Free Blessed Are Those Who Mourn by Kristi Belcamino Page B

over my shoulder, I lean in to kiss Donovan good-­bye but draw back when I see the look on his face. He’s at the kitchen table with the Tribune spread before him, and he’s reading Andy Black’s story about the fire. I’ve already read it.
    Luckily, Black had the same information I had on it.
    â€œElla.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, and my heart stops for a second. He points to the picture of the crime scene under the bridge. “We found something in her pocket.”
    I close my eyes for a second.
    â€œBible verse?”
    He nods his head so slightly that I nearly miss it. The muscle in his jaw is working overtime, clenching and unclenching, and his eyebrows are knit together.
    â€œSon of a bitch.” Another Bible verse. “Is she still a Jane Doe?”
    He shakes his head again. “Kelly Dance, twenty-­three. College kid. DeAnza College in Cupertino.”
    Despite what my gut is telling me, my mind says that there is still a chance the Bible verses might have nothing to do with me. Like West said, a lot of religious freaks kill and justify it in the name of God. I try to convince myself that it’s all a coincidence, until his next words:
    â€œShe’s also originally from Livermore.”
    Black was right. An icy wave of cold fear travels down my spine.
    Donovan stands and takes my face in his hands, searching my eyes.
    â€œWe have to consider the possibility that these murders are a message.”
    Heat flushes my cheeks, and I’m suddenly dizzy.
    â€œAnderson?” I ask, my mouth so dry the name comes out with difficulty. Now it is suddenly real, not just a fear I’ve kept bottled up inside.
    Donovan breathes out loudly and nods. “Same Bible verse as the second e-­mail he sent you. The one about thou shalt not kill. It’s like the first one—­ he shortened the verse again. ‘You have condemned and murdered the innocent one.’ ”
    â€œWhat are we going to do?” My voice is shaky.
    Donovan shakes his head and exhales. “I’m going to figure it out. Let me make a few calls. You can go to work, but watch your back. Take Lopez out to any crime scenes with you. Grace should stay at your mom’s until we know more.”
    â€œOkay.” The word comes out as a whisper.
    My phone is on the nightstand, so I head back into the bedroom. I’ve missed a call from my mom. When I call back, her house phone rings and rings. I glance at the clock. I feel guilty. I usually call her and Grace first thing in the morning on the nights Grace sleeps over, but instead I forgot because I was getting busy with Donovan.
    When her voice mail picks up, I leave a message.
    â€œMama? That second body had another Bible verse. I hate this so much, but we should probably be careful. Maybe stay home from work today. And you should probably tell Marco and Dante.”
    I hang up and cringe. My family hates my job for good reason. I’ve put their lives in danger more than once. The worst was when Jack Dean Johnson kidnapped my niece Sofia. Even though she was rescued before anything bad happened, I’m still filled with guilt over that.
    â€œI left a message for my mom, but maybe I should just skip work today and spend the day with them?” I say to Donovan.
    â€œSure, you could do that,” he says, absentmindedly reading the paper.
    I bite my lip, thinking. I’m unsure. Am I overreacting? After all, my mom’s house is secure.
    Glancing down at the Tribune spread out on the table, I see Black’s story on the slaying. He interviewed the parents of the woman who was found on Roe Island Saturday. Scooped the hell out of my story. Damn it. I need something more. I have to ask even though it’s going to irritate Donovan. But he knows I have a job to do. He’s filling his to-­go mug with the rest of the coffee in the moka pot.
    â€œI need to use the Bible verses. Is it going to hurt the