Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  To Gabriel Morrison, the job wasn’t about conviction rates, it was about putting the right people away. He’d known Matt Foley for a little over six years, and he knew Matt felt the same. When Matt Foley gave him a case, there were never any loose ends to prove embarrassing in front of a jury. Matt thought like a lawyer.

  Gabe smiled at his reflection in the mirror, then hurried back to his office.

  A few minutes after he arrived, his secretary walked in, closing the door behind her. “Gabe, Harold Golden is in the foyer. He wants to see you. Shall I send him in?”

  Gabe sat up straight in his chair. What could one of the foremost criminal attorneys in the state want with him? To his knowledge, Golden didn’t have a client on the court schedule.

  In college, Gabe once watched Golden in action. He didn’t relish facing the man in a courtroom. Golden had earned his nickname, the Golden Tiger, in what seemed to be impossible-to-win courtroom battles.

  Gabe stood and buttoned his jacket as his secretary ushered the distinguished lawyer in. “Harold, good to see you. What can I do for you?”

  Harold Golden looked exactly like what he was, a $500-an-hour lawyer in a tailored suit and handmade Italian shoes. His flawless tan and gray hair accented his patrician good looks. Golden stuck out his right hand. “I apologize for dropping in, but I wanted to discuss a case with you. I took a chance you might have a few moments to visit with me.”

  The man stood two inches taller than Gabe’s own five eleven. Golden oozed charm that could sell sandcastles to Arab tribesmen. Gabe motioned him to a chair. “No problem. Which case in particular?”

  Golden took a seat in the chair next to the desk and crossed his legs. “The Joshua Bradford case. Do you remember it?”

  Gabe leaned back in his chair. “Yes, hit-and-run, a few years back.”

  “That’s correct. I understand you have new information on the case.”

  Gabe hadn’t heard about any new evidence, but he would never let Golden know that. “What’s your interest, Harold? Are you representing a suspect?”

  “No, on the contrary,” Golden said. “I want to see the killer prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “That’s the way I always work. Did Bradford work for your firm?” Gabe didn’t like vendettas, especially when he didn’t know what in blazes was going on.

  “No, Josh’s field was civil law, but he was like a son to me. He had one of the finest legal minds I’d run into. He would have been brilliant in criminal law.” Golden’s brow wrinkled into a frown. “Someone took his life much too soon. I want to see his killer punished. I believe that person is his wife, Sara Bradford.”

  Golden explained about Sara’s call the previous evening. “I think there may be a conflict of interest between your police chief and Mrs. Bradford.”

  “How so?”

  “If you’ve met Mrs. Bradford, you know she’s an extraordinarily beautiful woman. She could turn the heads of many men.” Golden brushed a spot of invisible lint from his pants leg. “I wondered why, after four years, Foley hasn’t made any attempt to arrest her.”

  Gabe didn’t like any part of this. Didn’t like this man casting aspersions on his police department, specifically, Matt Foley. “If Matt hasn’t arrested her, it’s because he doesn’t feel he has enough evidence to prosecute. When he does, he’ll bring the case to me to make the final decision. This isn’t news to you, Harold. You know how the system works. What is it you want me to do?”

  The muscles in Golden’s jaw flexed and his voice became defensive. “One of the reasons I’ve gained a measure of success is due to my ability to read people. I’ve had doubts about Sara Bradford since the accident. I meant no disrespect to Chief Foley. Just wanted to make sure this case gets all the attention it deserves.”

  Lawyer-speak for “I’ll be watching your sorry behind.” Gabe leaned forward. “I can assure you that it will.”

  Golden rose from his chair and held out his hand. “That’s all I ask. Thank you for your time.”

  Gabe walked him to the door, then turned and strolled back to his desk. He rubbed his palm across the bald spot on his head. A very strange interview to say the least. Did Golden have a hidden agenda behind the meeting? Was he infatuated with Sara himself? Wanted to punish her for rejecting him? Whatever the reason, he obviously had the woman in his crosshairs.

