Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  With all that had happened, she’d forgotten to plug it into the charger. She hadn’t checked her email since last Friday. With the Global buyout, she might have missed something important. She’d need to use Josh’s computer in the library.

  The bed looked tempting, but not now. She needed to take care of this before retiring.

  The library’s warmth invited her in. The fragrant aroma of oak and chestnuts wafted from the fireplace, filling her mind with memories of happier times.

  Deciding a cup of hot cocoa would be nice while she worked, she went to the bar, nestled in an alcove between the bookshelves. She retrieved a cup and a hot cocoa packet from the bottom shelf, filled the mug with water from the small sink, and placed it in the microwave.

  While the water heated, she sat down at the desk to boot the computer. Josh’s email account still existed. She should have taken care of that long ago. She signed on to delete any mail that might still be out there.

  As she scrolled down the subject lines, one with Matt Foley’s name in it jumped out at her. It was a message sent from Josh’s cell phone to himself. The day Josh died.

  What in the world?

  She opened the memo and began to read.

  Chief Foley:

  I may be paranoid, but I visited a man this afternoon, Robert Cook. He told me quite a story. Admittedly, he was seriously intoxicated, but I figured it was something you needed to know. He claimed to have witnessed the burial of a child who disappeared some years ago when he worked at a church retreat. I asked why he didn’t report it, but he never gave me an answer. The man who buried the body was—

  The persistent ding of the microwave in the background tried to distract her, but she couldn’t believe the story that unfolded. Her concentration was so intense she failed to hear when the man entered the library until he spoke.

  The voice came across the space between them, cold and threatening, the gun in his hand pointed at her heart. “I’d hoped not to have to do this face to face, Sara. I like you, strange as that may seem. But you have left me no choice.”

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Monday afternoon, the desk sergeant rapped on the door frame to Matt’s office. He looked up and motioned the officer inside. “What’s up?”

  “My shift just ended. I brought your messages.” He handed Matt two slips of paper, but held another one in his hand. “This is from an attorney, David Johnson. He called earlier. Said he represented a client who left an envelope with him some years ago, addressed to the police in the event of his death. Johnson wants to know if you want to pick it up, or if he should mail it.”

  Matt shoved his chair back. “Did he name the client?”

  The desk sergeant looked at the slip of paper. “Yeah, Robert Cook.”

  “Call him back. Ask him to wait for me. I’m on my way.” Matt grabbed his coat on the way out.

  Matt stood outside the attorney’s office with Robert Cook’s letter. He ripped the envelope open and read the contents. A scene from a B-movie from the ‘40s ran through his mind—where an extortionist left behind a letter identifying the killer he’d blackmailed, and why.

  It never happened in real life.

  But, here it was. A letter from the grave, naming Penny Pryor’s killer.

  All the threads came together. The name wasn’t a big surprise. Years in law enforcement gave Matt insight into the mindset of killers. The one fault they shared was an abundance of pride. It took a lot of arrogance for someone to believe he could commit murder and get away with it. Almost three decades after the fact, the scales of justice tipped in the right direction.

  Matt drove back to his office and reached for his desk phone. It rang before he lifted the receiver almost making him drop it. The call was from Miles Davis.

  “We lucked out, Chief. We couldn’t get a warrant to search the financial records of our suspects, but I did an end-around with Colin Connelly. Off the record, of course. One of the suspects had an account at Connelly’s bank. The account showed withdrawals a few days before the money was deposited into Cook’s account. We only checked back four months, but there’s no question in my mind. This is our guy.”

  “Who’s account?” Matt asked, but he already knew the answer. He listened as Davis confirmed it.

  “You guys deserve to make this arrest, but I want to tag along. Meet me at the department. I’ll get the arrest warrant issued. We’ll take care of this one tonight.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Sara Bradford’s Home

  Sara’s gaze flashed from the computer monitor to the face of Charles Edwards, whose steel gaze stared into her own wide eyes. Not sweet, gentlemanly Charles, the man she’d known for so many years, but a menacing stranger, holding a deadly looking weapon with a silencer attached.

