He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Making me and Poppy a sandwich. We like biscuits with chocolate syrup, but I couldn’t find the biscuits.”
A loaf of bread lay on the counter with four pieces of bread set in a straight line. Danny had done his best, despite one arm in a sling. He busied himself, pouring dark, sticky liquid on the bread. More hit the counter than the bread. “I can see that. May I help you?”
He shook his head, swinging his blond bangs with the movement. “Naw, I’m ‘bout finished.”
She winked at him. “I’m not sure that’s a nutritious snack, and it sure looks messy.”
He glanced up at her, wide-eyed. He wiped his sticky hands on his pants leg. “Yeah, it’s messy all right.”
“How about I get you some peanut butter and crackers, and an apple? Tomorrow, I’ll make sure you get biscuits and chocolate syrup for breakfast. Deal?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s our favorite.”
She took his hand. “Right now, I need to get you cleaned up.”
Beatrice entered the kitchen with Matt Foley in tow. She looked at the mess on the counter and rolled her eyes. But bless her, she didn’t say a word. Sara gave her an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Beatrice. I’ll clean this up after I get Danny scrubbed down.”
Beatrice smiled. “Is okay. I have grandkids.”
“I hate to ask,” Sara said, “But would you cut up an apple then make a few crackers with peanut butter? They didn’t eat much lunch earlier.” She grinned at Matt. “Hi, I’m enjoying the fruits of motherhood. Do you need to see me?”
He didn’t answer but followed her as she led Danny upstairs. She made a mental note. Make sure mid-morning and afternoon snacks were available when the kids got hungry.
****
Matt stood in the bathroom doorway as Sara lifted Danny onto the closed toilet seat. She pulled a washcloth from the cabinet, wet it with warm water, and washed chocolate syrup off the boy’s hands.
With all her other problems, Sara didn’t need a lawyer with a grudge to add to her woes. Matt had debated with himself all the way here whether to warn her of Golden’s visits with the DA, but she needed to know.
She stood the little boy back on the tile floor. “Go get a clean pair of pants and shirt, then find Poppy. Beatrice will have your snacks ready.”
They walked downstairs behind Danny and turned right into the library. She sank into a chair in front of the hearth as though relaxing took effort. “From the look on your face, you don’t have good news for me.”
He stood at the mantel, appreciating the glow the fire cast against her skin. “Sorry to say, you’re right.”
Her brow furrowed into a tired frown. “Now what? Did you come to arrest me?”
“Not as bad as that. I stopped by to give you a heads up. Harold Golden went to see the DA. Tried to pressure Gabe into filing charges against you. Why is he so sure you killed Josh?”
She shrugged. “For the same reasons you were—maybe still are. I’m sure he knew Josh was unfaithful, and in a male, chauvinistic way, he approved. When Josh died, he assumed I killed him out of jealousy.” Sara dropped her head in her hands. “Can my life possibly get any more complicated?”
“On a positive note, the DA blew Golden off.” Matt waited in silence for a moment. “I have to get back to headquarters. Call if you need me.”
She lifted her head and nodded. “I appreciate your letting me know, Matt.”
“No problem. I’ll let myself out.”
Back in his car, Matt shook his head. He owed Sara the benefit of the doubt. And he’d learned one thing today. Circumstantial evidence could lead to the wrong conclusion.
CHAPTER 22
Sara Bradford’s Home
Sara, Maddie and the children were ready Wednesday morning when the limousine driver pulled under the portico and rang the bell. The small group headed to the car.
While the driver helped Maddie and the kids into the backseat, the front doorbell rang. Sara changed direction to answer the summons.
Matt Foley stood in the entrance in a tailored black suit and crisp white shirt. “Thought you could use some backup.”
Funeral Chapel
Matt rode in the limo with the small family to the funeral home. Sara had arranged to have the services held there since the cemetery was on the grounds. A sizeable crowd of friends and neighbors jostled each other in the foyer.
