by V. B. Tenery
Doug closed the file, then tapped it with his index finger. There was more to Matt Foley than his file reflected. Most of Doug’s information came from trusted sources, stories repeated often enough to have the ring of truth.
Matt lost both parents when he was nine years old, after a drug dealer picked the wrong house. Raised by an abusive, alcoholic uncle, he’d joined the Army as soon as he turned eighteen.
After college, he met the daughter of the richest man in Texas at a political rally. They married a year later. Rumor had it Matt could become the next U.S. Senator. All he had to do was say the word.
Unlike Hall, who would chew his right arm off for a shot at the Senate, Matt didn’t want it. He was a good cop. No, better than good. Matt Foley was a great cop. It was his passion.
The irony reminded him of a quote from Scottish author George MacDonald. “It is not in the nature of politics that the best men should be elected. The best men do not want to govern their fellow men.”
The office door opened and his secretary stepped in. “Councilman Hall is here, Doug.”
“Show him in, please.”
Terrence Hall strode into the room and sat in a chair in front of Doug’s desk. At five feet four, Hall wore his Napoleon complex like a badge of honor. Dark brown hair reached his collar, blow-dried with every strand in place. His expensive suit, navy with a tiny gray stripe, finished the look of a man with an eye on the mayor’s office.
Hall settled himself into the chair for what Doug hoped would be a short visit.
“You heard about the governor’s niece?” Hall asked.
Doug’s expression didn’t change. “Matt keeps me informed.”
The city councilman’s left brow lifted, probably a looked he practiced before a mirror. “Do you think he can handle such a high-profile case?”
Doug smiled, but not because he thought it was funny. “He’s never given me any reason to think otherwise, Terry. His ratio of solved cases is higher than any police department in the state.”
“Like I said, he’s never handled anything like this.”
“Neither have you, Terry.”
Hall stood and walked to the door like an actor delivering his exit line. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, Doug. You put too much faith in Foley.”
CHAPTER 8
Sara Bradford’s Home
Sara awoke to the clock’s buzzer a little after daylight and shut it off on the second try. She lay back against the pillows and tugged the comforter up under her chin. Through half-drawn drapes, dawn’s slim pink fingers reached into the slate-gray sky as day gently pushed back the night.
With a groan, she gave the pillow a punch, then pulled the cover over her head. “Arrrrrgh.”
As the doctor predicted, she suffered no serious after effects from the accident. A few bruises and some sore muscles. But that didn’t stop the mental horrors of yesterday from coming alive. She still refused to accept the reality of the explosion, the terror as the detonation sent her sailing. By God’s mercy, she’d hit the plastic sheeting rather than the cement-block wall.
It seemed so senseless. Who would plant a bomb? And more important, why?
No time or inclination for a pity party now. Life had never been fair. Why should it start with her?
Giving the pillow another punch, she heaved a deep breath, flung the covers aside, and shuffled her stiff muscles across the thick carpet to the bathroom. She stood in the shower, letting the hot spray pulse against her face. The pounding water couldn’t erase the humiliation in Roger’s office yesterday. He’d brushed aside her years of service like flicking lint from his jacket.
It wasn’t just the uncertainty of her job, the explosion, or even that after four years the police still considered her a suspect in Josh’s death. Her life had taken a downward spiral she couldn’t control. She didn’t believe in luck, good or bad. But there was no denying a dark cloud had taken residence over her head. The urge to kick something overwhelmed her. Almost as soon as the thought occurred, she dismissed it. That wouldn’t help. She grabbed a towel from the rack and dried off with more vigor than the task required.
Roger would probably find some way to blame her for what happened at Global. She could see the headline DISGRUNTLED EMPLOYEE BOMBS WAREHOUSE.
She grinned at the irony. At least he couldn’t fire her. He’d already taken away her job.