  For a moment, she was too stunned to speak, then found her voice. “I can’t believe you’re responsible for all this, Charles.”

  She couldn’t deny the truth. Realization hit her like a rockslide. The posture that distressed her memory for days on end was distinctly his.

  He lowered the revolver and tightened the silencer, then moving in front of her, he raised the gun again, this time aimed at her head.

  A moment of uncertainty grabbed her as she watched him. Could this be some horrible nightmare she would soon wake up from? No, the man and the gun were all too real. She kept her voice calm. “How did you get in?”

  “It was quite easy.” His tone sounded almost weary. “When I drove your car to the hospital, after the explosion, I stopped and made copies of your keys––figured they might come in handy. I didn’t realize then it would be so difficult to get rid of you. You’ve left me no choice.”

  Sara shook her head. “People always have choices, Charles. The ability to reason and make the right decisions is what separates man from beast. What do you have in mind?” She needed to keep him talking. Don had to be nearby.

  Charles must have channeled her thoughts. “If you think Tompkins will come to your rescue, forget it. He tried to stop me when I came in. I had to shoot him.”

  “You killed Don?”

  Charles checked the gun’s silencer again, giving it a twist. “I’d hoped to make this look like a suicide, but Tompkins’ presence ruled that out. I planted your notebook in the Mustang a few years back. This week, when the Herald reported the police found the car, I knew they’d find the calendar. I hoped the authorities would assume you’d taken your life because of guilt for killing your husband. Now I must let the police form their own conclusions. Robbery, perhaps.”

  How could this seemingly gentle man be responsible for so much violence? “Why kill Penny? What reason could you have to murder a child?”

  “Actually, I didn’t, I only buried the body. The most difficult thing I’ve ever done.” He hesitated for a moment. “Marnie killed her. It’s difficult to believe even now this all began with an unavoidable accident.”

  Memories clouded his eyes. He seemed to want to tell the story. “I had four-weeks of R and R in Hawaii while stationed in Cambodia. Marnie was to meet me. At the last minute, I decided to surprise her, to fly home so we could travel back to the islands together.

  “We stopped off at a bar to celebrate. Marnie drank too much. She insisted on driving. We planned to spend the night at home then catch a flight out the next morning.

  “On the way home, Penny chased her dog into the street in front of our van. Marnie couldn’t stop. The front bumper struck the back of Penny’s head. The impact snapped her neck. I don’t believe I could have missed the child if I had been behind the wheel. Marnie braked, but too late.

  “I couldn’t let her face the scandal that would have followed, it would have meant prison. Marnie’s family always thought she married beneath her. They’d have blamed me for letting her drink and drive.”

  He shook his head as if to dismiss the recollection, and looked at a point above Sara’s head. “Curious that there wasn’t any blood. I’ve always wondered about that.”

&
nbsp; A chill crawled down Sara’s spine. He showed no hint of compassion for Penny and her family or for Josh’s death. He couldn’t be in full command of his faculties.

  “Even though it wasn’t her fault, Marnie would have gone to prison because her blood alcohol level was over the limit. There were no witnesses. I made a snap decision to remove the body. That wasn’t my most shining hour. It’s a decision I’ve regretted over the years. With a good attorney, we might have avoided all this.”

  “I saw you that night, when you came outside as I placed the body in my van. I watched to see what you would do. When you went back into your house, we drove away. I took Marnie home, then drove to the retreat grounds. You know the rest. I killed Josh and Tompkins to protect Marnie. One more murder won’t make any difference.”

  Sara could almost feel pity for him. “Does Marnie know about all the lives you’ve destroyed to protect her?”

  He shook his head. “She only knows about Penny. That’s all. The rest has been my secret. I didn’t want her to know. She would never have allowed me to go this far. She’d have turned herself in.”

