Dash of Peril

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To Shana Schwer, best friend extraordinaire.

Not only because you find me an answer for every police question I have, and love the UFC as much as I do, and are such a terrific pet lover. But because you’re you, a pretty terrific person all the way around.

And extra thanks to Nancy Glembotzky, the true owner to Oliver the cat, the ragdoll puppy-cat I used to show Margo’s softer side. I love when my readers are also animal lovers like me! Thank you, Nancy, for sharing Oliver with me.

FROZEN PELLETS OF sleet carried by the icy March winds stung Lieutenant Margaret Peterson’s face. The late snowstorm wasn’t uncommon.

Welcome to Warfield, Ohio.

With one gloved hand Margo held her coat closed at her throat. The other hand, ungloved, remained in her pocket as she hurried to her new car parked in the lot across from the bar. At 1:00 a.m. the streets were dark with minimal traffic. A lone streetlamp lent an angelic glow to the beautiful pearl color of her Lexus.

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