A wisp of hair fell across her eyes and she pushed it away. From the closet, she selected a sweater and tartan slacks, appropriate for ministry visits. Saturday morning’s ritual began by joining bus workers headed out to the poorer parts of town, knocking on doors to see if the children wanted to come to church on Sunday morning. The rewards were many, but the best part was that many of these youngsters became Christians because of the church’s outreach.
After she finished dressing, she made up her bed. A ritual instilled by her mother. She could still hear her voice. “No matter how bad you feel, you need to maintain order in your life. It helps you stay grounded.”
The aroma of fresh-baked bread wafted up the stairwell, teasing her nose and stirring her appetite. She followed the smell downstairs and out the door that led onto the deck. Aunt Maddie greeted her with a smile. Breakfast outside had become a ritual whenever the weather permitted.
“This looks wonderful.” Sara waved a hand at the table display of crusty loaves of apricot bread and cream cheese.
“I waited for you.” Maddie filled her cup from the teapot. “Come help me do justice to all these calories.”
Maddie Jamison’s petite figure appeared fragile, but fragile she wasn’t. As the star pitcher on her college softball team, she had a cabinet filled with trophies to prove it.
Sara dropped into a chair across from her aunt. “I’m not sure this is representative of the five major food groups, but two out of five isn’t bad.”
Maddie laughed. “Beatrice has been on a baking spree. I’m certainly not complaining.” Beatrice and her husband, Pete, took care of the house and grounds.
“Nor am I.” Sara leaned back in the chair gazing out over the garden. Autumn hadn’t yet dimmed its color. Dew-kissed roses of brilliant red and gold, filled the morning air with their sweetness. Her reverie broke when Maddie asked, “Are you going out? It’s a little early for the bus meeting, isn’t it?”
“I want to get an early start. I’d like to visit Lily and Sam when I’m finished, see if there’s anything I can do for them.”
“I’m glad you’re going. They always love to see you. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it, especially now.”
She reached across the table to touch Maddie’s hand. “What are your plans today?”
“Don’t worry about me. I have some textbooks to look over for the school board. That’ll keep me busy most of the morning. Speaking of which, I’d better get started if I’m to return the books by Monday.”
Sara’s thoughts flashed back to her job status. After she’d cooled down, she realized Roger hadn’t terminated her. At least not yet. If he’d fired her, security would have followed her to her desk, then escorted her out of the building. She’d have to tell Maddie soon. But not until she had more information.
With a last sip of tea, Sara followed her aunt inside. Maddie turned into the library and sat at her electronic reader, a first cousin to the microfiche scanner technology that made even the smallest print easy for her to read.
“See you later,” Sara called, then hurried to her car.
****
Church visitations failed to lift her spirits as they usually did. Mixed emotions about Penny had heightened her concern for two of her favorite bus children. Danny and Poppy Morgan had missed church last Sunday, and they weren’t at home when she stopped by today. The trailer-park manager said the family had moved without leaving a forwarding address.
That in itself wasn’t unusual. Bus kids were often transient, but that didn’t stop her from worrying. Perhaps they’d moved to another mobile home park. She kept her eyes open, hop
ing to see them, but no luck. News of Penny’s death had spooked her. Predators lurked everywhere.
No child was safe in today’s crazy world.
At five o’clock, she arrived home after a short visit with the Pryors. Only time could heal their wounds but she’d offered what consolation she could. At least they now had closure.
“You’d better hurry, dear. Dinner starts at seven o’clock,” Maddie called as Sara entered the foyer.
No! That couldn’t be tonight. With all that happened, she’d forgotten about the banquet, the gala honoring the town’s restoration. “I’m headed to the shower right now.”
“Did you see Sam and Lily?”
“Yes, I just left there.”
“How are they doing?”
Sara stopped at the bottom step. “They’re coping, but it’s hard. I’m sure it’s almost as bad as when Penny first vanished. I think they’d held out hope she was alive somewhere.”