  She couldn’t let Charles see Josh’s email. If his plan succeeded, the memo would give the police all they needed to convict him. She eased her finger to the computer tower and pushed the off button.

  One more question Sara had to ask. “Why did you kill Josh?”

  Charles raised his shoulders and let them drop. “Because he visited Robert Cook, who witnessed Penny’s burial. Cook watched it all from a window in the retreat, and had blackmailed me ever since. I made it a practice to keep tabs on him. He told me from the start if anything happened to him he’d left a letter with his attorney. The police would know what I had done. I didn’t know if the old man told the truth or not, but I couldn’t risk the chance it was a bluff.

  “Josh answered the phone when I called Cook that afternoon four years ago. I figured Cook might feel the need to clear his conscience. A bit paranoid of me, I admit. I drove out to Cook’s place and saw your husband changing a tire. A traffic accident seemed harder to trace than a bullet.”

  A heavy breath left his chest. “All my efforts to protect my wife have been in vain. She has terminal cancer––a month or less to live. All I can protect now is her good name.”

  Sara leaned forward in the chair. “If Mr. Cook left a letter with his attorney, the police will find out, eventually. If you kill me, you’ll have another strike against you.”

  “You could be right.” Charles moved a step closer. “I can only hope the old man lied. If not, there’s always the possibility his lawyer might have died or misplaced the letter. Twenty-five years is a long time. Regardless, by the time that happens, Marnie will be dead. I won’t care what happens to me.”

  A slight movement in the doorway caught Sara’s eye.

  Maddie.

  Sara willed him to keep his attention on her. She had to keep him focused on her. “You planted the bomb in the forklift? I’m impressed, Charles. I didn’t know you were so handy with explosives. It isn’t everyday knowledge.”

  He gave a slight shrug. “A little talent I picked up in Cambodia. Brought a few samples home with me. The only useful thing the Army taught me. Except to kill without remorse.”

  Fear for Maddie and the children kept Sara calm. “How did you know I would move the lift?”

  “Elementary. Roger told me you would stay late to clean out your office. I knew you’d be alone. As a rule, you always checked the warehouse before you left for the day. You wouldn’t leave the lift unplugged. However, I didn’t expect you would put your handbag on first. You spoiled a lot of hard work.”

  “You carry plastic explosives around in your car?”

  He smiled. “Not exactly. I picked up the bomb from my garage after I heard the body had been found.”

  Somehow, she had to stop Charles. He was unhinged enough to kill everyone in the house, including the children. Keep him talking without goading him into action. “I can’t say I’m sorry I spoiled your plan. You also drove the truck that pushed me into the lake and it was you who hit me at the church.” A statement, not a question.

  “That was risky for someone who doesn’t like to take chances.” Her frantic brain searched for some way to signal Maddie to leave and call the police.

  Charles shrugged. “You spooked me by the call you made to my home to ask about the sleeping bag. I realized the police were trying to trace it back to the donor. It was the mate to the one I buried Penny in. I could hardly admit I’d donated it.”

  Maddie moved at the same time Charles saw her. She snatched the crystal tennis ball from the shelf and hurled the glass orb like the fastball she had been famous for in her college days, just as Charles raised the gun and fired.

  Charles Edwards’ Home

  Arrest warrant tucked inside his jacket pocket, Matt and his two detectives drove to the Edwards home. The pretentious mansion sat in the better part of town. Only one car in the driveway, an older model Chevy that didn’t look like it belonged to the Edwards’s.

  When Matt knocked on the door, a solemn maid answered.

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. Edwards,” Matt said.

  “He’s not home. Mrs. Edwards is here, but...” the maid’s voice cracked. “She’s in hospice.”

  A pang of awareness tugged at Matt’s heart. He was all too familiar with what hospice meant. “I’m sorry. We’ll wait outside for Mr. Edwards.”

  They returned to Matt’s SUV, when the radio blared an ADW code. “Assault with a deadly weapon at 220 Woodbine Trail. Two people down. All units in the vicinity proceed immediately.”

