, no. Someone had to put their pet down. Cornelia couldn’t stand it when someone had to put their pet down. She suffered in tandem. She liked dogs and cats, really liked them, but Mason was allergic, so she couldn’t have one.

She’s not unhappy. She’s just … different.

That’s for sure. Dear, your loyalty does you credit, but she can’t remember anything. She has a lot of things wrong with her. Really. You just need to think of this as a kindness.

I can’t. I just can’t.

Think of the money we’ll inherit. The life insurance alone is sizeable.

Cornelia sat back in her chair.

This wasn’t a pet. Someone was going to kill his —or her—mother. And that someone’s wife—or husband—was urging the deed be done.

It’s not about the money!

I know. I know. You’re right. In the end, it’s about us. Being free to do what we want. At last! Don’t you want that?

I do. I just …

We’ve got to stop talking about it, and just do it.

But how?

I’ve been looking up poisons. There are some good ones, organic poisons from mushrooms.

This was serious. Somebody’s mate really wanted the mother-in-law gone.

You’re way ahead of me on this.

In all her years of eavesdropping on e-mails and texts, Cornelia had never come across a murder plot. She wasn’t equipped to deal with this kind of reality. What should she do?

She looked around, seeking help.

She didn’t find help. She found guilt.

Mrs. Branyon was sitting with her daughter, Frances, complaining about the lousy job Frances’s brother had done fixing her sink.

Frances was sitting there, nodding and texting.

Cornelia glanced at her tablet.

The conversation continued to flow.

Mrs. Branyon was one of the two meanest old biddies in Virtue Falls, and Cornelia wouldn’t be at all surprised to know Frances wanted to kill her. Cornelia wanted to kill her, and the only contact she ever had with her was to walk into Branyon’s Bakery with Mason to buy cinnamon rolls.

Yet for all that Mrs. Branyon’s voice squawked up and down like an old-time radio being tuned, killing her seemed a large step. Cornelia’s observations of Frances suggested she was the polar opposite of her mother, a truly kind and patient person who faithfully cared for the cranky old woman.

But as Cornelia had previously noted, a person could lie with their voice and their expressions, yet sooner or later, in texts and e-mails, the truth came out. And there were two people involved in the texting: Frances … and her brother? Yes, those texts could be between brother and sister.

Frances looked up, caught Cornelia’s gaze, and widened her eyes as if asking for sympathy.

Cornelia didn’t know how to respond.

“What are you looking at?” Mrs. Branyon shrieked. She turned and saw Cornelia. “Why are you looking at her? That girl is odd.”

In a mild, patient tone, Frances said, “Mother, she can hear you.”

“What?” Mrs. Branyon shouted.

“Put in your hearing aide,” Frances shouted back.

Offended, Mrs. Branyon said, “Don’t you talk to me that way, young lady.”

Frances sighed and started texting again.

“Why do you take me out to coffee when you never pay any attention to me?” Mrs. Branyon shrieked.

Frances tapped her ears.

“I’m too young to be wearing those things.” But Mrs. Branyon opened her purse, took out the hearing aids, and put them in.

Rainbow walked past. “That’ll lower the noise level,” she muttered to Cornelia.

Cornelia stared at Rainbow. Was Rainbow trying to make conversation? With Cornelia? Ever since Cornelia could remember, Rainbow had been in Virtue Falls working at the Oceanview Café as a waitress. The waitress, actually. Rainbow was big-boned and tall, with broad shoulders and salt-and-pepper gray hair. She was hearty, cheerful, and she chatted up her customers, tourist or local. She asked questions and gave unwanted advice. People liked her anyway.

And Mrs. Branyon called Cornelia odd.

Cornelia looked back at the texting.

At least she goes to bed early.

Cornelia took a sip of milk.

Yes, but I’m tired of meeting you like we’re two furtive lovers. That was fun for a while, but I want to live together in public!

Cornelia choked and coughed.

Rainbow came by and slapped her on the back. “Are you okay, hon?”

Cornelia nodded.

So not Frances and her brother. At least Cornelia hoped not.

Rainbow placed a glass of water on the table.

Cornelia drank the water, dabbed at her damp eyes, and read.

