The murderer. "You know I can't tell you that," the creepy guy snapped, as if he had a right to be irate with her. "I see you brought in someone to help you. It won't matter." Her head swirling with a million questions, she tried to think of what she should ask him while she had him on the phone. She also hoped either she or Nick might recognize his voice if she could get him to talk long enough. "Why did you cut my car's brake line?" "You shouldn't have gone to Atlanta. The quicker you give me what I want, the quicker I'll leave you alone." She tried to determine if his voice sounded familiar. She wasn't sure. But he did have a slight southern accent. "Did you kill Jared?" she asked. "No. Why would I do something like that?" Sarcasm sharpened his words. Obviously a lie. "You tell me." She tried to keep her voice from shaking. "Here's all I'm telling you—get the Clach Torach and give it to me or I'll burn your little bridal shop to the ground." An icy shock jolted her. "I don't have whatever you're looking for.
