"Except it's not from the Bible," Hank said.
"Oh." She grimaced. "I guess that shows how important Mama thought religion was to my upbringing. Itsounds like something that might be in the Bible."
"Yeah, it does. It's Shakespeare, though, and this guy is clearly a zealot, so I doubt that in his mind a playwright's words would fit the bill. Religion's his thing."
"Sending snakes to people he doesn't know anything about doesn't seem very Christian to me."
"I'm talking about the way he apparently views himself, Peej. You're right, though, it isn't the way I was taught. My God is benevolent. And even to the hell and brimstoners, Romans clearly says, 'Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink. For in doing so thou shalt heap coals upon his head'." He reached out and squeezed her hand. "Which is probably more information than you want or need. This kind of shit just burns me up, though. The guy who sent that snake might consider himself some onward Christian soldier, but that's bull. He's nothing but a stalker."
"Oh God." Ice formed in her stomach as she gaped at Hank. "I hadn't thought about it like that, but that's exactly what this is, isn't it? Stalking. Like with John Lennon."
Sliding his cell phone back into his pocket, Jared rejoined them. "I know it's easier said than done not to worry," he said. "But try at least not to let it make you crazy."
"I know." She grimaced with self-deprecation. "I'm hardly in Lennon's class."
"That's not what I'm saying. I just meant that I'm going to take care of this before it has the chance to escalate to that sort of violence."
"What happened to calling in the cops?"
"Oh, I called them. Unfortunately there's no telling when they'll get here, since no one was hurt or is in immediate danger. That's a good thing, but it makes us a low priority so it could be a while. I think we should put the box in one of the free berths to keep from contaminating it any more than we already have. I can't imagine them not dusting for prints when they get here. If we're lucky our guy will be in the system and that will be the end of it."
"I wouldn't count on it if P.J. is the first person he's stalked," Hank said.
"I know. And I don't plan on standing around waiting for information they may or may not feel like sharing with us even if he is." Jared stowed the box in a berth. Pulling the accordion curtain closed, he called, "Marvin!"
"Yes, sir?" Marvin appeared in the hallway entrance.
"Tell me everything you can remember about the man who delivered the package for Miss Morgan."
The driver blinked, frowned in obvious thought, then said, "He was probably somewhere in his mid-fifties and fit for his age. He was medium tall-say five-ten or -eleven-and he had on a black security uniform."
"I'll check on the color of Red Rock's, but I doubt it will be that easy. How about his hair? What color was it?"
Sweat trickled down Marvin's temple. "Um, I didn't notice. He had on the kind of hat you'd see on cops at a police funeral. You know, like when they're in their dress uniforms?"
"You're very observant," Jared said, but he had to work to keep his voice easy. Because while he spoke the truth, he wanted more. He wanted total recall. He drew and exhaled a calming breath. "Just close your eyes for a minute. Maybe it'll come to you."
Marvin did as he was told, but after a minute his eyes popped open again and he shook his head. "What was in the box, Mr. Hamilton?" he asked anxiously. "Am I in trouble? Because I'm sorry, but it didn't even occur to me to question him when he said Miz Morgan had asked him to deliver her package to the bus. He knew my name, so I just assumed-"
Jared straightened. "He knew your name?"
"Yes, sir."
He turned to P.J. "Where have you said Marvin's name publicly?"
"I-I-I." Biting off the stutter, she stared up at him. Shook her head. "Nowhere."
"Think, Peej. Your driver's name isn't the sort of thing that would be common knowledge, so it's unlikely the man just pulled it out of thin air. I've heard you talk to your audiences at concerts. Have you mentioned Marvin at one of them maybe, or to a backstage worker somewhere? A roadie or makeup woman or-"
"No, I swear."
"During a radio interview?"
"No." Then she paused. "Wait. Yes."
Yes!Now they were getting somewhere. The probability of finding the guy went up significantly with a concrete place to start. "When?"
"It was:" Brow furrowing, she trailed off into silence. "Damn, I can't remember!"
"It's okay," he said softly. "Don't try to force it. Do what I suggested to Marvin. Just close your eyes and let your mind drift."
"Brown!" Marvin exclaimed out of the blue. When everyone looked at him, he said, "The man's hair was sort of sandy-brown and cut short. It might have been graying a bit at the temples."
Jared grinned and slapped the driver on the back. "Good work. When the cops show up, let's see if we can get them to hook you up with a sketch artist."
"Yes, excellent work, Marvin," P.J. said, reaching to pat the driver's hand. "And I'm sorry I put you in this position. Because I do remember now-I mentioned your name on the first satellite radio interview I did. The DJ and I had been talking about the tavern gigs I'd done on my way to Portland. And when he asked if I planned to continue driving myself to the other cities on the tour I said no and mentioned your name."
"It's not a problem, Miz Morgan. I feel bad I let him bamboozle me."
"I suggest we all do better from now on," Jared cut in. "Marvin, we'll make you a list of the people we want to get through to us. You don't accept anything from anyone who's not on it. And, P.J., do not give out any more personal information. Not your friends' names, not the type or color of vehicle you drive and certainly not where you live when you're not on the road."
"Oh, crap. My transgressions just keep piling up."
He turned a slow stare on her. "Meaning?"
Looking guilty, she nevertheless shot her pointy little chin up at him. "That interview where I mentioned Marvin? I also told the DJ I'd bought my first real home in Aspen."
"Dammit, P.J.!" Then he shook off his frustration. Glommed on to his professionalism. "No, it's all right. I would have liked to've known about it a little sooner, but it's all right. The bad news here is also the good news-this guy is clearly trailing you, not hanging around As pen looking to burn down your house. All the same, I'll call Gert and have her arrange to have a guard put on it."
"Okay, boss."
His first inclination was to snarl that he wasn't screwing around here. But giving her a quick, close inspection, he saw that she knew that. Signs of strain showed beneath her flippancy, and he tamped down a temper he had no business experiencing in the first place. "I should have asked for tapes of the interviews. If I had we would have talked about this sooner and some of the measures I intend to take now would already be in place. I apologize. I should have anticipated something like this." What was it about her, anyway, that got under his skin so easily?
Her head snapping up, she shot him a look of disgust. "Oh, get over yourself, Hamilton. Who the hell could've foreseen a whack job like this popping up?"
"I should have. This tour has you in the public eye and there's been a ton of publicity about you lately. That's exactly the kind of situation that brings out the crazies." But that horse had left the barn, so he shrugged. "What radio station was that interview on? That would give us a more exact place to start."