He planted his hand on the butt of his pistol and headed toward the main house just as a bloodcurdling scream echoed from inside. Reaching for his weapon, he sidestepped onto the porch. Faint sobs echoed in the stillness of the night.
“Daddy,” a woman’s voice cried.
Blaine carefully pushed back the main door. He kept his back against the wood frame as he peered into the foyer. A woman with long blonde hair knelt on the floor, rocking back and forth, whimpering words he couldn’t understand. Holding his pistol steady, he stepped in.
Rutherford Mead’s body lay sprawled out on the floor. His arms stretched wide, legs slightly bent to the right. His eyes were open, but glossed over. Blood trickled out of his neck onto the wood floor.
Blaine swallowed and then focused his attention to the familiar woman hovering over the body. “Police ma’am, back away.”
The woman gasped and scooted backward. Her hands covered her face, but Blaine knew exactly whom he was dealing with. Why had she returned? His muscles tensed as he adjusted his aim toward the floor beside her. “What are you doing here?”
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