Sara hurried upstairs, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed, but that wouldn’t happen. If she begged off, Maddie would ask questions. They’d bought tickets months ago, and invited guests.
After her shower, Sara hurried to her closet to consider her dress choices for the evening. She soon realized the dinner’s black and white theme left her only two options. After a moment, she selected a black crepe evening dress with a Grecian neckline that would be comfortable. When finished with her hair and makeup, she slipped into the dress and went downstairs to see if Maddie needed help.
Maddie smiled when Sara entered her room. “Well, am I sufficiently coordinated? Shoes matched, no lipstick smears or mascara smudges?”
“Everything’s fine. You look lovely.”
Weeks ago, Sara offered Don Tompkins a ticket to the banquet and he accepted. It wasn’t exactly a blind date for Maddie. But she might like him. Her aunt was still an attractive woman. Heaven knew after a disastrous marriage, Maddie deserved a break. Neither Sara nor her aunt had made stellar choices for husbands.
“Is Jeffery Hayden your escort tonight?” Maddie’s question brought Sara back into the moment.
Sara laughed. “Yes, he invited himself a month ago while we were having lunch.”
Maddie turned to face her. “Well, he’s certainly one of the most attractive young men I’ve seen. Do you see this relationship going anywhere?”
“Handsome, yes, but he’s about as deep as a salad plate.” Sara sat on the edge of the dressing table and shook her head. “We have too little in common. Jeff has no opinions about anything. That’s dull. You know me, I have opinions about everything.”
Maddie squeezed her hand. “That you do. Your passion is one of the things I love most about you.”
Maddie’s question reverberated through Sara’s mind. She’d promised herself never to make another bad marriage—once in a lifetime was quite enough.
CHAPTER 9
Twin Falls Country Club
Country club manager, Shannon Connelly, eased behind the long bar and ran a finger along the polished mahogany grain. Brass fixtures gleamed in the subdued lighting. She mentally ticked off a checklist of stock under the counter and held several of the stemware to the light. No spots, as it should be. After completing the bar inspection, she moved on to the dining room.
Tonight’s black-and-white theme carried throughout, from crisp, white linen tablecloths to the black-striped dining room chairs. Fan-folded napkins, fastened with bright, silver rings, matched the pattern on the chairs. White bone china gleamed next to sparkling Waterford crystal. A centerpiece of white roses sat on each table, blending seamlessly into the stark background.
Guests arriving at the entrance, drew Shannon’s attention. Down the main hallway, she spotted Matt Foley, gazing into the trophy case. A man’s man if ever she’d met one. He wheeled and maneuvered his tall frame through the crowd in her direction, with the easy grace of an athlete, smooth and confident. Shannon stood at the end of the bar and propped an elbow against the smooth surface. “You look sharper than my mother-in-law’s tongue, Matt. I love a man in a tuxedo. May I buy you a drink?”
“Thank you, ma’am, and yes, you may. I’ll wait here until the crowd at the dining room entrance thins a bit.”
Matt took a seat, and Shannon skirted behind the bar. “What’ll it be?”
He pointed to a green bottle. “Water on the rocks, with lime.”
Shannon grinned, filled a glass with ice and set both on a napkin. “I shouldn’t even let you sit at my bar, Matthew Foley. You’re an embarrassment to the police chiefs of America. No self-respecting cop drinks water when he’s off duty.” She teased him, but she knew he had an aversion to alcohol, because of his uncle’s addiction to the fruit of the vine.
Matt raised the glass in a mock toast. “To each his own.”
Pulling a cloth from under the counter, Shannon wiped the surface. “Date tonight? I only ask because I consider myself your best girl.”
Matt laughed and shook his head. “No date. And you would be my best girl if it weren’t for that pesky husband of yours.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “That offer is almost too tempting to turn down. Let me think about this for a moment. I trade a short, balding, loveable fuzzball like my Colin for a rich, good-looking cop. Sounds like a good swap.” She shook her head. “But it took me years to train my main man. I have the feeling you wouldn’t be as easy to manage.”