Is the poison fast?

Not fast, but irreversible. Wait a minute, I have to take care of one of the kids.

Cornelia looked around again. This person took care of children. So probably a woman, a teacher or a child care provider.

That just wasn’t right. Yet who could Cornelia tell?

The lady came back and texted, That kid is so cute, six years old and lost both her front teeth, just like in the song.

Ahhhh.

A sentimental response to losing teeth, a common childhood occurrence. That seemed also feminine. So perhaps a lesbian couple?

What does she like to eat?

The kid?

No. Don’t be deliberately stupid.

Oh. You mean … Just about anything. She’s has a good appetite.

Does she like fried mushrooms?

Yes.

That makes it easy. How about steak? Does she like steak?

Yes. T-bone is her favorite, with rosemary garlic roasted potatoes.

T-bone steak it is. As soon as I get home, I’ll dehydrate the Galerina autumnalis and grind them up, and you can dust them on the steak and mix them in the fried mushrooms. Symptoms won’t occur for six to twenty-four hours. That way, when they investigate the death, if they suspect poison, you can act innocent and say she likes to pick mushrooms, you cooked them for her, and she must have got a bad one.

Cornelia sat, riveted, waiting to hear what s/he was going to say.

Finally, s/he came back with How long have you had the poisoned mushrooms?

I got them this morning! Really, dear, they grow everywhere. And what does it matter? We’ve been talking about this for *months.*

Not poison. We hadn’t discussed poison.

Poison is a natural.

I suppose. But—

Does she like dessert?

Yes.

Do you want me to pick up something at the bakery?

Yes. Yes, if she has to die, at least let her die happy.

This matter was beyond Cornelia’s ken. She didn’t know what to do. She supposed she should ask someone who would know. Someone who knew everything about real life.

Looking up, she beckoned Rainbow.

Rainbow looked behind her, both ways, then pointed to herself and raised her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Cornelia said. “You!”

The tourists craned their necks.

Cornelia realized she’d been too loud. A little more quietly, she said, “Rainbow, I have a question.”

Rainbow sidled over. “I wasn’t sure you knew my name.”

Cornelia was confused. “Of course. Everyone knows your name.”

“Okay, hon, don’t worry about it.” But Rainbow watched her with a pucker between her brows. “What do you need?”

“If you knew someone was going to commit a murder, what would you do?”

“Stop it.”

“How?”

“I’d knock ’em out with a swift slam to the cranium.”

Rainbow said it with such relish, Cornelia believed her. “No. I mean—if you’d overheard a murder being plotted, what would you do?”

“Oh.” Rainbow frowned as she thought. “Tell the cops. They’re the strong-arm enforcers of our capitalist government, but they do have their uses.”

Eagerly, Cornelia asked, “Which cops? The state patrol? The county sheriff? The Virtue Falls police?”

“Depends on where the murder is going to be committed.”

“I don’t know where. It’s local. That’s all I know.”

“Then probably the sheriff.” Rainbow placed her hand on her out-thrust hip. “You writing a book?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Why are you asking about the cops?”

Patiently, Cornelia said, “Because someone’s going to commit a murder.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

Rainbow eyed her up and down. “How do you … ? No, never mind. Don’t tell me. What else do you need? Milk? Pie? Free advice for weird shit?”

“No.” Cornelia closed her computer and put it and her tablet in her backpack. She rolled up her desk mat, took her number-two pencils and put them, one by one, into the proper slots. “I know what to do now.”

Rainbow watched her in bewilderment. “You never leave until four thirty-seven.”

“That’s when Mason comes to get me. I need to report this crime before he arrives.”

“He’d wait for you … since you’re reporting a potential crime.”

Rainbow viewed Cornelia with such concern, Cornelia knew she was honestly worried. About Mason, she supposed. “There’s no need for Mason to wait. I’m sure the sheriff will handle the matter competently.”

“Yeah. Because that’s Sheriff Foster.” Rainbow sneered. “Competent.”

Cornelia didn’t know what Rainbow meant by that, but in fact, she was used to not understanding subtexts in conversation. Another reason why she preferred nonverbal communication.