  Gabe picked up the phone.

  He needed to talk to Matt Foley.

  Sara Bradford’s Home

  Over dinner that evening, Sara watched the children pick at their food, unsure if they didn’t like it or if it was because of their grief. She made a mental note to find out what they liked in addition to fried vegetables.

  Maddie tried to keep the mood light. She asked the children about their favorite television shows and games. A pang of conscience hit Sara, realizing she’d never told Maddie of the talk with Roger Reynolds and the Global incident. Things Maddie should know for her own safety.

  At least Maddie knew about the lake episode. However, she would not be happy that Sara kept secrets about her life being in danger.

  She also needed to find out who’d donated the sleeping bag to the church sale. It might not be important, but she had to make sure, starting with the copy of the donor list.

  After dinner, when the children were watching a Disney DVD and she and Maddie had settled in the library with tea. Her aunt sat in a chair by the hearth. Sara took the chair facing Maddie, cleared her throat, then plunged into the events of the past week.

  As the confession unfolded, Maddie’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe you narrowly escaped death twice, and you didn’t tell me. Don‘t coddle me, Sara. I assure you, I can take bad news. You may recall I’ve had a few disasters in my life.”

  Maddie gazed into the fire for a long moment. After a few minutes, she spoke again. “I won’t fuss over you, Sara, if that’s what you’re afraid of. We are family. You’re like a daughter to me. You don’t keep secrets of this magnitude from family.”

  “You’re right, of course. I just didn’t want to worry you. I’ll do better. I promise.”

  Maddie placed her teacup on the saucer, a slight tremble in her hand, her face drawn.

  Time to lighten the mood.

  Sara picked up the church’s donor list. “Want to help me do a little detective work?”

  The serious expression slipped from her aunt’s face. The corners of her mouth turned up. “I think you’re changing the subject, but of course I’ll help. I always wanted to play Miss Marple.”

  A Residence in Twin Falls

  The man’s gaze followed the ceiling fan’s revolutions. He spoke in a friendly, conversational tone. “Not from our donations, Sara. I’ve never had much use for camping equipment. Sorry.”

  After he hung up, questions raced through his mind. How much did she know? Could they trace the bag back to him? There must have been hundreds sold. He bought them so long ago there should be no record of the purchase. The housekeeper must have added the bag to the church collection box. Bad timing. Should have destroyed it years ago.

  Curious, Sara called him, rather than the police. Had she realized who she had seen that night? Was it possible she knew the sleeping bag came from him and called merely to confirm it? If so, he had made a fatal error. She would know he lied.

  He shook his head. Too many questions, too few answers.

  Bad luck that the bomb, and shoving her off the bridge, hadn’t worked. No more time to devise elaborate schemes. He must take care of Sara. This time, permanently.

  He walked across the room, opened the bar cabinet, and pulled down a large crystal snifter. With the brandy bottle uncapped, he filled the glass a quarter full, then swirled the liquid before moving it to his lips.

  He stopped, then poured the liquid down the stainless steel sink.

  What he had to do called for a clear head.

  CHAPTER 21

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Matt placed the last sheet of pa
per in his out-box, leaned back, and stretched. He’d forced himself to run again this morning, Rowdy at his side. Hard to get back on track when he’d missed a few days. Pushing himself to the limit on the lonely, rural road prepared him to face the emotional and physical demands of the job.

  He scanned Hunter and Davis’s reports from the previous evening. Flipping through the pages, he expelled the air from his lungs. Nothing new. But he wasn’t expecting a breakthrough this early. Police work resembled the tortoise more than the hare.

  The case had stalled, and Penny Pryor’s face haunted him.

  Perhaps he should call the Herald, plant a rumor the police had new leads and expected to close the case soon. See if that unnerved any of their suspects. If something didn’t break, that old chestnut would be worth a try.

  He’d finished filing the one-sheet report in the folder on his desk when Gabe Morrison stuck his head in the door. “Got a minute?”

  Matt waved him inside. “What brings you out of your lair?”