Inside, flowers banked the dais and flowed around the three caskets, filling the air with a sweet scent of roses mixed with the fresh fragrance of lilies. Matt held tight to Danny’s hand. There weren’t enough flowers in the world to brighten this occasion.
In deference to the children, Seth Davidson kept the service short. When it ended, the crowd moved to the front to pay their respects, finally leaving the family alone in the sanctuary. When the last mourner had gone, Sara gave Matt a this-is-going-to-be-tough look as she lifted Poppy into her arms. He picked up Danny, holding the boy’s thin frame close. Danny looked down at the faces of his mother and grandparents, tears welling in his eyes. He took a deep gulp of air and smothered a sob against Matt’s shoulder.
A lump the size of a boulder formed in Matt’s throat, and the back of his eyelids burned. So much courage housed in Danny’s small body. Matt tried never to question God, but it seemed unfair to give such a burden to small children.
When the family had time to gather their composure, they stepped out into the sunlight and walked the short distance to the gravesites.
After the interment, Matt spotted Joe Wilson in a small crowd waiting to offer his condolences. Joe stopped under the canopy to shake hands. Matt introduced him to Sara and Maddie.
Joe gave a solemn nod. “I covered the accident. Just dropped by to pay my respect.” He moved on with the line of people and disappeared into the crowd.
The limousine drove them to the church fellowship hall for the wake. The small party found a table, and Sara filled plates for herself and the children. Matt followed Maddie and filled a plate for himself.
When Danny and Poppy joined some other children outside, Matt asked, “Did you notify Grady Morgan?”
She placed the fork beside her plate with a solemn nod. “Blaze notified the prison officials.”
“Grady didn’t want to come? I know he’s a scumbag, but his kids could have used his support.” Matt shrugged. “Maybe not. It’s probably better this way.”
Sara watched the kids through the double glass doors. Danny stood on the sidelines, watching Poppy play chase, his face solemn. “Blaze said the prison officials at Huntsville would have let Grady come, but he refused. Apparently, he’s still angry with Diane for divorcing him. And there was no love lost between him and his in-laws.”
“When he gets out, he won’t let those kids go if he believes he can squeeze a dime out of the situation,” Matt said. “Tell Blaze to insure there are no loopholes in the adoption papers.”
The color drained from Sara’s face. “I pray you’re wrong. Those kids couldn’t handle a long court battle. They’ve been through too much already. How much longer will he be in prison?”
“He’s served five years of a ten year sentence. Unless, of course, he gets paroled.”
Matt Foley’s Home
Matt shed the suit as soon as he arrived home. Dressed in jeans with a long sleeved polo, he inserted a “George Strait’s Greatest Hits” album into the CD player connected to the intercom’s stereo system. He tossed Rowdy a couple of treats then took a fresh cup of coffee out to the deck, and left the French doors open. The romantic strains of “You Look So Good in Love” drifted through the portal.
A light breeze whispered through the live oak trees, sending a shower of rust colored leaves swirling to the ground. Before too long it would be too cold to sit out here without a coat. He’d have to add to the stack of wood for the outdoor fireplace.
He’d brought home a file on the Global explosion Lucy gave him, that included a copy of the Fort Hood bomb techs report. The resid
ue left behind had been military grade plastic explosives, meaning someone had stolen it from a base supply depot or in transit. Lucy and Cole were working with the Fort Hood bomb squad to track down any missing inventory.
The doorbell interrupted his reflections. He placed his mug in the chair’s cup holder to answer the summons. Joe Wilson stood outside. “Come in, Joe. What brings you by?”
Joe grinned and stepped into the doorway. Out of uniform, he wore a red plaid shirt and jeans. “I got tired of waiting for you to buy me that steak. Thought I’d remind you.”
Matt led the way into the kitchen. “I’ve been up to my backside in alligators, my friend. But you’re in luck. I bought a pack of T-Bones on the way home. You want some coffee?”
“Had my quota for the day. You have anything stronger?” Joe parked on a barstool at the island.
Matt reached into the cabinet and pulled down a large mug. “Hot apple cider or hot cocoa. Choose your poison.”