Taking her backpack, Cornelia stood and walked out the door, leaving Rainbow staring worriedly after her.

September had turned the maple leaves yellow, and a few drifted and swirled as they dropped to the ground. The sun hung low on the southern horizon, and the Pacific Ocean put a nip in the air. Cornelia shivered, stopped, and pulled a wrinkled white sweater out of her backpack. She hadn’t worn it since last spring, but she kept it with her. Sooner or later, winter always arrived.

Cornelia fixed her gaze on her destination, the Virtue Falls City Hall, across the street and on the square and, of course, she tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and sprawled flat.

She didn’t drop her backpack, though; her computer and tablet were her most treasured possessions.

As she picked herself up, a ten-year-old boy rode by on his bike and jeered.

Some things never changed.

Cornelia dusted off her knees. She’d fallen partly in the parking strip; she had a grass stain on the elbow of her sweater. Mason would be distressed. He fussed about stuff like that; he liked her to look nice, and she appreciated his care.

She trudged around the square, watching her step, then walked up the stairs and into city hall. Inside, the dust and mildew made her sneeze. She dug out a tissue and wiped her nose, then stepped up to the front desk and said, “I’d like to see Sheriff Foster.” It occurred to her the sheriff might not see just anyone, so she added, “Rainbow sent me. Because I have information. On a murder.”

The desk sergeant narrowed his eyes at her. “A murder.”

“Yes. Was I unclear?”

“No. Not at all.” The desk sergeant picked up the phone. “I’ll see if Sheriff Foster will speak to you.” He stepped back, so she mostly couldn’t hear him, but he could still keep an eye on her.

She seated herself on an old wooden bench—really, it looked more like a church pew—and proceeded to thoroughly blow her nose, sniff, and blow her nose again. When she looked up, Sheriff Foster stood in front of her.

Like her, he had been born and raised in Virtue Falls. Unlike her, he was a minor celebrity, the first law officer at the scene of the famed Banner murder case, the man who had collected the evidence and brought Charles Banner to justice.

Cornelia had always thought Sheriff Foster didn’t look much like a celebrity; he was scrawny, freckled, and about her height. But there was no use judging him on his looks. Someone’s life depended on his law enforcement skills.

She stood up. She offered her hand, and when he didn’t take it, she grabbed his hand and shook it heartily. “Hello, Sheriff Foster, I am here to report a murder.”

Sheriff Foster looked down at their joined hands, then carefully removed his. “You’re Cornelia Markum, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes!” Good deduction. She felt better about him already. “How did you know?”

“I’ve seen you in the Oceanview Café.”

“Oh. Do you come in?”

With awesome patience, he said, “Every day.”

She inspected him again. He really was nondescript.

She expected him to take her to the back, someplace private where they could discuss her findings. Instead, he stood there in the lobby of the town hall where anyone could hear them. And the desk sergeant was leaning over the counter and plainly eavesdropping.

Sheriff Foster pulled out his notebook and his pen. “Did you kill somebody?”

“What? No!” Why would he think that?

“All right. Then whose murder do you want to report?”

“I don’t know.”

He stared at her. He clicked the pen once. “When did it occur?”

“It hasn’t happened yet.”

One of the other law enforcement officers drifted in from the back.

“Why do you know about it?” Sheriff Foster asked.

“Because I hacked into a text conversation and discovered two local residents are planning to kill their mother.” That was clear enough.

For a moment, Sheriff Foster appeared flummoxed. “What local residents?”

“I don’t know. When I hack into the texting, I can follow a conversation, but I can’t tell who’s talking.”

“What are the phone numbers?”

“I can’t tell that, either.”

“Can you tell where in the county these people are?”

“No.” She glanced toward the counter.

Two more law enforcement officers had appeared.

Sheriff Foster clicked the pen again.

He hadn’t written anything down.

“Then why do it?” he asked.

“For the insurance money, they said.”

He clicked and held. “I meant—why do you read other people’s texts if you don’t know who they are?”

“It’s frequently interesting; an insight into human behavior.” He seemed to expect more, so she added, “And if I can figure out who the texters are, it’s a brainteaser.”

