Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  Another finger fell. “Last, but certainly not least, I have a break in the main sewer line in my front yard. It couldn’t happen on the city’s easement. No, it had to happen on my property, broken by tree roots. And it’s my responsibility, or so they say. If I don’t get it repaired in a week, they will fine me for every day until it’s fixed. And guess what? My bank account has a whopping sixty-five dollar balance.” She snorted a rueful laugh. “Merry Christmas to me.”

  She gazed at him with insolence. “Satisfied?”

  Matt sat in silence for a moment. Sexual harassment suits were common in law enforcement and she could be setting him up. On the other hand, everything she’d told him could be the truth. There was a good chance her partner knew the real story. Partners had few secrets from each other. “Is Cole still here? Does he know about your problems?”

  She looked down at her hands and stuffed out the cigarette. “Yeah, we talk. He was finishing up some paperwork when I left.”

  “Call him. Ask him to come out here.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  A few minutes after she made the call, Cole sauntered out the backdoor and over to the vehicle. “What’s up, Luc.”

  “Don’t ask me, ask him.” She jerked an angry nod at Matt. “He called this meeting.”

  Matt opened the door and stood in the gap. “Cole, ride with her and follow me to the bank on the corner.”

  Lucy’s head jerked up sharply. “I didn’t tell you my troubles because I wanted your charity. You wouldn’t leave me alone until you knew the story of my life.”

  “Cole, make sure she follows me.”

  “No problem, Chief.”

  At the bank, Matt strode to the ATM then went back to the Escort, and pecked on the driver side window once more. When it lowered, he handed her the cash he’d withdrawn. “Tomorrow, go to Doc’s Royal Treads, here in town. He gives law enforcement officers a discount. Take your kids to see their grandparents for Christmas. After the holidays, come see me.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t accept money from you...”

  “Call it a loan, if your pride will let you accept it. You can pay me back five dollars a week until the debt’s paid.”

  “That will take me more than ten years. What if I quit?”

  “Then I’ll write it off as a bad debt and send someone to break both your legs.”

  Cole snorted a laugh.

  A half smile almost made it past her guard. “Fair enough. But I don’t like being beholden to you.”

  “That’s entirely up to you. There are no strings on my part.”

  She didn’t say thanks and he didn’t expect her to. It wasn’t her nature. She had a master’s degree from the School of Hard Knocks.

  On the drive home, he punched Joe Wilson’s number. “Hey, Joe. What are you doing this weekend?”

  “I know I’m going to regret saying this, but nothing so far. What do you have in mind?”

  “Want to play Santa Claus? Before you answer, it doesn’t include taking toys to tots.”

  “Uh...maybe I should ask what I’m signing up for.”

  “A little handyman work, painting, a little home repairs, etcetera.”

  “Who for?”

  “Do you know Lucy Turner, one of my detectives?”

  “Yeah, I’ve met her. What happened?”

  “It’s a long story. Meet me at her house at seven o’clock Saturday morning. I don’t have the address with me, but you’re a cop you can find it. I’ll fill you in when you get there. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can’t draft some more hands.”

  “Will do,” Joe said. “Hey, you called that girl?”

  “What girl?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Foley. You know who I mean.”

  “Haven’t called yet, but I’m just about to.”

  “You’d better not procrastinate too long. Some lucky guy’s gonna snatch the lovely Sara up. Then you’ll be out of luck.”

  “Point taken. How about you, have you called your girl?”

  “Better than that. I’m taking Lisa and Paul to Vale for New Years.”

  Matt Foley’s Home

  Rowdy danced around Matt’s feet, happy to have some company as Matt entered the foyer. He went into the kitchen to see about dinner.

  Stella had left him two Ruben sandwiches with home fries in the microwave. He took the food into the den by the hearth and made a fire.

  The burning logs filled the house with a woody fragrance that pleased his senses as he polished off the meal. Outside, the wind whistled around the corners of the house, but inside, the fire crackled with warmth as twigs burst into flames, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

  He sipped a mug of hot cider, and memories returned of the many evenings shared with Mary, here by the fire. He and Stella had decorated the tree last evening and he’d felt Mary’s presence as they placed her favorite ornaments on the limbs.

  The crippling malaise left by Mary’s loss had lessened. Thoughts of her now brought pleasure and reminded him how fortunate he’d been to share his life with her, if only for a few years.

  He punched autodial on his phone and listened as the ring sounded.

  Sara picked up with a soft, “Hello.”

  He recognized the music in the background as Kenny Rogers and Wynona Judd’s rendition of “Mary Did You Know?”

  “Can you cook?” he asked. Her caller ID would identify him.

  She laughed. “Well, that’s one way to start a conversation. I make a mean PB&J sandwich.”

  “Uh...that won’t do. We’re feeding hungry men, not kids. You can make a meal run to a local eatery, can’t you?”

  “That I can handle. When and where?”

  He told her Lucy Turner’s story.

