Mary lay beside the crib like a broken rag doll. The pale-blue throw rug beneath her head was soaked with blood. Vicky lurched toward her. That was when she noticed Josh's white teddy bear hanging from the rail of the crib. Smeared with blood, the bear had a not pinned to its chest. Three words were scrawled across the paper.
Death is here.
About the Author
Sherry Scarpaci is the mother of two grown children whom she raised
with much greater success than most of her houseplants. She collects husbands
like some people might collect rare coins and old stamps. Currently between
husbands, she hopes to gain custody of two of her four cats. Lullaby
is her first mystery novel which was originally published in hardback.
Sherry makes her home in the
greater Chicagoland area where she is currently at work on her next novel. In
addition to mystery writing, Sherry has written nonfiction articles for Woman’s
World magazine and the Star newspaper. Her favorite pastimes are eating
Twizzlers, (Sherry thinks they should be their own food group), baking,
reading, and thinking up new plots and innovative ways to kill people.
"Lullaby leads the reader through a maze of clues and red herrings; a page turner from beginning to its schocking end. Settle down before a roaring fire with a cup of tea and enjoy the ride." ~Helen Macie Osterman, author of Notes in A Mirror and the Emma Winberry Mystery Series
"Scarpaci handles a complex, suspenseful plot with confidence, and she convincingly portrays Vicky as a strong, likeable woman driven to the edge of despair by her child's disappearance. Some of the people in Vicky's world are not what they seem, and Scarpaci kept me guessing about the solution to the end." ~Sandra Parshall, author of Disturbing the Dead and The Hear of the Moon which won an Agatha Award
The first ring of the phone jolted Vicky wide-awake. She sat up in bed, heart thudding. Each ring was like nails raking a blackboard, but she didn't reach for the phone. Maybe he’' give up if she just let it ring. She let out a sharp laugh at the thought. Fat chance of that. Just pick it up and get it over with. Her heart went into overdrive as she lifted the receiver. "I’m coming for you, Vicky," the man whispered. "Do you hear me, bitch? I am Death, and I'm coming for you."His voice sounded like the rustle of dry leaves and sent a shiver down Vicky's spine. She bit back the scathing words on the end of her tongue, resisted the urge to slam down the receiver, and instead, left it off the hook. He wouldn’' bother her any more that night. But what about tomorrow night and the night after that? How long before he made good on his threats? Hugging her knees to her chest, Vicky chewed her lower lip. In the beginning she tried convincing herself it was just some sicko who didn't have anything else to do at one in the morning. In her heart, she'd known better. This guy was serious trouble, and it was time to get the police involved. Of course Vicky knew Frank Paxton, the chief of police, would give her twenty kinds of hell when she confessed what she'd been up to. She'd heard it all before."Are you out of your goddamn mind, Victoria Langford?" he'd say. "Keep your nose out of things that can get you hurt." But she couldn't do that this time—not when she was so close to finding the truth. She'd give it another day or two—see what else she could dig up before talking to the chief. Slipping back under the covers, she lay staring at the ceiling. I am Death, and I'm coming for you She sat up again and snapped on the bedside lamp. Snowball, her white Persian cat, lifted his head and blinked lazily at Vicky from the foot of the bed. He stretched, then curled back into a ball and closed his eyes "Wish I could go back to sleep that easily," Vicky said. She told herself she and her little boy, Josh, were safe, but she couldn't shake the sick, fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. She reached under the bed for the nightstick she kept there, and then went through the house checking doors and windows for the third time that night. Vicky checked the alarm, too, though she had set it before turning in. As she headed back to her room, she heard her son whimpering. Eighteen-month-old Josh was sitting up in his crib rubbing his eyes. He raised his arms and cried, "Mama." "What's the matter, sweetie?" Vicky murmured. "Bad dreams? Scooping him up, she settled in the rocker beside his crib. Josh quieted instantly and snuggled against her. Vicky leaned her cheek against his downy head. She was starting to relax when she heard a soft tapping at the window. Her head snapped back up and her breath caught in her throat It's only a branch from the old box elder, Vicky reminded herself, but her heart still hammered. Sensing his mother's fear, Josh began crying again Vicky kissed him and whispered, "It's all right, punkin. You go back to sleep now." She sure as hell wasn't. Her gaze darted to the window once more. Uneasiness nibbled at the back of her mind. It was going to be another long night.
