Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  A glance at her watch told her it was Sunday evening. Grabbing the candle, she made her way to the bathroom on shaky legs. She washed her face in the cold water and dried it off with toilet paper. Her reflection in the mirror was a pitiful sight. Dark hair, matted with blood, her face pale as the ghost of Christmas’ past.

  An urgent need to work on the door surged through her, but the strength needed to climb the stairs just wasn’t there. She must find a way out before her captor returned. If not, perhaps she could convince him Matt Foley knew who he was and had the entire Twin Falls Police force on his trail. Trouble was, she’d never been a convincing liar.

  Her head pounded and the dizziness returned, along with a rolling stomach, signaling she had a concussion. Weakness forced her to lie down again and pull the covers close. If she could get warm and rest, she would feel better.

  She closed her eyes. Unbidden, she fell asleep.

  Sometime later, she awoke to a blast of thunder that accompanied the drip of water. A sound outside, above the tempest, erased her concerns about the water. Over the storm, the distinctive crunch of gravel drifted into the cellar. Footsteps moved closer.

  Her nemesis had returned.

  CHAPTER 27

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Matt’s stomach growled. Too busy to stop for Sunday lunch, he wished he’d taken Davis up on the offer to bring him a sandwich at noon. He grabbed the phone and dialed Joe Wilson’s number, tapping his pen on the desk while he waited for his friend to answer.

  When Joe picked up, Matt didn’t bother with formalities. “How about joining me for an early dinner?”

  Slight pause. “Sure. Where?”

  Matt clutched the telephone under his chin while he adjusted his shoulder holster, and pulled on his jacket. “Meet me at the Steak Out in twenty minutes.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Steak Out Restaurant

  Matt arrived at the restaurant before Joe. The Steak Out was one of the oldest restaurants in Twin Falls, supposedly opened by an ex-cop. It was the place to come when he wanted a great steak. They didn’t serve anything else. Just prime beef, potatoes, a salad bar, and two kinds of pie, apple and cherry. Simple and reasonable. There were only a few customers scattered around the room, the evening crowd hadn’t arrived yet. He commandeered a quiet table in the smoking section in back. His friend liked a cigar after dinner.

  Joseph Dawson Wilson had been one grade ahead of Matt in school. An old soul, born mature and wise. He’d taken Matt under his wing after Matt’s family was murdered, tried to protect him from his abusive uncle. More times than he could count, Matt had gone home with Joe after school, sleeping over many nights.

  As a skinny kid, with a big nose and ears before he’d grown into them, Matt’s classmates would have made his life unbearable, had it not been for Joe.

  When Matt joined the Army, he’d gone to the Federal Building in downtown Dallas to be sworn in. Alone, in a crowd of recruits surrounded by family there to see their sons and daughters off, he felt a little sorry for himself. Trying to read the book he’d brought to read, he glanced up to see Joe smiling down at him. “Mind a little company, kid?” Joe stayed by his side until Matt got on the bus.

  His friend stepped into the breach again after Mary’s death, moving into Matt’s home to keep him from being alone. Made sure Matt ate, showered, shaved, and when he was able, sent him off to work. Joe had put his life on hold for six months, until he knew Matt could handle the grief. He owed Joe Wilson more than he could ever repay.

  Matt waved at Joe when he entered the restaurant. His long strides brought him quickly to the table. He slid into a chair and glanced across the table at Matt. “You’re buying, of course.”

  Matt grinned. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to release the tight grip you have on the first dollar you’ve ever earned. However, it’s going to cost you in another way.”

  “I knew there had to be a catch when you called.” Joe placed the single-sheet menu the waitress handed him on the table. “So what do you need?”

  “We’ll discuss it after we eat.”

  They placed their orders and Joe leaned back in the chair. “How are you doing? I know this is a bad time of the year for you.”

  Matt shrugged. “This year’s better than last.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much.”

  Matt fingered the coaster under his tea glass. “Better. I sleep most nights. The job keeps me busy. I’m getting there.”

