MESSAGE FROM A KILLER

Sitting on the glider on the porch, Caprice turned to the letters in her hand. There were bills, of course. A letter-sized envelope caught her eye. It was one of those envelopes with the blue stripes so that you couldn’t see what was inside. No one wrote letters these days. They sent e-mails. So she couldn’t imagine whom it was from. There was no return address.

That should have been her first warning.

But she was watching Lady and appreciating the day and thinking about meeting Roz and Vince at Cherry on the Top for ice cream.

She didn’t expect the plain white piece of paper she pulled out of the envelope. It was folded in thirds, and when she opened it, the printing alerted her she might not like what it was going to say.

She didn’t.

In printed letters it read, If you value that pretty dog and your life, stop asking questions . . .