“The cider sounds good,” Joe said. “Your CSU team cleaned out the Cook house. Find anything helpful?”
“I haven’t had a chance to ask. Like I said, I’ve been busy.”
The barstool squeaked under Joe’s weight. “What’s happening with that case? The victim was Governor Ferrell’s niece, right?”
“True. The case seems to be connected to a bombing at Global Optics. How, I haven’t figured out yet.”
While the cider heated, Matt removed the steaks from the fridge. He added a marinade, put two large sweet potatoes into the oven, and pulled out a bunch of fresh asparagus. “I’ll let the steaks set while the potatoes cook.”
They carried their drinks out to the deck with “Amarillo by Morning” playing in the background. Joe took the chair next to Matt and watched Rowdy cavort with the fawn. “You’ve got a sweet set up here, Matt. I could get use to this. You ever want to sell, give me a shout.” He blew across the cup before he took a tentative sip. “What makes you think the two cases are connected?”
“Couple of things. Sara Bradford witnessed Penny’s abduction. There have been two attempts on Sara’s life this past week after we found the child’s body. The explosion at Global was the first.”
Rowdy charged across the lawn and jumped into Joe’s lap. He scratched behind the dog’s ear. “That’s the pretty lady I met at the memorial park today?”
“That’s the one,” Matt said.
“Is she married?”
“Spoken like a true bachelor.” Matt grinned. “Widowed. Remember the hit-and-run on highway ten, four years ago? That was her husband.”
“I remember. You don’t soon forget a scene like that.” Joe stared out at the darkening sky as a pink and orange sun set behind the forest. “When I gave the nephew the list of search warrant items taken from the Cook home, he mentioned you had confiscated his car.”
“I did. It’s the car that ran down Josh Bradford.”
Joe seemed to think about it for a moment. He whistled. “Curiouser and couriouser.”
“Tell me about it,” Matt said. “Throw a log on the fire while I get those steaks going. I’m hungry. Then you can pick holes in my theory.”
CHAPTER 23
Twin Falls Police Station
It was seven-thirty Thursday morning when Matt Foley turned onto Highway 75. With sunshine, and the temperature in the mid-fifties, it was a pleasant drive to the station. Tall evergreens stood like sentinels along the roadway, and added a wintergreen scent to the breeze.
Traffic around the square flowed smoothly, uncluttered for once. Halloween banners in black and orange shouted their wares in shops. Not his favorite holiday. A national excuse for mischief from the crazies.
He made a stop at his office to check messages before he headed upstairs to meet Davis and Hunter in the conference room. Nothing in the emails that couldn’t wait.
As he passed Davis’ desk he picked up the Pryor murder book. He thumbed through the pages then put it back in place.
Three cases. Sara’s name involved in each of them. Penny Pryor’s death, Josh Bradford’s murder, and the explosion in the Global Distribution Center. She could be criminally culpable in one of the cases, but not all three. A child could not have been responsible for the Pryor girl’s disappearance, and Sara wouldn’t expose herself to a bomb she had planted.
Instinct told him the three cases were connected. He’d learned to trust his intuition. A God-thing that had never failed him.
Removing Sara as a suspect gave him a different perspective. What if she was the catalyst? The victim—the link that tied it all together? She had seen the killer, even if she couldn’t identify him. Did the killer know that? Was he trying to kill Sara before she remembered who he was?
Josh Bradford’s death didn’t fit the scenario. No obvious reason for his murder. The evidence pointed to an accident caused by a drunk driver who’d fled the scene, but Matt wasn’t ready to close that chapter yet.
The two detectives walked in, snapping him back into the moment.
Hunter poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. Davis settled comfortably in one of the chairs. “We hit a blind alley on the sleeping bag Mrs. Bradford found. No one has seen it since she placed it in the basement. We’ve run background checks on everyone involved with the old retreat at the time Penny Pryor disappeared. We located the church treasurer. She remembered Robert Cook. Gave us the name of his drinking buddy in those days. We’re interviewing him this afternoon.”