He stared with a fixed gaze.

She added, “Bonus points to me.”

“So you have hacked into a conversation where a couple of siblings —”

“Or a husband and wife, either straight or lesbian. They seemed unnaturally close, and very fond of each other. Me and my siblings aren’t like that, but I know some are. One of them seemed mildly reluctant, but the other was determined.”

With awesome patience, Sheriff Foster started again. “You hacked into a conversation between a couple of people who intend to off an old lady, and you are reporting this as a crime.”

Was he not taking this seriously? “That’s right. As a law enforcement officer, I would think you’d want to apprehend the perpetrators.”

He shut his notebook. “I ought to arrest you as a hacker.”

“But I discovered a crime.”

“You committed a crime! You eavesdropped on a conversation between two unknown people who may or may not be thinking of killing another unknown person. It was a conversation. If I arrested everybody who said they wanted to kill someone, I’d have half of Virtue Falls in here!”

Had he not been paying attention? “But they’re going to poison her!”

He took a breath, then started again, and spoke more slowly. “The crime here is hacking, and you did it. If I turned you in to the FBI, do you think you’d still have your superimportant government job? I don’t think so!”

He was right. The government frowned on hackers.

Sheriff Foster continued, “So I’d suggest you get up and go home, and forget this stupid shit about people who are going to kill their mother.” He turned away, muttering, “Dumbest goddamn thing I ever heard.” He looked at the grinning officers hanging over the counter. “Go back to work!”

They scattered.

Sheriff Foster disappeared into the back.

Cornelia seldom felt humiliation. She seldom felt confusion.

She felt both now. She had done the proper thing, socially speaking, by reporting a crime before it happened, and she had been the object of mockery.

She groped for her backpack, walked outside, and checked her cell phone. The time was four thirty-six. She looked across the square. Mason pulled up in front of the Oceanview Café, a full minute early.

She would tell Mason. Mason would know what to do.

She walked across the square and to the driver’s-side door as he was getting out of the car. “I’m here,” she said.

At her unexpected appearance, he jumped in surprise and looked toward city hall. “Where were you? What were you doing?”

She walked around to the passenger side and waited.

As always, he first kissed her on the cheek, then opened her door.

She slid into the car and, as always, watched him walk around the hood.

As always, he was a very handsome man. Tall, broad-shouldered, with black, wavy hair and dark blue eyes. She particularly admired his chin, which appeared to be chiseled from stone. It had a dimple in middle, which softened the effect.

He got in, put the car in gear, and headed toward their home on the outskirts of Virtue Falls. “So—what’s up? Why did you change your routine?”

“I just had a very odd experience.”

“Why don’t you tell me over dinner?” He smiled rather tightly. “I would like to have some interesting conversation over dinner.”

Because of the day’s events, she felt moved to examine his comment with more intensity than she would normally. “Am I not a stimulating conversationalist over dinner? I am sorry. I will endeavor to do better.”

He glanced at her in seeming alarm. “It’s not that. We … um, it’s okay. We talk enough.”

She nodded. “Tonight I will offer up more than that usual report on my work, I promise.”

“Okay. I can’t wait.” He drove into the driveway, activated the garage door opener, pulled in, and shut the garage behind them. “I’ve made a great meal tonight.”

Cornelia’s stomach growled. “Excellent. I have an appetite.”

Mason hurried around and took her backpack. “That’s one of the charming things about you. You enjoy your food. A lot.”

They entered through the kitchen.

She smelled garlic and rosemary.

“You go get ready.” He put a large pat of butter in a skillet, placed it on the stove, and turned the burner on high. He got out another skillet and did the same thing on a different burner. “I’ll finish up in here.”

She went into their bedroom, put her electronic equipment away, went to the bathroom, washed her hands for the appropriate amount of time, and returned to the dining room. She sat at her place at their square table and listened as Mason rattled the pans. She didn’t know what she wanted most: the food or the chance to explain what had happened and ask what to do.

He came in, smiling tensely, holding a plate with a potholder. With a flourish, he placed it in front of her. “Be careful. The plate is hot.”

He went back to the kitchen and got his plate. He seated himself.

