When Joann Avery's best friend of thirty years, Amy, calls her in a panic to meet for dinner, Joann agrees immediately. Amy is in the middle of a business acquisition near Chesapeake Bay. She must acquire an historic estate known as "The Cedars", but with negotiations at a standstill, Amy needs an ally. She asks Joann for assistance and, knowing the area and the people, Joann agrees. Soon, however, a hurricane strikes the historic Northern Neck of Virginia near the Chesapeake Bay. A dead body is found in the area, but authorities can't tell whether the man died from natural causes or murder. It appears the hurricane and a hungry flock of vultures have contributed to the scene, but there's more to this death than meets the eye. It's got something to do with Amy's business dealings, and Joann is right in the middle of the scandal. Due to a case of mistaken identity, Joann is in danger of being jailed or possibly killed. The police consider her a material witness, since she recently inquired about the grounds where the dead body was found. Now, the murderer is on her case, too. With the help of her husband, her friends, and an unusual plan, Joann might make it out of this alive . . . and catch a violent killer in the process. Storm Damage By Linda Underwood iUniverse, Inc. Copyright © 2012 Linda Underwood All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4759-3828-9 Chapter One Joann "You have reached voice mail for 703-555-0158. Please leave your name, number and brief message at the sound of the tone." "Joann? Are you there or are you screening your calls? If you're there, Jo please pick up. Pick up!" the frantic voice pleaded. Even from the first floor garage, I recognized the voice. I raced upstairs to the phone in the kitchen, balancing soggy shopping bags and tripping on the hem of my raincoat in the process. I grabbed the phone just before it went to voice mail. "I'm here, Amy. Hold on while I put these bags down. Just give me a second." I hit the speakerphone button on the wall phone with one free hand, pulling off my soaking wet raincoat with the other. "Hi sweetie, what's going on?" I said while sorting through the bags to get the milk, cheese, and eggs into the refrigerator as soon as possible. "Could you and Ken meet me for dinner tonight? My treat. I have to be down in Old Town for a meeting," Amy Hunter, my oldest and dearest friend asked, taking a deep breath. "I had planned a quiet dinner for us, but sure, we'll meet you. Where? When? I have to talk to Ken first, of course, but I'm sure it will be okay. You know Ken, any excuse to break up the week. Especially when he can have dinner with two beautiful women," I responded and grimaced at the thawing steaks on the counter and the ever-growing puddle on the floor from the dripping raincoat. "You're very funny Jo. Let's make it easy. How about one of your favorites, The Warehouse Bar and Grill?" Amy asked coyly, clearly wanting me to take the bait. "Sounds great. How about seven-thirty? Unless you hear from me, we'll be there. I think Ken can make it by then, but I'll have to talk to him. If he's going to be late, we'll just wait for him at the bar. I'll make reservations. Are you okay?" I asked, pleased at the prospect of seeing Amy but a little confused by the sudden invitation. Amy was not a drama queen. Even when extremely upset about something, she would be quietly upset. "If you can't make it, call me on my cell. See you there," Amy responded, ending the call. I disconnected the speakerphone option, picked up the receiver, and dialed the handy number to the restaurant. I kept a threering binder of menus, telephone numbers of our favorite carryout, delivery and eat-in restaurants near the phone. I am not sure when I started the practice, but it has always proven helpful. When the restaurant answered, I asked for reservations for three at seven-thirty that evening. "The name is Avery," I said. Unrolling wads of paper towels to mop up the floor from the still-dripping coat, I thought about the rare tone in Amy's voice. Reaching Ken just as he was about to hit rainy rush hour traffic on the Washington Beltway, I explained that dinner was on Amy, and that we would be dining well and not too terribly far from home. I added that I had already made the reservations. Even with the prospect of dealing with the additional Old Town traffic, Ken seemed surprisingly elated at the change of plans for the evening. "Thank God," I whispered under my breath as the receiver hit the cradle. Suddenly aware of the cold dampness of the kitchen, I stood for a moment or two looking out of the second-floor kitchen window to the splashing rain on our short, suburban driveway. Not looking forward to going outside in the chilly rain yet again today, I shrugged and put the thawed steaks in the refrigerator and finished bringing in and putting away the groceries. I took a long, hot shower, put on a little make-up, applied a small amount of green