  “I’m in. And I know a couple of ladies who will volunteer to clean up as you guys finish the projects.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up Saturday morning at six forty-five.”

  Lucy Turner’s Home

  Thanks to a friend of Matt’s in the construction business, the major repairs, sewer and heating, had been finished earlier in the week. Off duty cops, firefighters, and church members wielded hammers and paintbrushes. By six Saturday evening, the place was coming together nicely. An hour later Lucy’s home sparkled like a new penny.

  Sara busied herself with a gigantic red bow while he thanked the hastily assembled Santa’s helpers as they left the house, one by one.

  Matt set the thermostat on sixty and switched off all the lights, except the pot lights over the kitchen bar. He walked up beside Sara and leaned against the bar. “You about ready to go?”

  “Hummm. Just one final nit to fix here,” she said. She affixed a card to the bow and smiled. “Now I’m ready.”

  She wore jeans and a long-sleeved fitted T-shirt. Her head bent over, silky strands of dark hair hid her face. Her sandalwood scent drew him to her like a magnet. He took hold of both her shoulders and turned her towards him, then lifted her chin with his forefinger. He leaned down and placed a slow, soft kiss on her lips. When it ended, he drew her close. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “I wasn’t sure how it would be received, wasn’t sure I was ready.”

  She looked into his eyes. “Are you sure now?”

  He nodded. “I am. How about you?”

  “I’ve been sure for a while,” she said.

  “There’s something you need to know,” he said, holding her tightly. “I don’t play the field.”

  “I suspected that. Neither do I.”

  “How about the Greek god?”

  Laughing, she said, “Jeff? He isn’t important. Never was, really.”

  “Dinner tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  He put his arm around her, led her outside, and locked the door behind them.

  She hung the bow on the front door and adjusted the card. It read:

&n
bsp; Dear Lucy:

  I hope you like the improvements. My helpers worked really hard.

  Santa

  Twin Falls Baptist Church

  As the choir sang, Seth Davidson sat in a chair behind the pulpit and looked out over the sanctuary. His heart swelled as his parishioner’s filled the seats, and the ushers busied themselves bringing in extra chairs at the back.

  The last time the church exceeding its seating capacity was the Sunday after Penny Pryor disappeared. Of course, the church had been smaller then. That Sunday, the people came out of fear. Today, they came from a mixture of sorrow and joy. Sorrow for the deaths in the community, joy that the killer had been found and the victims had received a form of justice. His flock felt safe again.

  The Pryor’s entered through the double doors and took a seat. The first time they’d been here since Penny vanished twenty-five years ago. Seth sent up a fervent prayer that they would find peace after the tragic loss of their daughter.

  Matt Foley sat in the front with Maddie, and Sara’s two children.

  Sara moved from her seat in the choir to stand at the pulpit for her solo. The pianist began the familiar strains of “How Great Thou Art.” What an appropriate choice, Seth thought, for this morning filled with blessings.

  Sara’s clear, lovely voice filled the sanctuary. The choir joined in on the chorus, and buoyant notes swelled around Seth, lifting up to heaven, and he felt God smile.

  THE END

  Thank you for taking the time to read this novel.

  If you enjoyed Works of Darkness, please leave a brief review at Amazon.com. Reviews are tremendously important to an author.

  Feel free to contact me at any of the following:

  Website: www.vbtenery.com

  Blog: www.agatharemembered.blogspot.com

  Twitter: www.twitter.com

  FB Author Page: www.facebook.com/vbtenery

  EMail Address: vbhtenery@aol.com

  THEN THERE WERE NONE

  Book 2

  In the Matt Foley/Sara Bradford series

  Mass murder doesn’t happen in Matt Foley’s town . . . it doesn’t happen to his friends. Someone is going to pay.

  Disturbing crime scenes are nothing new to the Twin Falls Police Chief. But this one is different. The victims are friends. In their Tudor mansion just inside the city limits, a family is dead—husband, wife, two kids, and the family cook.

  The killer made one mistake. He left a survivor.

  The husband is one of the big three in the microchip industry. The family lived a quiet modest life. It doesn’t make sense.

  Until . . .

  Purchase THEN THERE WERE NONE on Amazon

  Indebted

  A Novel

  Braxton DeGarmo

  Christen Haus Publishing

  COPYRIGHT

  “Indebted” – Copyright © 2013 by Braxton DeGarmo. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book onscreen or in print. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Braxton DeGarmo.

  E-Book and Paperback Editions Publication Date:

  January, 2013

  2nd Edition: July 2015 (new ISBN)

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-943509-13-3

  eBook ISBN (mobi): 978-1-943509-06-5

  eBook ISBN (mobi): 978-1-943509-07-2

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not construed to be real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Braxton DeGarmo and Brianna Lock of Word+Design, LLC

  For more information, go to www.braxtondegarmo.com

  DEDICATION

  For my children, Braxton Jr. and Stacey.

  You both continue to make me proud.

