Chapter Three
When Wendy Trent was growing up, her idea of high-end architecture had been the local White Castle hamburger stand. In rural Missouri, that was as fancy as it got. For a while, during her brief and horrendous marriage, she’d lived in an Army tent and then an abandoned school bus. So the fact that she actually owned—all by herself—a two-story house with landscaping and fake colonial columns never failed to amaze her.
It was hers. All hers. No one could come in unless she invited them. Her security system was extensive. She justified the expense because she was the mayor of Kilby, but the real reason was intensely personal. She wanted—needed—to feel safe. The security system helped, and so did the Remington shotgun she kept stashed in the hall closet. As mayor of a small town
