Works of Darkness (Matt Foley/Sara Bradford series Book 1)

by V. B. Tenery

  ****

  Mary had never told Matt about Dina’s rude remarks, but that was like her. She didn’t dwell on negatives. The day she died had been the worst day of his life. He’d held Mary’s hand as she drew her last breath. The scene squeezed his heart until he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think about that now. The memory was still too raw.

  As the evening wore on, he spotted Sara Bradford leaving her table and he excused himself from his table companions. He strode into the aisle to intercept her.

  With a cop’s eye for detail, he noted the slender form. She didn’t look like someone who had escaped death barely twenty-four hours ago. Dark hair swept up emphasized her classic bone structure and the olive tones of her skin. He had serious reservations about her character, but had to admit she was the most attractive woman in the room.

  As he drew near, she glanced up and her spine stiffened like a cat facing a pit bull.

  “Sara, may I speak to you for a moment?”

  She stopped, her gaze hard. “Is that an official request, Chief Foley?”

  Heat bubbled just under the surface, despite his effort to suppress it. “No, but I can make it one. I’d hoped not to have to use handcuffs.”

  She had the grace to blush, and her tone lost its edge. “That won’t be necessary. I returned your call Friday, but you had already gone for the day.”

  The aisle became crowded, and he guided her to a nearby alcove. “I’d like some of your time tomorrow, around one-thirty at the station, if that’s convenient. I wouldn’t ask you to come on Sunday, but it’s important.”

  She consented with a reluctant nod. “Sunday will be fine.”

  Matt nodded. “Great, I’ll see you then.”

  Later, as he left the country club, Matt stopped once more at the lobby display. In the enclosed case, beside the trophy and Mary’s picture, sat a framed poem, written by Sara Bradford. His throat constricted as he read the words.

  Mary Stanton Foley

  Mary, a name known over the world,

  A name given to many girls.

  Name of the mother of the Savior of all.

  And a repentant sinner, Magdalene so called.

  The name of a wife, cherished and dear,

  A friend and confidante over the years.

  Someone to count on when things went wrong,

  Hands that could comfort, firm and strong.

  A daughter, a sister, and friend as well,

  Her death brought sorrow words cannot tell.

  Mary, a name as soft as an angel’s kiss.

  I wonder if you knew how much you’d be missed.

  Matt punched his hands into his pockets and turned away. Was it possible the woman who penned those words could have killed her husband in cold-blood?

  CHAPTER 10

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Sara pulled into the visitors parking lot a little before one-thirty, and turned into the space nearest the door. She blew out a heavy breath, glad she’d finished the bus route. The job had its rewards, but it could be tiring. The emptiness in her stomach didn’t help. There’d been no time to grab a bite at a drive-through before her appointment with Matt.

  Nerves tightened like violin strings over her meeting. Matt could at least have given her a hint as to the topic. Questions about the explosion? Perhaps news on Josh’s murder? Could they have found the hit-and-run driver after all this time?

  Truth to tell, she had her own agenda.

  She exited the car and walked towards the station entrance. Halfway to the double doors, the sprinklers snapped on. Despite a sprint the rest of the way, by the time she reached the lobby, she looked like a hurricane refugee.

  Inside the station, Sara strode up to the desk, shoes squishing with each step. “I have an appointment with Chief Foley.”

  The sergeant, safely ensconced behind bulletproof glass, tried to hide a grin. “Sorry about that sprinkler, ma’am. It must have short-circuited in the thunderstorm Friday. It’s been popping off and on for no apparent reason all day. Our engineer is on his way to fix it. Have a seat and I’ll tell the chief you’re here.”

  Last night had been her first conversation with Matt Foley since Mary’s death. Memories of the night her husband died came rushing back.

  On that painful evening, Sara and Maddie sat in the library. Josh had called to say he’d be home for dinner. When he hadn’t arrived by seven o’clock, and she couldn’t reach him on his cell phone, she and Maddie dined alone. Just another broken promise.