  Other books by

  Braxton DeGarmo:

  The Militant Genome (July 2012)

  The MedAir Series:

  1 - Looks that Deceive (May 2013)

  2 - Rescued and Remembered (Nov 2013)

  3 - The Silenced Shooter (July 2014)

  4 – Wrongfully Removed (June 2015)

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As always, I again want to acknowledge and thank my loving wife, Paula, for giving up time that we might have spent together and for her valuable proofreading skills, help and encouragement. She even added a new notation to the proofreader’s lexicon: yuk! Fortunately, I only got a few of those red marks. (As always, any typos or errors are mine alone.)

  Similarly, my son, Braxton, and our friend Kendra Duffield contributed with their comments and proofreading. Thank you both. In addition, many thanks to Susanne Lakin for her in-depth critique. Her valuable suggestions helped raise this book to the level needed for publication.

  I’d also like to thank Sam(Nadara) and Jeff Feldman of the Bridgeford House B&B in Eureka Springs, AR for their warm hospitality and fount of information on their delightful city. Crescent Dragonwagon, formerly of Eureka Springs and “founder” of the city’s B&B industry, was the inspiration for one character. Thank you, Crescent.

  And … a final note of appreciation to Sgt. Emory Albritton, who retired at the end of 2011 after 30-plus years in law enforcement. Now, you get to be the “bad guy.”

  One

  (Spring 1969)

  **********

  Alice Cummings awakened early, her maternal instincts calling. “Time to eat, Jimmy Bob.” As she sat up in bed, her head swooned as with a major league hangover. She rolled toward the cradle at the side of her bed. Her baby was gone.

  Eight hours earlier, she had laid two-week old James Robert II, named after her maternal grandfather, in the secondhand crib that nestled the side of her old brass bed. She had anticipated a middle-of-the-night feeding, but had either slept through his fussing or been blessed with his sleeping a full night. Now, alert in a flash, she found not only Jimmy Bob AWOL, but also his crib and meager collection of hand-me-down clothes, baby pictures, and assorted accessories.

  She jumped from bed, rushed out of the room and ran to the adjacent spare bedroom. Empty. With hesitation, she eased open the door to her pa’s bedroom and peeked in. He, too, was missing and a sense of relief mingled with her anxiety. She cleared the stairs to the first floor in three leaps, almost missing the step on her second jump, and charged into the kitchen. Nothing but the dark and the colicky hum of a refrigerator in its death throes. She flipped on an overhead light bulb that flickered with the threat of failing, and headed toward the front door. She nearly stumbled on her old man’s work boots and that’s when his sonorous breathing identified him as the dark lump on the ragged couch. That’s also when she realized he had made good his threat.

  “Wake up, you stinkin’, drunk son of a sow! Where is he?” Alice threw all of her one hundred and sixty pound frame behind the punches she launched into her pa as he slept on the couch.

  “Where is my son? Wake up, you drunk son of …!” The emotions roiling within made it hard for her continue. She fought for control. “W-what did you do?” she screamed.

  Her initial blows seemed ineffective, but soon her pa emerged from his stupor and growled as he sat up. Scowling, he caught her next punch with an iron grip and her hand froze in mid-air. She winced at the squeezing pain.

  As he twisted her wrist, she began to cry in agony. She gave him a fierce kick in the shin, but that only fueled his anger and strength.

  She tried to pull away, but he used that as leverage to begin to stand. Fearing her wrist about to break, and even more fearful of what he would do once on his feet, she grabbed the side table lamp with her free hand and smacked it into the
side of his head, but refused to put it down.

  He released her and sagged back onto the couch.

  “Did what I told ya I’d do, ya little slut. Think you could bring shame on this family without consequence? You should be on your knees prayin’ forgiveness.”

  He stood to his full six foot, three inch frame holding nearly three hundred pounds and Alice backed off. She’d felt the back of his hand too many times to remain in easy reach. Yet, like a mama bear, she refused to back down.

  “Forgiveness? You’re talkin’ about me needin’ forgiveness? You drunken, old fool. Ain’t ever seen you on your knees, or in any church for that matter. Don’t you get preachy to me. Now, where’s Jimmy Bob?”

  He smiled a half-toothed smile. “Sold ‘im. Like I told ya I would. I’m not keepin’ no bastard child under my roof.”

  “Then why you livin’ here?”

  A sudden surge of fear mingled with her anger. He had threatened to take her baby. She hadn’t believed him. She hadn’t believed him capable of “selling” his own grandchild. Now her baby, the only person in the world who would love her without fail, was gone.

  “Where is he? Where’d you take him?”

  He snarled and moved toward her. Drunk, sober, half in between, the man could move. She’d seen him cover the length of the room in a split second and she wasn’t about to underestimate him now. She threw the lamp as hard as she could at his forehead, and turned to run for the stairs. She heard the heavy ceramic shatter, followed by a sinking groan and a thud as he fell to the floor. She knew better than to go back and check on him. The man had suffered blows from two-by-fours and survived to win the fight. That lamp might daze him, but not for long.