She picked up her knife and fork, and looked down at her meal.

“Tonight we’re going to enjoy ourselves,” he said. “T-bone steak, mushrooms, and rosemary garlic potatoes.”

Cornelia stared at the food. Stared, then lifted her gaze and stared at Mason.

Mason. Handsome, pleasant, shallow, vapid, lazy, easily influenced. She knew all those things. She also knew he liked her. Maybe loved her.

So … what was the probability he loved some other woman, too?

Unfortunately, in the circumstances, the probability was high.

She reached for her water glass, hit it with the back of her hand, and knocked it over.

Mason made a grab for it.

Water spilled all over the Italian linen tablecloth.

“I’m so clumsy!” she lamented. “I’ve made a mess. I’m so sorry! Can you forgive me?”

He was on his feet, clutching her water glass. He looked at her as if she was some kind of exotic animal, then he kissed her on the top of her head. “No problem. I can easily fix this. Now … go ahead and enjoy your dinner. I’ll be back with another glass of water, and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s okay. I may have figured it out.”

“Right. You’re smart. You don’t need me for much. You figure out everything on your own.” He headed into the kitchen.

She waited until he was out of sight.

Then she switched the plates.

***

The next afternoon, Kateri sat at the lunch counter.

Rainbow leaned an elbow against the chrome napkin holder.

They both stared at Cornelia Markum.

Half the town was in the Oceanview Café, staring at Cornelia.

Cornelia, who sat at her usual table, frowning at her laptop.

“What’s she doing?” Rainbow asked.

“She looks like she’s working,” Kateri said.

“Her husband died last night,” Rainbow said.

Kateri looked at Rainbow. “He poisoned himself.”

The two women returned to staring at Cornelia.

“Word is,” Kateri said, “she tried to tell Sheriff Foster someone was going to murder someone, and when she couldn’t come up with the names, he threatened to arrest her for hacking.”

Rainbow looked sheepish. “She asked me who to tell about a murder. I asked if she was writing a book.”

Both women laughed semi-hysterically.

“As I understand it,” Kateri said, “she looked down and recognized the menu. She distracted Mason and switched the plates. She figured it wouldn’t matter as long as he hadn’t added poison to her food.”

“But he had.”

“And he’s dead.”

“And there she sits, working.”

Silence.

“I mean … they were married for a long time.” Kateri looked at Rainbow. “You said she loved him.”

“I think she did.”

“He tried to kill her. Couldn’t we have some angst? Or melodrama? Or … something?”

“Not while she’s working.”

“Not ever.”

Silence.

“Did you hear about the other woman?” Rainbow asked.

“Karrin Ventura.”

“The children’s librarian.”

Kateri couldn’t believe it. “She wears cotton socks and organic cotton shifts.”

“She’s pretty and sweet.” Rainbow leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And apparently she knows how to research poisons.”

“The poison didn’t take effect right away. I heard he cleaned the kitchen and watched some TV before he started cramping. Then Cornelia called 911.” Kateri swallowed. “He died in agony.”

“Poor, cheating, murdering bastard.”

“Cute, though.” Kateri shoved her coffee cup toward Rainbow.

Rainbow filled it up.

It had been a soy latte, but a little straight coffee wouldn’t hurt.

Rainbow moved through the diner, filling everybody else’s cups, too.

No one was talking.

Everyone was whispering. In fits and starts.

No one was behaving normally … except Cornelia.

When Rainbow came back, Kateri said, “This morning, Sheriff Foster, the dumb shit, arrested Cornelia. By then Karrin had heard that Mason was dead.”

“I was working.” Rainbow indicated her view of the Virtue Falls town hall. “I couldn’t believe it when Sheriff Foster drove up, lights flashing, and pulled Cornelia out of the car in handcuffs. I was headed out there to tell him what I knew when Karrin ran up, screaming, and slashed Cornelia’s face with her nails.”

“Like a cat.”

Rainbow nodded. “Then Karrin collapsed, sobbing, and confessed right there in the street. It was the most dramatic scene I’ve ever seen in my life. Foster had to take his handcuffs off Cornelia to put them on Karrin.”

