You slump into Ivy's desk chair and tap the number on the yellow sticky note into your cell phone, then press the Call button. The phone rings a few times, and then a tired-sounding woman's voice comes through the line.

"Hello?"

"Hello! This is Kendall Moore from the Dansville Daily. I'm trying to reach Mr. Wesley Everett?"

"Wrong number." A pause. "This is the Dansville Daily? Are you going to do a Local Legend article on my consignment store?"

You wince. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. Not for this edition, but feel free to email—"

"When are you going to do an article on Try, Try Again? I've been calling every month, every single month, and speaking with that Don Franklin, and he says—"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't have a lot of details. I'm not normally in charge of the Local—"

"You tell that Don Franklin to call me! This is Elda VanVelden and I've been writing and calling him every single month—"

"Thank you, Ms. VanVeldhesen, I'll be sure to let him know. Good bye, now."

You tap to end the call and grimace at your phone. You'd think that little old ladies would be less absorbed with newspaper articles about thrift shops and pharmacies and more interested in the real, live serial killer on the loose. Damn.

Time to try again.

Maybe that Google thing wasn't such a bad idea. [[Go to Chapter 8.]]

You try the number on the blue sticky note. [[Go to Chapter 10.]]