Davis leaned back, a pleased look on his face. “This is the same Robert Cook who died in the last few days after years of alcoholism.”
“Looks like you guys have everything covered. Just FYI, Cook owned the car involved in the hit-and-run that killed Joshua Bradford. And before Bradford was run down he interviewed the old man.”
“The woman who found the sleeping bag, any relation to that Josh Bradford?” Davis asked.
“She’s his widow.”
“Is it possible one perp is responsible for both deaths?” Hunter asked.
Matt stood to leave and then turned back. “Too early to say for certain. But it’s always been my opinion there are no coincidences in police work.”
Forest Hills Mobile Home Park
Hunter glanced over at Davis. “Exactly what do you expect to find out from Casey Bosworth?”
“According to the church secretary, back in the day, this guy was Robert Cook’s best buddy.” He switched off the engine and opened the car door. “I hope he can fill in the gaps in what we don’t know about Cook...better known as a fishing expedition.”
The mobile home park was a rarity compared to others in Twin Falls. Lots were well tended with live oak trees shading the property. Individual homes had skirts around the foundation, and steps with handrails that led to the entrance, and an attached carport.
The Bosworth’s doublewide was no exception.
Davis led the way to the front door and knocked. A woman he assumed to be Bosworth’s wife answered. She pointed them to a back sundeck where a stout balding man, in Bermuda shorts and a loud Hawaiian shirt, grilled hamburgers.
The older man flipped a burger with practiced ease. “What can I do for you fellows?” He nodded towards the grill. “You’re just in time for lunch or a glass of iced tea.”
Davis fought the temptation to say yes. Instead, he flashed his badge and introduced himself and Hunter. “Thanks for the invitation, but no. We have a few questions about a former friend of yours, Robert Cook.”
The man waved them to a couple of seats at a table shaded by a green and white striped umbrella. “Sure, ask away. Haven’t seen him in years, though, so there’s not much I can tell you. Saw his obit in the newspaper. Can’t say it surprised me.”
Davis admired the man’s handiwork with the spatula. “You knew Cook when he worked as groundskeeper at the Baptist retreat?”
Bosworth removed the burgers from the grill. He placed the platter on the table and sat across from them. “We used to hang out together, before I
quit the sauce. Bob always drank like he had a hollow leg. After I quit the bar scene, we drifted away from each other.” He nodded toward the house. “I had to quit or lose my wife. I’d already been divorced twice. Didn’t want to go through that again.”
He held up a glass of ice tea. “This is what I drink these days. I heard his nephew Lance brought the booze to Bob after he lost his driver’s license. I think Lance hoped Bob would drink himself to death. Lance was Bob’s only kin. His place didn’t look like much last time I was there, but property values have increased, big time. Folks looking to move to the country.”
Hunter removed his notebook from his pocket. “How is it that a maintenance man could afford to quit work and buy his own place?”
“All I can tell you is that one day Bob showed up at the bar in a new pickup and said he’d quit his job. He bought drinks for everyone that night. I asked him if he’d won the lottery. He just smiled. Never would say where his sudden wealth came from.”
Davis shook Bosworth’s hand. “Thanks for your time. We won’t keep you from your lunch any longer.”
“No problem. I hope what little bit I knew will help,” Bosworth said.
Back in the car, Hunter waited until he’d closed the car door before he spoke. “Sounds like blackmail.”
“Yep. This means we move him from suspect to eyewitness. Cook knew the killer. Bosworth substantiated what Cook’s bank statements revealed.”
Matt Foley’s Home
Matt showered, dressed, and switched on the local news as he loaded the Keurig for his first caffeine fix of the day. The newscaster’s announcement made him pause. The legend at the bottom of the screen read, breaking news.
“An unnamed source inside the Twin Falls Police Department has named long time Twin Falls resident, Robert Cook, as the prime suspect in the murder of Governor Ferrell’s niece. The source claims that Cook is responsible for the twenty-five year old kidnapping and murder of Penny Pryor whose body was discovered last week on the Bay Harbor development site.”
Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense Page 43