by V. B. Tenery
“How did I rate that honor?”
His father-in-law shook his head. “Believe me, it’s no honor. It’s an expose’. She should be on the National Inquirer’s payroll. Rumor has it she’s digging up everyone who ever held a grudge against you. Then she’ll print it as the gospel truth. You seriously ruffled her feathers.”
“So it would seem. How bad can it be? My police record is squeaky clean.”
Blain stirred the ice in his drink with his finger and snorted a laugh. “She won’t let that stop her. Her type is more interested in innuendos than facts. My source says it will be ugly. She’s going for your personal life, insinuating you married my daughter for her money and may have been culpable in her death. That’ll be a stretch, since Mary died of cancer.”
The tea in Matt’s mouth turned to acid, and a deep-seated weariness settled in his chest. His wife didn’t deserve to have her name dragged through tabloid filth, nor did her parents. “Is there anything we can do to stop it, short of shooting her?”
A red flush of anger colored Blain’s cheeks with a touch of sadness that furrowed his brow. “Nothing short of buying the magazine, which I thought about. But she’d peddle the story somewhere else. I’m sorry about this, Matt.”
Matt pushed his salad plate back. “Not your fault. I guess I could sue her for slander, but that would only give the story more media coverage.”
“If you want to take her on, I’ll back you all the way.”
“I just might do that.” Matt repositioned the napkin on his lap as the server brought their main course. “Sometimes we have to call these people out. Hit them where it hurts. In the pocket book.”
“The governor asked me yesterday if there was anything new on his niece’s murder. You might consider keeping him updated.”
Matt had expected to hear from Ferrell before now. “I would be happy to send him a copy of the reports I send to Doug, but I’m sure all correspondence goes through ten people before it reaches him. I don’t want my investigation played out in the evening news.”
His father-in-law gave a thoughtful nod. “Brandt has a private, secure fax in the governor’s mansion. I’ll get you the number.”
****
The drive back to the office seemed longer than usual, his mind troubled. He wished Mary were here to talk to. She could always find the positive aspects in dark situations. It didn’t bother him so much that the unprincipled woman would tarnish his name. He didn’t like it, but he could handle it. But Mary? How could he fix that?
The day started bad and had gone downhill. He’d dealt with a lawyer and a reporter with an axe to grind, neither of whom had his best interest at heart. And the day wasn’t over yet.
Sara Bradford’s Home
Sara slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater. The Campbell funeral loomed tomorrow afternoon. Before then, she had to shop for the kids.
“Focus,” she told herself. She’d only picked up a few necessities yesterday. The visit to the empty Campbell home had been an ordeal, filled with images of her last visit. She’d have to make another trip. Another time. She’d also have to settle the children’s financial affairs, but that would have to wait. This had to be done right—get the children settled into their new environment for the sake of the precious lives now in her charge. And for her promise to Dolly Campbell.
She closed her eyes. Where did one buy a suit for a six-year-old boy? Lord, a crash course in being a mommy would be a big help.
After a moment, she picked up the phone and called Shannon Connelly. Her friend didn’t have children, but she was a storehouse of information. Skipping the small talk, Sara dove right into her problem. “Shannon, I’m now the mother of two children. I need your help.”
A long silence filled the phone line. “Fancy that, and I didn’t even know you were expecting. I think you’d better start at the beginning.”
Sara emitted a shaky laugh. “That came out a little blunt.” She gulped a deep steadying breath and told her friend about the Campbell’s’ death. “Shannon, do you think I should take them to the funeral? Would it scar them for life to go through that?”
“Girl, you’ve come to the wrong person,” Shannon said. “My parenting skills are non-existent. All I can give you is my opinion. Heaven knows, I’m no shrink.”
Sara leaned back against the pillow on her bed. “I’ll take any advice I can get. Besides, I value your rational thinking.”
Shannon asked. “How old are the children?”
“Danny is six, Poppy is almost five.”
“Okay, for what it’s worth, I think you should take them. Otherwise, someday they might resent you for not allowing the closure that would bring. Do you really intend to adopt these two kids?”
Sara pushed the cordless phone closer to her ear. “That’s the plan. I fell in love with them long before this happened. I won’t send them into child protective custody.” Sara’s throat constricted. An ache deep inside squeezed her heart into pulp. “Burying one family member would be hard on an adult. There will be three caskets on that dais. You don’t think the trauma of the funeral would be emotionally harmful?”
“I hope not.” Shannon’s voice sounded softer. “But as I said, I’m not an expert. When the time is good, I’d like to meet these amazing youngsters.”
“Will do. Thanks, Shannon. By the way, you don’t know where I could pick up a suit for a six-year-old boy, do you?”
Shannon gave her the names of two department stores that had dress clothes for children. Sara hung up and hurried out to her car.
****
When Sara returned from the shopping trip, she passed the kitchen. Danny’s small form came into view. He stood on a chair at the island. She set the packages down in the hallway and walked up behind him. “Whatcha doing, Champ?”
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 residue 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.