called to him from the living room. âDonât forget that youâre picking the girls up from school today.â
âI wonât forget,â he told her. âIâll be there on time. Three oâclock sharp.â
âOh, and Charlie, call me after the interview, okay? Good luck, babe.â
âYeah, sure. Thanks.â
When he heard the front door slam, he released a loud huff as he poured himself another cup of coffee and opened the caramel crunch breakfast bar he had laid out on the counter after he had cleared the kidsâ cereal bowls from the table. Right now, Lily was supporting the four of themâherself, him, and her twin daughters, Jenny and Jessy. Since heâd been laid off shortly before Christmas, more than three months ago, he had signed up for unemployment and become a househusband. He had gone on numerous job interviews; todayâs interview was number twelve. Unfortunately, he wasnât qualified for much. His last job had been at a local plant where heâd been a janitor. Todayâs interview was for a job as a bagger at the grocery store two blocks from their duplex apartment.
When heâd met Lily three years ago, he had been on the verge of giving up, of taking an overdose or jumping off the nearest bridge. They had met at an AA meeting. He had never known anyone like her. For him, it had been love at first sight. She had survived a teenage pregnancy, a boyfriend who abused her, parents who abandoned her, and a drinking problem that had almost cost her custody of her girls. But she had turned her life around and had helped him do the same.
They had been married for a year, had a decent apartment, managed to survive on one paycheck, and were doing their best to be good parents. He adored Jenny and Jessy. Who wouldnât? They were seven-year-old replicas of their mom. And they were calling him Daddy now. Their own father never had been a part of their lives.
Charlie sat down at the small kitchen table, ripped open the breakfast bar, took a bite, and then washed it down with coffee. When he had lost his job in December, he had believed that was the worst thing that could happen to him, but heâd been wrong. In early January, he had received the first letter. He had dismissed it as nothing more than a stupid prank and threw the letter away. Then the second letter, identical to the first, had arrived in February, right before Valentineâs Day. Even though that one had unnerved him, he had torn it up and tossed it in the garbage. As far as he knew, he didnât have any enemies who hated him enough to want to see him dead.
Then Saturday, the third letter had arrived, another word-for-word replica of letter number two. He knew the message by heart.
Midnight is coming. Say your prayers. Ask for forgiveness. Get your affairs in order. Youâre on the list. Be prepared. You donât know when it will be your turn. Will you be the next to die?
For the past couple of days, heâd been thinking about what he should do. Lily had enough on her mind with her job as a waitress, the two girls, and their barely having enough money to make ends meet. The last thing she needed was to find out that someone was sending her husband death threats. If he went to the police, what could they do? Not a damn thing. And what could he do? He had no idea who had sent the letters. Even when he had ended up in the gutterâliterallyâa few years back, he hadnât encountered anyone whoâd want to kill him. All he could do was watch his back, be careful, and not take any chances. And as far as he knew, Lily and the girls were safe. The letters had not mentioned his wife and kids, so he hoped that meant that only he was in danger. But from whom? And why?
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Maleah would have preferred dealing directly with Nic, but that wasnât an option right now and she needed permission to take Lorie Hammondsâs case and use the Powell Agencyâs