  Gabe slid into his favorite chair in front of the desk. “I had a very interesting meeting with Harold Golden yesterday.”

  “Golden? The hot-shot attorney?”

  “The same. He wanted to talk about the Josh Bradford case. Any new developments I need to know about?”

  “We found the car yesterday. The vehicle belonged to Robert Cook. He lived in the area where Bradford died. Bradford met with Cook earlier that day. Cook had a string of DUI’s. Lost his drivers license ten years ago. He seems to be the logical suspect, but he passed away a few days ago.”

  Matt explained about the car with Sara’s notebook inside.

  Gabe smoothed the crease in his trousers. “Do you think she’s involved?”

  An underlying tension in Gabe’s voice meant this was more than idle curiosity. “I haven’t ruled it out, but the evidence is shaky.” Matt told him about the dates and fingerprints. “What is Golden’s interest in the case?”

  “He’s after Sara Bradford’s scalp. Thinks she killed her husband. Wants to ensure the long arm of the law keeps a tight grip on her. He also thinks you’re covering up for her.”

  “I hope you know me better than that.”

  Gabe rose from the chair. “I do. That’s why I’m telling you. Besides, I don’t like Golden. He’s arrogant and self-righteous. Nothing I’d like better than to prove him wrong. But a word of caution—watch your step. Golden has powerful connections.”

  Italian Restaurant, Plano, Texas

  Matt left the station at one o’clock. As he pulled onto the freeway, the cell phone on the dash trilled the William Tell Overture. Matt glanced over and Blain Stanton’s number reflected on the screen. Blain never called just to chitchat. “Hey, Blain. What’s up?”

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “On my way to lunch. Why?”

  Blain cleared his throat. “Meet me at that Italian restaurant in Plano that you like. We need to talk.”

  “Sure, see you in twenty minutes, traffic permitting.”

  A line had formed outside by the time Matt arrived. Inside looked like standing room only at the bar. He didn’t worry. Blain Stanton had a way with restaurant hosts. When Matt mentioned his father-in-law’s name, a white coated waiter led him to a secluded booth in the back where Blain sat, drink in hand.

  Ice cubes clinked as Blain shook his glass at the waiter for a refill. The server gave a nod of acknowledgement. Blain glanced at Matt. “You still a tee-totaler?”

  “Bring me an iced tea,” Matt said to the waiter and slid into the booth across from Blain. “What’s on your mind?”

  “You want the bad news before lunch or after?”

  “Before. I couldn’t enjoy the food with a black cloud over my head.”

  The waiter returned with the drinks. Blain ordered a steak while Matt opted for the house special, veal in a lemon butter sauce.

  When the waiter left, Blain took a long sip from his glass. “Remember the redheaded reporter from the party, Pepper Parker?”

  Matt grinned. “How could I forget?”

  Blain didn’t return the smile. “Well, you won’t find this funny. You’re her cover story in the January edition of Texas Tattler, the rag she works for.”

  “How did I rate that honor?”

  His father-in-law shook his head. “Believe me, it’s no honor. It’s an expose’. She should be on the National Inquirer’s payroll. Rumor has it she’s digging up everyone who ever held a grudge against you. Then she’ll print it as the gospel truth. You seriously ruffled her feathers.”

  “So it would seem. How bad can it be? My police record is squeaky clean.”

  Blain stirred the ice in his drink with his finger and snorted a laugh. “She won’t let that stop her. Her type is more interested in innuendos than facts. My source says it will be ugly. She’s going for your personal life, insinuating you married my daughter for her money and may have been culpable in her death. That’ll be a stretch, since Mary died of cancer.”

  The tea in Matt’s mouth turned to acid, and a deep-seated weariness settled in his chest. His wife didn’t deserve to have her name dragged through tabloid filth, nor did her parents. “Is there anything we can do to stop it, short of shooting her?”

  A red flush of anger colored Blain’s cheeks with a touch of sadness that furrowed his brow. “Nothing short of buying the magazine, which I thought about. But she’d peddle the story somewhere else. I’m sorry about this, Matt.”

