One Deadly Sister

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When Ray Reid phoned his sister in Philadelphia and told her he was in a Florida jail on a murder charge, she told him to go to hell.

She slammed down her cell, shoved the book off her lap, and got out of bed. Nervy bastard. He can’t really be doing this. Why didn’t he make his one phone call to a friend or a lawyer for Christ’s sake?

Sleepless now, she clicked on the eleven o’clock news: something about an assassination in Florida, some politician. She heard her brother’s name.

She picked up the phone then tossed it back down—she didn’t need this. He had ignored her distress call years ago, and they had lived on different planets ever since. She stared at the phone. It rang startling her. “I told you to go to hell.”

“You didn’t tell me anything. Are you in some kind of trouble, Sandy?”

“Joanna, is that you?”

“Yeah, worked late as usual, just got home. I wanted to warn you, some media types phoned for you at the office. You’ve had calls from Fox, some producer at WCAU-TV, and—get this—I talked to Gretchen Henson at CNN, in person. They wanted your home address and cell. Luckily, I was the only one in the office. They got nothing from me. What’d you do, kill someone?”

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