  Later that evening, the doorbell chimed. Thinking Josh forgot his key, she opened the door and stepped back, surprised to find Matt Foley’s large form filling the entrance. His SUV and a black-and-white squad car sat in the circular drive.

  “Hi, Matt. What brings you out? Is Mary all right?”

  “She’s fine. This isn’t about Mary. Is there someplace we can talk?”

  She moved aside for him to enter. “Sure. Maddie and I were just having tea in the library.”

  He radiated tension, and a nervous flutter swam through her stomach. She led him down the hallway to the library and offered a chair.

  He remained standing, turning his hat in his hands.

  Muscles in her throat tightened. “What’s wrong, Matt?”

  “There’s no easy way to say this...there was an accident on Highway 10 tonight. Josh was ...killed. I’m sorry.”

  Maddie gasped, and her hand flew to her chest. She rose and placed an arm around Sara’s waist.

  Sara’s pulse accelerated as though an invisible hand closed around her heart and squeezed. Blessed numbness forced its way through her body, and her knees became too weak to bear her weight. The room swam and faded. She slid into the chair and lowered her head. This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. She’d spoken to him less than two hours ago. “A-Are you certain it was Josh?”

  Matt nodded, and deep lines formed around his mouth. “I’m afraid so. We found his wallet. It was his car, and I made the identification. I’m sorry...”

  To no one in particular, she said, “I spoke to him earlier this afternoon. He said he would be home...” Waves of guilt rolled over her, as she remembered the unkind thoughts when he’d failed to show for dinner.

  Matt watched her, his face immobile. “Did he say what he was doing out in the country?”

  “He had taken a deposition from a man about an upcoming trial, some conflict with a land title.” Her voice sounded flat in her ears.

  “Did he mention the man’s name?”

  Sara thought for a moment, then replied. “No. He would have had no reason to tell me.”

  “Did he tell you the route he would take home?”

  She inhaled deeply, trying to concentrate on the question, and why it mattered. “No...why would he?”

  He didn’t answer, but asked another question. “Were you home all evening?”

  “Yes, I got home about six o’clock.”

  He studied her face with hard eyes. “What time did you leave the office?”

  She placed a cold hand to her brow, confused by his demeanor. “I left early, around three. I did some shopping and stopped for gas.”

  “Is your car in the garage?”

  “Yes.”

  “May we take a look at it? Are there any other vehicles on the premises?”

  “No…yes.” Her mind whirled. “I mean, yes, there’s another car here. Pete, our gardener, has a truck. Of course, you can look at them. I don’t understand. You said he was killed in an accident. What’s going on, Matt?”

  “It was a hit-and-run accident. He was changing a tire when another car struck him and kept going.”

  Sara sat suspended in time. “Dear God,” slipped out in a whisper.

  Maddie stood to every inch of her five-foot stature, and the frost in her voice brooked no argument. “Matthew Foley, I believe Sara has had enough of your questions for now. She’s distraught. If you need additional information, I suggest you call at another time when she’s better able to a
ssist you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Matt said, and left soon after. Not before, Pete later told her, Matt inspected both vehicles, and checked her gas tank level.

  After Matt left, Sara folded into the chair, buried in a sorrow so deep she thought it would crush her.

  ****

  Footsteps echoed down the hallway and jerked Sara back to the present. Matt stood in front of her. “Looks like you ran afoul of our deranged sprinkler system.”

  She tried to smooth her slacks. “After being drenched twice in recent days, I’m beginning to think all sprinklers are deranged.” She was determined to remain poised, despite her disheveled appearance. “Actually, this is the latest fashion trend. It’s called the wet look.”

  He laughed and motioned for her to follow him. “I’d say you nailed it.”

  When they reached his office, Matt held the door open and allowed Sara to enter first. She stepped inside, uncomfortably aware of her appearance and the squish her shoes made.

