Staci Troilo has been writing since she was a child. She earned her bachelor and master degrees in writing from Carnegie Mellon University, and after graduating, worked in corporate communications until she had her children. Later she worked as a writing professor and now is an editor as well as a novelist and short story writer. Her works combine dark, dangerous heroes and strong, capable heroines woven together into a contemporary tapestry of tantalizing romance, compelling villains and gripping mysteries.
Before they got to the porch, the front door was yanked opened by a middle-aged man Naomi recognized as Caleb Harbaugh, Joe’s oldest son. “We’re not seeing any reporters. Now get off our property, or I’ll call the police.”
“Mr. Harbaugh, we aren’t with the media,” Naomi began.
Caleb Harbaugh left the door opened, but he didn’t step outside or invite the girls any further onto the porch.
Naomi continued inching closer. She could see family members gathered behind him in the foyer of the house. One was a woman around his age. Naomi presumed it was his wife; she thought her name was Rosalyn. There was another man around their age, and a girl, possibly Naomi’s age or a bit younger. Naomi had never seen the man or the girl before.
“I know this is a very difficult time for you and your family, sir,” Naomi continued, “and we’d like to extend our condolences for your loss. But we really need a few minutes of your time.” She could feel him losing interest, and looked at her sister for help.
“Mr. Harbaugh, last night someone broke into your attorney’s office. Your father’s will was one of the things stolen. We thought perhaps if you could talk to us about the contents of that file, we might not only be able to help solve that robbery, but we could help solve your father’s murder as well.”
Naomi watched as all their faces changed. The woman visibly paled while the two men grew redder, their eyes flashing and nostrils flaring. She thought briefly that it must be a family trait before she noticed the young woman in the background had made a move to speak, but had been hushed by the woman. Before Naomi could ask the girl what she had wanted to say, everyone in the foyer stepped back.
A well-coiffed elderly woman wearing pearls and a black suit made her way to the door with the use of a crystal-handled cane. Adjusting the glasses on her face, she looked carefully at first Naomi then Penelope, then she slammed the door closed without uttering a word.