  Joe nodded, satisfied. He glanced over Matt’s shoulder and muttered. “Uh oh.”

  Matt leaned forward. “What?”

  Before Joe could answer, Terrance Hall stood beside their table. He planted his feet wide, his arms crossed. “Robert Cook.”

  “What about him?” Matt asked.

  The councilman wore a satisfied smirk. “You missed it, Foley. He killed the Pryor girl and Josh Bradford. And you never had a clue.”

  “I wouldn’t spread that rumor too broadly, Terry. At the moment, all we have is circumstantial evidence. If your theory proves wrong, you’ll lose face with your media cronies.”

  “Finding the hit-and-run vehicle on Cook’s property isn’t proof? The fact Cook was custodian at the place where he buried the girl isn’t conclusive? What do you want, bloody footprints leading to his front door?”

  Restaurant patrons had begun to notice the confrontation. Conversations stopped.

  “All circumstantial, Terry,” Matt said calmly. “You keep riding that dead horse and you could wind up with egg on your face.”

  Hall’s hazel eyes narrowed, and some of his bravado slipped away. The doubtful expression lasted only a moment. “Don’t try to bluff an old card shark, Foley. Who else could it be?”

  “What about I’m-not-going-to-discuss-police-business-with-you, don’t you understand?”

  “Maybe you’ll have to explain your actions to the governor.” Having issued his exit line, Hall marched to his table and for the first time, Matt noticed Hall’s dinner companions. Pepper Parker and Harold Golden. Nothing positive could possibly come from a gathering of the Matt Foley Fan Club.

  Joe stared at the trio and shook his head. “Do you think Hall was born a jerk, or is it a learned behavior?”

  The councilman was like an annoying fly that kept coming back no matter how many times he’d been swatted. “Both.”

  “Is he right?”

  “I don’t think so,” Matt said. “At the time, we didn’t consider Cook a suspect in Bradford’s murder. No reason to. The murder vehicle wasn’t registered to him, and we had no motive or grounds for a search warrant. Now we know he was connected to the murder vehicle and to the retreat, he’s certainly high on our list of suspects. But other evidence points to Cook as a witness, rather than Penny’s killer.”

  The waiter brought their food and they lapsed into small talk. Joe made short order of the steak and pushed his plate back. “Okay, so what’s up?”

  “I’d like you to go with me to the Cook place tonight to look around.”

  “I assume you have a good reason.” Joe pulled a cigar from his pocket. He offered one to Matt who declined. “You know your people came back with a warrant and took everything that wasn’t nailed down.”

  “I’m on a scouting expedition,” Matt said. “Probably nothing there, but I want to look around. Do you guys have it taped off?”

  Joe lit the expensive cigar then took a couple of puffs to make sure it was burning. “Yep. Only because I haven’t gotten around to removing it and notifying the nephew he can take possession. You lookin’ for anything in particular?”

  Matt didn’t have a clue what he hoped to find. “I’m just following a cop-hunch. It could be the mother of all wild goose chases. Do you have flashlights with you? It will be dark by the time we get there.”

  Joe laughed. “I don’t know about you city cops, but the sheriff’s office is always prepared for emergencies.”

  Matt chuckled, reached into his money clip, and
placed three bills on the tray.

  Outside, the heavens displayed a fantastic light show. Joe shot Matt a questioning look. “You sure you want to do this tonight?”

  “Don’t worry, Wilson. You won’t melt.”

  “That’s not what the girls tell me.” Joe slapped Matt’s back and walked towards the county SUV. “Let’s take mine. I’ll bring you back to pick up your car when we’re finished.”

  Robert Cook’s Place

  They drove west as the last glimmer of light faded on the horizon. Joe talked fishing on the trip out, the major passion of his life. He spent most of his off-duty time on the lake or on one of the off-track rivers nearby. His hobby yielded a ton of fish. An invitation to Joe’s annual Labor Day fish fry ranked right up there with Super Bowl tickets.

  A full-fledged thunderstorm raged as Joe swung the county vehicle into the circular, gravel driveway. Somewhere in the distance, a tinny sound sneaked through the roar of the storm.