  Matt pointed her to a chair in front of his desk and stepped into the bathroom. He returned and tossed her a white towel. She caught it and began to wipe the water from her hair.

  Self-conscious under his scrutiny, she asked, “Do you have another towel you can spare? That might help absorb some of the water from my clothes.”

  He returned to the bathroom and tossed her another one. “We might be able to find you something dry in one of the lockers.”

  She shook her head. “This will work until I get home. Before we begin, I need to ask a favor. If you can’t help me, that will be okay, but I thought I’d ask. The worst you can say is no.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth until I’ve heard the request.”

  Words tumbled out as she explained about Danny and Poppy. “The kids lived in Arcadia Trailer Park. You know where that is?”

  He nodded. “Over on the east side. One of our biggest trouble spots.”

  “That’s the one,” Sara said. “The kids’ father is in prison. Their mother, Diane Morgan, has been unemployed most of the time since he went to jail. She’s overwhelmed and struggling to pay the rent—even on the slum-hole trailer they lived in. The children missed church last Sunday. I stopped by today and the park manager told me they’d moved and didn’t leave a forwarding address. I’m concerned about them.”

  “Are they related to Grady Morgan?”

  “He’s their father. You know him?”

  Matt wrote the names on a notepad on his desk. “Yes, unfortunately. Do you think they’re in physical danger? Is the mother into drugs?”

  “I have no reason to think anyone would intentionally harm them. I only met the mother twice. She didn’t act like a druggie, just dispirited. The kids loved going to church. I’m frightened they may be hungry and homeless.”

  His brow wrinkled and he wore an I’d-rather-not-be-bothered look on his face. “I can’t make it a priority, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Sara leaned forward. “Thanks. Now, why did you want to see me?”

  His chair made a tiny squeak when he leaned back. “We discovered a child’s body at Bay Harbor Thursday, and we’re as certain as we can be, without further testing, that it’s Penny Pryor.”

  She nodded. “Lily Pryor called me. Is that what you wanted to see me about?”

  He looked up from his notes. “Why did she call you?”

  “Penny was my best friend. Lily and Sam have never recovered from Penny’s disappearance, especially Lily. Whoever took Penny destroyed more than that little girl. Lily has never gotten past it. We’ve become very close.” Sara expelled a deep breath. “I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

  “Probably nothing. The Pryors identified the ring and clothing. However, the old case file listed your name. The beat cop interviewed you that night with your parents. I wondered if you could still remember anything that might be helpful. I understand it’s asking a lot after such a long time and you were very young.”

  She shivered. “Some things you want to forget but can’t. That’s what a photographic memory does for you. The evening Penny disappeared is etched into my mind. It still haunts me.”

  “Tell me what you recall.” He took a tape recorder from the center drawer and placed it on the desktop. “Do you mind?”

  She shook her head.

  Matt rewound the tape and pushed record, gave the date, their names and asked again if she agreed to the recording.

  Leaning back in the chair, her eyes focused on a Western painting that hung on the wall behind Matt’s head. It was a famous canvas of a Native American buffalo hunt, but she couldn’t remember the artist’s name.

  “We lived across the street from Penny. It was a holiday weekend—Memorial Day. Most of the families in our neighborhood were gone. Penny’s parents planned a camping trip to the lake. It started to get dark, and her dad hadn’t arrived home. Penny and I were playing with her new puppy in their back yard. She’d asked me to keep the puppy while they were away. My mother called me in for dinner, and I told Penny I’d come back after I’d eaten. That’s the last time I saw her.”

  “You never picked up the dog?”

  “I came out after dinner, but I didn’t see Penny anywhere. I knocked on her door, and Lily said she was outside playing. I hung around for a minute or two, calling Penny’s name. Then my mother made me come inside. The streets were well lit, but she didn’t want me out after dark. Mom assured me Penny would bring her puppy over before they left. I waited, but Penny never showed up. I figured she decided to take her dog along.”