  Matt pounded the steering wheel and started the engine, muttering under his breath. “That’s Sara’s address.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Sara Bradford’s Home

  “No. Dear God, no.”

  Sara sprang from behind the desk, knowing she couldn’t reach him before he fired. Sara’s scream sounded loud in her own ears as Maddie hurled the glass tennis ball at Charles Edwards. The shot rang out and Sara’s gaze watched as Maddie collapsed onto her knees.

  “Maddie, Maddie.” Sara gasped for air and dropped to the floor beside her aunt, pulling her close. Sobbing, uncontrolled tears streamed down her face.

  Maddie returned the hug. “Sara, I’m okay.” Her aunt pointed at Charles Edwards’s body, prone on the carpet in front of the desk, eyes wide open. “He missed.”

  “Dead?” Sara asked.

  Maddie grabbed hold of an end table and pulled herself upright. “I have no idea. You’d better get the gun.”

  “I thought…” Sara reached for the gun but realized it wasn’t necessary. Charles was dead. She backed away.

  Maddie, her face ashen, nodded. “I know, but the shot went wild. It hit somewhere above me.” She pointed to a hole above the doorframe.

  Confused, Sara stared at her aunt. “But, why did you fall?”

  Maddie gave a shaky laugh. “I didn’t fall, I collapsed. Nerves.” She patted Sara’s arm. “Now I need to sit down. My knees hurt.”

  Sara glanced at the crystal tennis ball by Charles’s body, and it struck her that the decision she’d made to keep the souvenir, had saved her and Maddie’s lives.

  She helped her aunt to the leather chair by the fireplace. “Oh, Maddie, you did it. You stopped him.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, we have to get help for Don.”

  ****

  Matt made the twenty-minute drive to the Bradford home in twelve.

  The car skidded to a halt behind an ambulance and Matt raced to the front door.

  The heavy, double doors at the entrance stood ajar. Just inside the entryway, Pete Martinez stood near the library. He smeared the palms of his hands on his pants. “Hi, Chief. Sara and Miss Maddie are in the kitchen. The medics are loading Mr. Tompkins onto a stretch now. He was shot, but he’s still alive.”

  Matt expelled a deep breath. He’d braced himself for bad news, but Sara and Maddie were safe. Th
e anxiety dissipated and logic took over. “What was Tompkins doing here?”

  The gardener swallowed hard and nodded toward the kitchen. “Miss Maddie hired him to bodyguard Sara.”

  Matt stepped past Pete into the library. The first officer on the scene had set up a sign-in log and Davis had taken over as lead detective.

  Matt signed the log, pulled on the blue booties, and entered the room. Charles Edwards’s body laid face-up on the polished hardwood floor.

  Lisa Martinez entered behind Matt, pulling on sterile gear and working the plastic gloves over her fingers. She knelt beside the body and probed the carotid artery in Edwards’s neck.

  Matt threw her a questioning glance.

  She nodded.

  He turned to the patrol officer nearby. “What happened?”

  The young officer straightened his posture. “As I understand it, Chief, the victim held a gun on Mrs. Bradford. The older lady entered the room and threw the crystal tennis ball.” He pointed to a glass object next to the body. “It hit him in the right temple.”

  Hunter and Davis remained with the crime scene, and Matt headed into the kitchen to find Sara and Maddie.

  The two women sat at the bay window. A white-faced Maddie leaned against the cushions, immobile.

  Sara handed Maddie a china mug. “Drink this. Beatrice made the tea strong and sweet. It’s good for shock.”

  Poppy lay with her head in Sara’s lap. Danny huddled in the booth corner, wide-eyed, taking everything in. These kids just couldn’t catch a break.

  Matt pulled out a chair and sat next to Sara as Beatrice placed a cup of coffee at his elbow. “How did Edwards get inside the house?”

  “He had a key made when he brought my car to the hospital after the explosion. He shot Don. Thank God the shot wasn’t fatal.”