“So he looked like a fool. Good. That guy hasn’t done anything except give parking tickets since he solved the Banner murder case, and that was twenty-three years ago.”

Silence.

“What did Cornelia do then?” Kateri asked.

“She went in and gave her report. The phone company’s cooperating with the investigation, so Cornelia is free and expected to testify in Karrin’s trial.”

Silence.

The timer beeped in Rainbow’s pocket. She pulled it out, looked at it, went to the refrigerator, and took out the whole milk. She put it in the microwave for fifty-three seconds, went to the pie, measured the crust, cut it at exactly the right angle. Taking the warm milk and the pie, she walked to Cornelia just as Cornelia’s computer pinged. Rainbow put the pie and the milk on the table. “Milk’s at 140 degrees. Today the pie is cherry, two inches at the crust.”

Cornelia looked at her. Just looked at her as she always did.

Rainbow delved into her pocket. “Look. This is a restaurant. We use knives a lot, so I keep antiseptic ointment here …” She pulled out the tube and showed it to Cornelia. “That scratch on your face looks painful. Want me to put some on your cheek?”

Cornelia blinked in surprise. “Yes.” She tilted her head.

Rainbow smeared ointment on the slash left by Karrin’s nails, capped the tube, and turned back toward the counter.

“Rainbow?” Cornelia spoke in a monotone as always.

Rainbow turned back to her. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Now Rainbow blinked in surprise. “You’re welcome.” She sidled back to the counter.

Kateri had watched the whole scene. She offered Rainbow a fist bump. “You won that round.”

“True …” Rainbow grinned. “Now if I could get her to leave a tip.”

“Good luck with that.” Kateri stood. “Gotta get back to the harbor and see if I can whip any sense into Landlubber.”

“If anybody can, you can.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d met him.”

The door opened, and both women turned to face the Oceanview Café’s newest customer.

The woman who stood in the doorway was breathtaking. Blond hair, blue eyes, porcelain complexion, and a curvaceous body that quivered like Jell-O on springs.

The guys from the Virtue Falls Canyon science geological study followed close on her heels, and were practically tripping over their tongues.

Kateri turned to Rainbow. “Holy shit. Who is that?”

Rainbow straightened up from the counter and stood, arms straight and stiff at her sides. She stared at the newcomer through bleak and bitter eyes. In a pained tone, she asked, “She looks just like her mother… . Don’t you recognize her?”

Kateri shook her head. “Should I?”

“That’s Elizabeth Banner. That’s the girl who watched her father kill her mother with the scissors.”

Read on for a sneak preview of

VIRTUE FALLS

the new novel from Christina Dodd

Available September 2014

Copyright © 2014 by Christina Dodd

CHAPTER ONE

Virtue Falls, Washington State

August 14

6:15 p.m.

If Elizabeth Banner noticed the interest with which the townspeople talked about her in low tones behind her back, she gave no indication. And in fact, she didn’t notice. For as long as she could remember, she had always been the girl who had watched her father kill her mother with the scissors.

Although Elizabeth hadn’t set foot in Virtue Falls for twenty-three years, the memory of Misty Banner’s murder was still fresh in many people’s minds. That made Elizabeth a local celebrity of sorts, and the news of her return swept the small community as vigorously as the tsunami those crazy scientists were always predicting.

Townsfolk speculated that Elizabeth had come back to reunite with her father, but after one brief visit to the Honor Mountain Memory Care Facility, she hadn’t gone back. Instead she spent her time at the ongoing study of Pacific Rim tectonic plates and subduction zones, researching alluvial deposits.

Or something.

Which made sense—her father was Charles Banner, the man who had pioneered the study, and now here she was, a chip off the old block, a respected geologist at age twenty-seven with lots of official-sounding letters after her name.

A few nasty people in the town darkly muttered that they hoped she didn’t follow in her father’s footsteps in any matter beyond the sciences.

Most folks didn’t think she would; Elizabeth resembled her mother, not her father, with the same white-blond hair, the same wide blue eyes, the same curvy body and a walk to make a man abandon all sense.

Every straight guy in Virtue Falls had tried to catch her attention; she stared at them blankly, and talked about igneous rocks and cataclysmic earth events until even the most determined would-be lover conceded defeat.