  Nature flaunted her power through the heavy downpour, with lightning flashes, and rolls of thunder that reverberated the ground under their feet. The rain slowed a little, and they made a mad dash for the house, stopping to step over the yellow tape.

  Joe sent him a disgruntled glance as they reached the covered porch. “Only for you, pal, would I come out on a night like this.”

  “I know. I owe you, big time.”

  “Don’t you forget it. Because I won’t.”

  Once inside the house, Joe flipped the light switch. Brightness filled the room. “Well, well, well. The utilities are still on. Wonder if the nephew plans on moving in when we release the property.”

  Matt extinguished the flashlight and let his gaze sweep the room. The place was almost empty. Joe took one side of the room, Matt took the other.

  “Okay,” Joe said. “What am I looking for?”

  “A written confession to Penny Pryor’s murder would be nice.”

  Joe scowled at him. “Besides that.”

  “You’ll know it when you see it. Or not.”

  Opening drawers in a nearby desk, Matt found them empty. McCulloch had packed up everything but the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.

  For now, Matt wanted to see if anything obvious stood out, maybe take a look in the shed where the Mustang had been stored.

  After a quick look over the premises, he had to write off the search as a wasted effort. At least he’d tried. He wasn’t good at waiting in his office for something to break. Not when Sara’s whereabouts were uncertain.

  Joe sifted through a few old newspapers on the coffee table. “Doesn’t look like there’s much to see.”

  “I had just come to that conclusion,” Matt said.

  Joe switched off the interior lights and opened the back door, letting the beam of his flashlight sweep over the yard.

  Matt stood behind Joe as the light illuminated an old car and the vent of what appeared to be a storm cellar.

  Joe shut the door.

  “Wait a minute, Joe. Is that a radio? Where’s it coming from?”

  Joe swung the door open again. “Sounds like it’s coming from the storm cellar, but that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Let’s check it out.” Matt stepped around the rain puddles, moving towards the cellar, Joe behind him. The sounds became louder with each step.

  Someone had jammed a crowbar through the metal rings on the door and lintel.

  Reflex action made Matt remove his gun. He glanced behind him to see that Joe had done the same.

  Matt slid the crowbar out with one hand and yanked the door back with the other. Rusting hinges screamed in protest. Matt took cover beside the door and raised his weapon. He peeked around the doorframe. Inside, a candle glowed in the darkness.

  “Police, we’re coming in,” Matt yelled.

  He descended the steps, aware he made a perfect target for anyone inside. Noise from the radio filled the small space as he reached ground level.

  He stepped onto the floor, and the beam of Joe’s flashlight swept across the cellar, then stopped.

  Illuminated in the brightness, Sara Bradford stood, with a hammer raised in defiance.

  CHAPTER 28

  Robert Cook’s Home

  The man made a slow pass by the Cook place not liking what he saw. He drove a mile down the road, made a u-turn and came back for another slow pass. The windshield wipers struggle to clear his view of the sheriff’s car in the circular drive. He pulled over and doused the headlights. Through the rain, he watched as Joe Wilson and Matt Foley stood in front of the storm cellar door. He should have come earlier.

  No doubt they’d found Sara alive. The blow he’d struck hadn’t been hard enough to be fatal. The woman had more lives than a cat.

  How had they found her so soon?

  He pounded the steering wheel. Getting rid of Sara had just become immeasurably more difficult. If she were smart, she’d hire a fulltime bodyguard. He certainly would in her situation.

  Getting rid of her would be more difficult, but not impossible. He knew where she lived, and he had copies of her house keys. He’d have to wait for the right opening—when she let down her defenses.

  He smiled as he pulled away from the Cook place. After he rounded the curve heading back to Twin Falls, he switched the car’s lights back on.

  ****

  Relief swept over Matt as he holstered his gun. He took a tentative step towards Sara. “Are you all right?”

  She dropped the hammer and collapsed on the sofa, lowering her head into her hands.