  She glanced down at her hands, the memory still vivid. “Some time later, Lily came over, looking for Penny. When she realized Penny wasn’t with me, everyone became concerned and started a search. Eventually, the police arrived. They found the little dog, but no sign of Penny. I’m sure your records show the rest.”

  Matt rubbed his forefinger across his lower lip. “When you went outside after dinner, did you notice anything unusual—out of the ordinary?”

  “Not really. As I said, the neighborhood was almost deserted.”

  “You said almost. Do you remember which families didn’t go away for the holiday?”

  “My family and Penny’s parents were at home, of course. There were probably a few others on the street that didn’t go out of town.” Her fingers tightened on the chair arm, thoughts swirling. “I remember one family packing to leave. I saw a man place a sleeping bag in his truck. I thought at the time it was Penny’s dad, but I later learned Sam didn’t arrive until after the search for Penny began, and her parents didn’t own a van.”

  A note of excitement entered Matt’s voice. “Do you recall the color of the sleeping bag?”

  She considered the question for a moment. “I can’t be certain, but it reminded me of a shirt my grandfather used to wear when he went hunting. Red plaid, I think.”

  Matt leaned forward in his chair. “Can you remember what kind of truck, or the color? It could be very important.”

  “It wasn’t a pickup; it was enclosed with a door in the side. I think it’s called a panel truck. It was white with writing on the side.”

  “Do you remember what the writing said?”

  She massaged her temples with her fingertips, trying to peer into the past. “No, I’m sorry. I was looking for Penny, and it didn’t register. Back then, I was just learning to read.”

  “Was this before dinner or after?”

  “After,” she said.

  “Did you recognize the man? Could it have been Sam Pryor?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t be certain. Something about him seemed familiar...but I just can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Can you recall which house?”

  “The van was parked on the same side of the street Penny lived on, just past Sam and Lily’s driveway. Not in the driveway. Just past it,” she said. “That’s why I thought it was Sam. I’m sorry I can’t be any more specific. I didn’t pay close attention––I didn’t know it would be
important.”

  He closed the folder on his desk and smiled. “You did well. One more question, and then I’m through. When everyone was looking for Penny, was the truck still there?”

  She shook her head again. “No, it had already gone. I didn’t see it when the search began.”

  Matt leaned back in his chair with another squeak. “Apparently, you never mentioned the truck or sleeping bag when you spoke to the police. If you did, the cop didn’t make a note of it.”

  He still didn’t trust her. Was she being paranoid? His suspicions awakened her insecurities, even guilt when she had nothing to feel guilty about. How dumb was that?

  Dredging up old memories exhausted her more than she would have imagined. She handed Matt the towels and shrugged. “Give me a break, Matt. I had just turned six and they didn’t ask me a lot of questions.”

  He hiked one shoulder and let it drop. “Did you know Penny’s uncle is Governor Brandt Ferrell?”

  Sara nodded. “I met Brandt before Penny vanished. Afterwards, he and Lily’s parents came by almost daily for months. I believe Brandt was just starting law school then. I had a terrible crush on him.”

  She rose from the chair, and when she reached the door, she turned. “You still think I murdered Josh, don’t you?”

  “As an investigator, I don’t know. Without the car, there’s not enough evidence for me to think anything.” His brow wrinkled and he blew out a heavy breath. “As a private citizen, yes, I believe you used your husband’s considerable resources to arrange for his murder. Not necessarily a hit-and-run. That was probably just a lucky break.”

  That stung. She squared her shoulders, and her jaw tightened. “Mary always thought you were so smart. Why do you think I killed him? And if you believe I did it, why haven’t you arrested me?”

  His face flushed, and he glared across the space between them. “I must have two things before I can hand a case over to the prosecutor. First is intent. Second, I must place the suspect at the scene of the crime.