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something from it. Was it human blood?
    He photographed the writing, then took pictures of the message on the mirror, as well. Maybe a handwriting expert could analyze it. And if he had a suspect, he could compare samples. The dot over the i in the world Die had a curly tip. The writing also slanted downward at an angle and looked as if someone had jabbed at the wall out of anger.
    He paused in the bedroom, his mind ticking as he wondered how the intruder had known this room was Tawny-Lynn’s. It was certainly not as frilly as Peyton’s, and there were dozens of sports posters on the wall, but no nameplate or picture of Tawny-Lynn to give it away. A plain navy comforter covered the antique iron bed, a teddy bear and rag doll sat on the bookshelf above a sea of mystery books, and CDs were stacked in a CD holder by a scarred pine desk.
    Which suggested that the intruder had known the family well enough to know which room belonged to her.
    And that he or she might have been in the house before.
    * * *
    T AWNY -L YNN RAKED trash and old food off the kitchen counter and into the garbage bag. She’d already filled up three bags and was going to need a truck to haul away the junk once she finished with the house.
    Exhaustion pulled at her shoulders, a headache pulsing behind her eyes. a result of the accident she assumed. Or maybe it was due to the mounds of dust in the house.
    She’d have to stock up on her allergy medication.
    Carrying that bag out the back door, her gaze scanned the woods beyond. Was the person who’d left her those vile messages hiding out now, watching her? Hoping she’d flee the town as she had seven years ago?
    “I don’t want to be in Camden Crossing any more than you want me here,” she muttered.
    “Who are you talking to?”
    Tawny-Lynn startled and spun around. Chaz stood in the kitchen doorway, his hand covering the gun at his waist. “Did you see someone out here?”
    She shook her head, silently berating herself. “No, I was talking to myself.”
    His eyes darkened as he studied her. “Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?”
    “I’m just exhausted,” she admitted. “But I’m not going to bed until this kitchen is clean, so you can go home if you’re finished.”
    “Actually I came down for a bucket and bleach.”
    She frowned. “What for?”
    “To clean the blood off your wall and mirror.”
    “That’s not necessary, Chaz. You’ve done enough already.” In fact, it felt too good to have him here. Made her feel safe. Secure. Needy.
    She couldn’t lean on him or anyone else.
    “I’ll do it once I finish with the kitchen.”
    “No way,” he said gruffly. “I don’t intend to leave you here with that disgusting threat in your room, especially after you were in an accident.”
    God, his voice sounded almost protective. Odd, when years ago he’d hated her just like everyone else.
    He didn’t wait for a reply. He rummaged through the boxes of supplies, grabbed a bucket, a container of bleach and a sponge and strode back toward the stairs.
    Tawny-Lynn sighed shakily and rushed back inside, but the wind whistling through the trees unnerved her and she slammed the door. Maybe it was better if Chaz was here, acting as the sheriff, of course, just in case the intruder had stuck around.
    Her adrenaline kicked in, and she finished scraping off the counters, chairs, table and floors of junk, carefully stowing any unpaid bills she located, and there were dozens, into a basket on the counter. Next, she tackled the refrigerator, not surprised to find it virtually empty except for condiments that had expired, something moldy growing in a jar, a jug of sour milk and a carton of outdated eggs.
    Next she tossed a rusted can opener, a toaster that was so crusted with grime that she doubted she could ever clean it, then dish towels that were mildewed.
    When she finished with that, she pulled out the bleach and industrial cleaner and scoured the sink, counter and the inside and outside