  Concern for her wellbeing twisted his gut. Dried blood matted her hair. Tears and dust stained her cheeks, her clothes were wrinkled and covered with dirt.

  She looked into his eyes, and her voice caught in her throat. “How did you find me? Who brought me here, and where am I?”

  Matt knelt beside her. Tortured visions of what might have happened if they hadn’t found her made him tremble. It had been a long time since he’d felt such helpless anger—fury at the unknown assailant responsible for Sara’s condition. “You’re in a storm cellar on Robert Cook’s property, the man who owned the car that killed Josh. We were about to leave when we heard the radio and followed the sound.” He smoothed the hair away from her face. “You’re giving that guardian angel of yours a workout.”

  She rose to her feet. “I know.”

  Joe Wilson interrupted. “It would be best to leave the questions for later, Mrs. Bradford. You need to have a doctor look at your wounds. Can you walk? Perhaps we should call an ambulance.”

  “I can walk. Just take me out of here.” Her speech was fast and disjointed, her breath coming in quick gasps. “I don’t want to spend another minute in this horrid place. Please.”

  Joe caught Matt’s eye. “You shouldn’t move someone with a head injury.”

  “It’ll be okay. She’s already been moving around. Let’s do as she asks.”

  When she stepped forward, Matt lifted her into his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder. A tremor ran through her body, whether from cold or the long ordeal she’d suffered, he didn’t know. He needed to get her somewhere, warm and safe.

  The rain had slowed but still soaked their clothes as they trekked back to Joe’s SUV. Matt placed Sara in the backseat while Joe opened the hatch, returning with blankets and a pillow.

  Sara’s teeth chattered as Matt wrapped her in the thick covering and placed the pillow under her head. Joe handed him a barf bag. “Just in case.”

  “You are prepared, aren’t you?” Matt passed the bag on to Sara.

  “Just like the Marines. Now let’s get this girl out of here.” Joe opened the driver’s side door and got in. As they spun out of the driveway, he switched on the strobe lights and siren.

  After opening the vents in the back, Matt turned the heater on high. He grabbed Joe’s radio and called Twin Falls Memorial. “This is Police Chief, Matt Foley. I’m on my way in with a woman who has a head wound. ETA twenty minutes.”

  He glanced back at
Sara. “You okay?”

  She pulled the cover up tight under her chin and closed her eyes. In a barely audible voice, she said, “Matt, I don’t want you to think I’m some wimpy, weepy female. I’m not like that at all. It’s...” She paused and took a deep breath. “This has been a really rough week.”

  Just happy to have found Sara alive, Matt glanced over at Joe and couldn’t suppress a grin. “Your secret is safe with us.”

  Don Tompkins’ Home

  Late that afternoon, Don Tompkins shut off the television and paced. He couldn’t keep his interest on the game. Giving in to the impulse that plagued him all day, he picked up the phone to call Maddie Jamison.

  They’d spent a pleasant evening together at the country club dinner. Don found her easy to talk to. They’d shared some common interests, playing bridge, hiking, and reading.

  That wasn’t the only reason Don wanted to make the call. True, he enjoyed Maddie’s company, but he also needed to stay close to the Bradford home.

  He had qualms about beginning a relationship with Maddie. She impressed him as a very shrewd lady. She would know if his intentions were not sincere. Quite possibly, she would see through his pretext.

  After the death of his wife, Don seldom dated. No one would ever accuse him of being a player. Not only were his skills rusty, they were nonexistent. An occasional dinner with a female friend was the extent of his social life.

  The hole in his heart left by Debra’s passing still ached. He missed the companionship, the oneness. Still, a relationship with Maddie Jamison would involve a commitment he might be unable to make. Muttering to himself, he cast doubts aside and dialed the number, rehearsing what he would say.

  A woman with a slight Mexican accent answered. He gave his name and waited. A minute passed before Maddie came on the line.

  “How are you, Don?” Her voice sounded strained.

  “I’ve picked a bad time to call, I know, but I wanted to see how you’re doing. I saw the news bulletin about Sara. If you’d rather not talk, I can call back later.”