Her online profile said she was divorced.

Most men said they knew why; she was boring.

Perversely, most men considered the guy who had let Elizabeth Banner get away to be the biggest dumbshit in the history of the world. It didn’t matter what she said. It was the way her full lips formed the words when she said them.

Now she sat at her usual table by the window at the Oceanview Café—when she first arrived, she had noted with interest that the ocean was nowhere in view from this part of town—reviewing her notes from the dig and occasionally sipping on a Fufu Berry Jones soda and wondering why she had ordered it.

She thought she had ordered a root beer. And what was a fufu berry, anyway? Something pink …

“Here you go, Elizabeth.” The waitress slid a plate under Elizabeth’s elbow. “Eat up while it’s hot.”

Elizabeth had finished work at the dig, gone home and showered, and changed into her brand-new Tory Burch sandals and her baby blue cotton jersey summer dress that was one size too big. She wore it like that on purpose. If she didn’t, men had a tendency to stare at her boobs.

Well. Men had a tendency to stare at her boobs no matter what, but when she wore loose-fitting clothes, they were sometimes able to meet her eyes.

Rainbow wiped her hands on her apron. “Are you missing your team?”

Elizabeth paused, a fry halfway from the ketchup to her mouth. “Why would I?”

“They’ve been gone for three days to that conference in Tahoe, and you’ve been working alone at the site. Three days in that isolated canyon with no one to talk to. Don’t you get lonely?”

“No.” Elizabeth shook her head for emphasis. “At any rate, the team will soon be back covered with accolades for their research. Andrew is a very capable, if not brilliant, scientific leader.”

“I don’t know that I would tell him he’s not brilliant,” Rainbow said.

“He knows that, or he wouldn’t lean so heavily on the intuitive suggestions of others.” With great precision, Elizabeth spread mustard to the edges of the homemade bun.

“Trust me on this one, honey. There’s a world of difference between knowing it and admitting it, and Andrew Marrero is already touchy about the fact he worked for your father and stands in his shadow.”

Elizabeth considered that. “Yes. I have read my father’s work. Charles Banner was, in fact, a gifted scientist, and I say that without prejudice of any kind. But why that would influence Marrero’s opinion of himself, I do not understand.”

“I know you don’t, honey. But take my word for it, I’m right.”

Elizabeth observed Rainbow, head tilted.

Rainbow sighed. “Okay, look. Marrero is a good-looking son-of-a-bitch. Dark hair, dark eyes, swarthy skin, the image of a Latin lover. But he’s short. He says five-nine, but he’s five-seven, maybe five-eight. Maybe. He’s well hung, but he can’t tell everybody that, so he wears lifts in his shoes. Short guys just have this attitude.”

Elizabeth was fascinated with this unsuspected side of Rainbow. “You’ve slept with Andrew Marrero?”

“He’s not my usual type, but it was interesting. I used to put him on and spin him.” Rainbow’s eyes half-closed in satisfied remembrance.

Elizabeth blurted, “I thought you were …” She stopped herself barely in time.

Rainbow’s eyes snapped open. “Gay?”

So … not barely in time.

“Hey, when you’re bi, you double your chance for a date on Saturday night.” Rainbow chortled, patted Elizabeth’s arm, and headed toward the lunch counter.

Elizabeth sank her teeth into the burger while she watched Rainbow charm three sunburned tourists who chattered with great excitement about their day at the beach.

Rainbow had apparently been the evening waitress here at the Oceanview when Elizabeth was a child. Twenty-three years later she was still the evening waitress, a fate Elizabeth considered worse than death. Of course, she couldn’t even remember whether she’d ordered a root beer or a fufu berry soda, so that was part of it, but being around people all day filled her with horror.

She liked rocks.

She didn’t like people. In her experience, most of them were spiteful, or thoughtless, or cruelly curious, and always, always impatient with her lack of interest in them.

But Rainbow interested her, because Rainbow seemed to be an entirely different species of human. For one thing, Rainbow was tall, with big bones, broad shoulders, and a head full of salt-and-pepper gray hair. She was hearty, cheerful, and she seemed honestly fascinated by her customers, tourist or local, always chatting, asking questions, giving unwanted advice.