  Matt pushed his salad plate back. “Not your fault. I guess I could sue her for slander, but that would only give the story more media coverage.”

  “If you want to take her on, I’ll back you all the way.”

  “I just might do that.” Matt repositioned the napkin on his lap as the server brought their main course. “Sometimes we have to call these people out. Hit them where it hurts. In the pocket book.”

  “The governor asked me yesterday if there was anything new on his niece’s murder. You might consider keeping him updated.”

  Matt had expected to hear from Ferrell before now. “I would be happy to send him a copy of the reports I send to Doug, but I’m sure all correspondence goes through ten people before it reaches him. I don’t want my investigation played out in the evening news.”

  His father-in-law gave a thoughtful nod. “Brandt has a private, secure fax in the governor’s mansion. I’ll get you the number.”

  ****

  The drive back to the office seemed longer than usual, his mind troubled. He wished Mary were here to talk to. She could always find the positive aspects in dark situations. It didn’t bother him so much that the unprincipled woman would tarnish his name. He didn’t like it, but he could handle it. But Mary? How could he fix that?

  The day started bad and had gone downhill. He’d dealt with a lawyer and a reporter with an axe to grind, neither of whom had his best interest at heart. And the day wasn’t over yet.

  Sara Bradford’s Home

  Sara slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater. The Campbell funeral loomed tomorrow afternoon. Before then, she had to shop for the kids.

  “Focus,” she told herself. She’d only picked up a few necessities yesterday. The visit to the empty Campbell home had been an ordeal, filled with images of her last visit. She’d have to make another trip. Another time. She’d also have to settle the children’s financial affairs, but that would have to wait. This had to be done right—get the children settled into their new environment for the sake of the precious lives now in her charge. And for her promise to Dolly Campbell.

  She closed her eyes. Where did one buy a suit for a six-year-old boy? Lord, a crash course in being a mommy would be a big help.

  After a moment, she picked up the phone and called Shannon Connelly. Her friend didn’t have children, but she was a storehouse of information. Skipping the small talk, Sara dove right into her problem. “Shannon, I’m now the mother of two children. I need your help.”

  A long silence filled the phone l
ine. “Fancy that, and I didn’t even know you were expecting. I think you’d better start at the beginning.”

  Sara emitted a shaky laugh. “That came out a little blunt.” She gulped a deep steadying breath and told her friend about the Campbell’s’ death. “Shannon, do you think I should take them to the funeral? Would it scar them for life to go through that?”

  “Girl, you’ve come to the wrong person,” Shannon said. “My parenting skills are nonexistent. All I can give you is my opinion. Heaven knows, I’m no shrink.”

  Sara leaned back against the pillow on her bed. “I’ll take any advice I can get. Besides, I value your rational thinking.”

  Shannon asked. “How old are the children?”

  “Danny is six, Poppy is almost five.”

  “Okay, for what it’s worth, I think you should take them. Otherwise, someday they might resent you for not allowing the closure that would bring. Do you really intend to adopt these two kids?”

  Sara pushed the cordless phone closer to her ear. “That’s the plan. I fell in love with them long before this happened. I won’t send them into child protective custody.” Sara’s throat constricted, an ache deep inside squeezed her heart into pulp. “Burying one family member would be hard on an adult. There will be three caskets on that dais. You don’t think the trauma of the funeral would be emotionally harmful?”

  “I hope not.” Shannon’s voice sounded softer. “But as I said, I’m not an expert. When the time is good, I’d like to meet these amazing youngsters.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Shannon. By the way, you don’t know where I could pick up a suit for a six-year-old boy, do you?”

  Shannon gave her the names of two department stores that had dress clothes for children. Sara hung up and hurried out to her car.

  ****

  When Sara returned from the shopping trip, she passed the kitchen. Danny’s small form came into view. He stood on a chair at the island. She set the packages down in the hallway and walked up behind him. “Whatcha doing, Champ?”