Matt stared into his glass for a moment, and then shifted his gaze towards the hallway. “Tell me about the trophy in the display.”
Shannon leaned across the bar. “I’m surprised you never noticed it before.”
He gave a slight shrug. “I don’t have occasion to spend a lot of time standing in the hallway. When the crowd stalled tonight, I saw Mary’s picture.”
Shannon inhaled a deep breath. “Two years ago, the day Mary died, Sara Bradford and Dina Lambert played for the club singles tennis championship. Sara came here that morning after Mary passed away. I wish you could have seen the match. It was something to behold.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Matt’s lips. “Mary used to come home after her doubles match with Sara, giggling like a school girl. They apparently annoyed Dina and her sister with their joking around. I don’t think Mary and Sara ever won a match. They enjoyed irritating Dina as much as playing tennis.”
Shannon refilled his glass. “Oh, yes. Dina takes her tennis seriously, and the girl has a mean streak a mile wide. I don’t know if Mary mentioned it to you, but Dina spread some ugly gossip at the club, that...” She hesitated. “I’m not sure if I should say this or not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Since when have you been afraid to tell me anything?”
She laughed. “Since never. Dina told everyone that you married Mary for her money.”
The muscles in Matt’s jaw clenched but he didn’t reply.
The buzz of conversation in the room lowered, and Shannon’s eyes riveted to the club doorway. “Speak of the devil.” Dina and Senator Lambert stood at the entrance. Dina paused on the top step until all eyes turned her way. Her white, beaded gown emphasized every well-proportioned curve, and silver-blonde curls floated above deeply tanned shoulders.
Shannon leaned in and whispered, “Our Dina certainly knows how to make an entrance, doesn’t she? She always was the theatrical type, even in high school.”
Matt glanced at Shannon, a question in his eyes. “I didn’t know you went to school with Dina Lambert. I take it she wasn’t your best buddy.”
“You might say that. She, Sara, and I went through school together. We were in the same grade. Dina was the cheerleader, Sara the brain with a photographic memory, and I was the class clown.”
A laugh burst from Matt’s throat, almost spewing his drink. “I would never have guessed you were the class clown. What, in particular didn’t you like about Dina, other than her vicious tongue?”
Shannon gave the bar another swipe. “She’s too self-absorbed. Dina’s favorite subject is Dina. Th
e only positive thing I can say about her is she’s quite a talented tennis player. Could probably have gone professional if she’d stayed with it. Apparently, it was easier to marry Senator Lambert. Instant social success.” Shannon turned her gaze back to Matt. “I suppose that sounds a bit catty.”
Matt set his glass on the napkin and held his thumb and forefinger a slight distance apart. “Just a tad.”
Colin Connelly stepped up behind Matt and slapped him on the back, then leaned in to place a kiss on Shannon’s cheek. “You hittin’ on my wife?”
Matt chuckled. “Actually, she’s hitting on me.”
“That I can believe.” Colin slid onto the barstool next to Matt.
“Tell me about the game,” Matt said.
“What game?” Colin asked.
Shannon reached across and straightened his bow tie. “When Sara played Dina for the club singles championship.”
One of the bartenders took over behind the bar, and Shannon moved to the empty barstool on the other side of Matt. “Before the tournament started, people were betting on the match, with Dina a heavy favorite, of course. But there was something different about Sara that day―”
“I’ll say there was,” Colin said.
Shannon silenced him with an I’m-telling-this-story glance. “Sara’s first two serves were aces. She took over the court like a pro and never let up. I don’t think Dina knew what hit her. Sara won the first set, six-two.
“Sara began to tire in the second set, and Dina won seven-six. The third set started and Sara took over again and took the set six-zero. The stands erupted with cheers, a no-no at tennis tournaments. But not many people liked Dina.”