At first Elizabeth hadn’t known what to do with her; every time Rainbow came to the table she would tell Elizabeth stuff. Stuff Elizabeth didn’t want to hear because it distracted her from her work.

But Rainbow never needed an invitation to talk. The first time Elizabeth came in for dinner, Rainbow told her, “A lot of people think my name is unfortunate for a woman my age. You know—I was born in sixty-eight in Haight-Ashbury, after the Summer of Love.” She paused and seemed to be waiting for something.

Elizabeth belatedly picked up her cue. “Your parents were hippies?”

“Hippies? God, yes. The original hash-smoking, psychedelic-music-playing, free-love-practicing hippies.” Rainbow shook her head like a disapproving mom. “Still are, for that matter. After I was born, they decided the city wasn’t a good place to raise a baby, so they went into the Sierra Nevadas and learned weaving from a Native American woman who’d learned techniques from her great-grandmother. They’re pretty good at it. You’ve probably heard of them.”

“I don’t think so.”

“They’ve got one of the temporary exhibits in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. My parents are Alder and Elf Breezewing.”

Elizabeth’s head was spinning. “Which one is Alder and which is Elf?”

“He’s Alder and she’s Elf, of course. It’s the Breezewing exhibit!” Elizabeth blinked.

Rainbow put her broad hands on her broad hips. “You really don’t know a damned thing about anything except rocks, do you?”

“That is not true. I also understand alluvial deposits and am studying the recently mapped ocean floor off the coast of Virtue Falls for an understanding of why tsunamis are so massive in this area.” Elizabeth thought it an intelligent answer.

Rainbow stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. “Right. You’re like your father. I’ll get your dinner. I had the cook put an extra order of fries on the plate.”

Elizabeth wanted to ask what she meant about her father. Had Rainbow known him when they lived here?

But Elizabeth had learned, the hard way, never to talk about Charles, so instead she asked, “I asked for mashed potatoes. Didn’t I?”

“They’re coming, too. You need fattening up.”

Elizabeth knew for a fact she didn’t need fattening up. She was curvy. Very curvy. For a girl growing up in California, land of the svelte, being built like her was a disadvantage, not to mention it was hard to find clothes. If pants fit her hips, they were loose around her waist, and she hadn’t worn a button-up shirt since she was eleven and developed a C-cup. Her aunt said she was built like her mom. Her uncle said she was built like an exotic dancer. But he didn’t realize she’d heard him, so she would acquit him of malice. Her uncle wasn’t mean; he was overworked and didn’t have time for his own kids, much less a niece who never talked often even after she recovered her power of speech.

Elizabeth realized she had a bit of a disconnect from the rest of the world caused by the knowledge that humanity could turn on her in an instant. She recognized the fact she sabotaged her own relationships, and sometimes she really tried to join in with the general populace and talk about the weather. She just never got it right. Not even with Garik.

Especially not with Garik.

Best not to think of Garik.

She bent her head to her reports again, and didn’t notice when one of the town’s elderly inhabitants held court in the corner, pointed her out to the tourists, and regaled them with the tale of how Elizabeth Banner had seen her father kill her mother with a pair of scissors.

About the Author

CHRISTINA DODD’s fifty novels have been translated into twenty-five languages, featured by Doubleday Book Club, recorded on Books on Tape for the Blind, have won Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart and RITA Awards, and have been called the year’s best by Library Journal. Dodd herself has been a clue in the Los Angeles Times crossword puzzle. With more than fifteen million of her books in print, her legions of fans always know that when they pick up a Christina Dodd book, they’ve found, “an absolute thrill ride of a book!”

Enter Christina’s worlds and join her FREE mailing list for news, exclusive excerpts, and book sales at her website www.christinadodd.com.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THE LISTENER. Copyright 2014 by Christina Dodd. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Cover design by Ervin Serrano

Cover photographs: sky by BMJ/Shutterstock.com; woman and dock by Alexander Chaikin/Shutterstock.com

eISBN 978-1-46686-269-2

First Edition: July 2014

eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.