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“My name is Thomas Grace, calling from the county’sTreasury office. I was hoping to speak with you about your father’s home…a homeI see that he left to you when he passed.”
“Yeah, okay. What about it?”
“Well, there’s no gentle way to put this, but there’s aconsiderable amount of back taxes still owed on the property…an oversight byyour father and his accountant, I’m sure.”
“Okay. So what needs to be done?” She made sure to keepher tone harsh, wanting to make it clear that she had no time for thisbullshit.
“Well, Ms. Cross, the taxes need to be paid in full assoon as possible. The deadline for payment is fast approaching, and if theyaren’t paid, we’ll have no choice but to begin the foreclosure process.”
Morgan sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Fine. Howmuch do I owe?”
Thomas cleared his throat. “It’s quite a hefty sum, I’mafraid. A total of thirty-one thousand dollars.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I am.”
She wondered, briefly, how Thomas Grace had gotten thenumber to her burner phone. Maybe the prison, perhaps? She didn’t know. Andreally, it didn’t matter. She was just trying to place blame somewhere,something she knew was a waste of time.
“When do you need it?” she asked, trying to make sure shekept her calm. The last thing she needed on her plate right now was an angryexchange with the county Treasury office.
“As soon as possible, Ms. Cross. We can work out apayment plan if necessary, but the sooner the better.”
“You said it might be an oversight by his accountant,yes?”
“That’s right,” Thomas said.
“Do you have his name and number?”
“I do. One moment, please.”
Thomas took a second and then gave her the name andnumber of her father’s accountant. Morgan knew it was irresponsible andimmature, but she did nothing about it. She did not write the name or thenumber down. Besides, she figured all of that information was in one of theshoeboxes in her dad’s closet. For right now, though, she simply didn’t feellike bothering with it.
“Got it?” Thomas asked.
“Got it.”
“Good. Now if you have any—”
“Sounds good.”
With that, she ended the call and threw the phone overonto the couch in disgust. She could feel Skunk nuzzle up to her, sensing herdistress. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, wanting nothing more than tobury her face in his fur.
It was in that moment that Morgan realized that shecouldn’t do this alone. She needed help, and not just with the finances. Sheneeded someone to talk to. There was Derik but she’d somehow managed toalienate herself from him for the time being. Also, they had enough to dealwith in trying to find their old work groove as they attempted to stop thiskiller from taking his eleventh victim.
There was also sweet Lora Foster next door, but the ideaof trying to talk to her about her troubles was terrifying. And a bit irritating.The woman meant well, but if Morgan remembered correctly, she spoke as if shewas being charged per word.
As all of this cycled through her head, Skunk continuedto snuggle in beside her as she lay back and stretched out. For now, shesupposed he would do in place of an actual human. It was cozy, actually, to belying on the rug of her father’s living room with her old dog.
It was so cozy that when her phone rang again, she sat upquickly and realized she’d dozed off on the rug. Bleary-eyed and momentarilyconfused, she nearly decided to ignore the call. It would probably just besomeone else letting her know that she was now responsible for paying forthings her father had not been aware of.
But the Seven Signs Killer lurked in her mind as well.Maybe the call was about the case.
She got to her feet and walked over to the couch, whereshe’d thrown the phone before her unexpected nap. She was pretty sure it wasDerik. She again considered not answering it for a moment but, unable to takethe suspense, answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Morgan, it’s me,” Derik said. “If you’re up to it, wejust got a call from the ME. He says he’d like to see us concerning VictorRhyman. I have no issue going on my own, but—”
