When Shadows Fall: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 5)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Feeling somewhat guilty, Helen dug through several drawers. She didn't know exactly what she was looking for but, hopefully, would know when she found it. Only one drawer looked interesting. But even it turned out to be a disappointment. Like her own junk drawer at home, it contained the usual, miscellaneous keys, pens, coupons, batteries.

  She systematically moved through the house, ending her search in the bedroom. Here, on a dresser that had once graced a 1930 farmhouse, Helen found several framed photographs. One was of Rosie with Adele's family: a husband, three teen- aged kids, and a miniature collie. Another was of a nice-looking young man in a graduation picture. His handsome features and friendly smile undoubtedly had girls standing in line for his attention. He looked familiar, but Helen couldn't place him. A nephew? Helen seemed to remember Rosie mentioning an older sister living in the Midwest. Another photo of Adele, Rosie, and a third woman, with Rosie's coloring, confirmed her suspicions.

  It was the third photo that especially caught Helen's eye. A young couple standing in front of an arch that had been decorated with white roses. Senior prom at Bay Village High. 1963. The girl was Rosie, no doubt about that. The young man was equally easy to recognize. Ethan Crane.

  Joe had said they'd dated in high school. But why would Rosie keep the photo in such a prominent place after all these years? How sad. Rosie had never married. Did she still love Ethan? What had happened to separate them? Probably the same thing that separated most high-school sweethearts. College, other interests, growing up, coming to one's senses. Had Rosie and Ethan tried to reclaim those high-school years?

  Helen set the frame back in its place on the dresser and was heading downstairs when she heard a thump. The cats? A quick glance into the kitchen showed them both still eating. The scrape of a shoe on wooden stairs. A creak. The same sound she'd made on the third step coming in. Helen swallowed hard and drew her .38. What kind of a mess had she gotten herself into this time?

  Chapter Ten

  The door to Rosie's apartment banged open. Helen peeked from behind the nearly closed bedroom door. A bulky figure stepped inside. Gun drawn, the man flattened himself against the door.

  Helen released the breath she'd been holding and holstered the gun. It was Tom, the officer she'd met on the beach. He moved inside, hugging the wall as he made his way through the living room and into the kitchen. Any minute he'd open the bedroom door. What would he do if he found her?

  Not if, when. Would he shoot first and ask questions later? While Joe had encouraged her to snoop around, she doubted Tom knew about their arrangement.

  Not wanting to take that chance, Helen shouted, "Who's there?"

  Tom whipped around to face her. "Okay, lady, come out with your hands above your head!"

  "Oh my," Helen said in the most innocent tone she could push past her tightened throat. She raised her hands and let the door drift open, then slowly moved into the light. "I take it this isn't a social visit."

  "Mrs. Bradley? What are you doing here?" The deputy looked her up and down, frowning as his gaze latched on to her holster. "I take it you have a permit for that?"

  "I do." Helen lowered her hands and brushed a hand through her mussed-up hair, thankful she'd taken off her cap. "I might ask you the same thing. I came to feed the cats and have a look around." She motioned toward the animals, now sitting next to their bowls licking themselves. "I had a key and—"

  "A key? Then you didn't break in?" He glanced toward the stairs. "The glass was broken in the back door. That's why I decided to check things out. Since the only access from the stairs is to the apartment, I figured there might be a prowler. Was the window broken when you came in?" Tom asked.

  This was going to be difficult to explain.

  "No. I dropped my key on the porch, and it must have fallen between the boards. But don't worry. I'll make certain the window is repaired."

  He didn't seem convinced. "Why didn't you turn on the lights?"

  "No need, really. The streetlights were all I needed." Helen stepped over to the table and the chair where she'd set her jacket and hat.

  "Where's your car?"

  Helen smiled. "I walked. It's not far from my house, and I needed the fresh air." She couldn't fault the man for his thoroughness. She'd have done the same thing.

  He frowned. "Why do I have the feeling you're not being completely honest with me? Looks to me like you might be up to something. I know Joe has a lot of respect for you, but breaking and entering?"

  "I did come to feed the cats." Helen spread out her hands and nodded toward the utility room. "And I had a key."

  "You don't need a weapon to feed cats."

  Her grin spread. "No. And, you're right. That wasn't all I came for. I was hoping to find some clue as to why Rosie felt she had to pull a gun on me and run away. You might want to call Joe. I told him I was coming to have a look around."

  "Joe knows you're here?"

  "In a manner of speaking, yes. He asked me to assist in the investigation."

  "But I thought you had retired. That makes you a civilian."

  "I'm a consultant."

  Tom called, but Joe didn't respond. Replacing the cell phone on his belt, he added, "Joe didn't say anything earlier about your being here. In fact, he told me to check the place out and that he was on his way over."

  Helen went to the window. "He didn't expect that I'd have to break in. I didn't either. He's pulling in now."

  Seconds after Joe entered through the front door, a crash came from one of the floors below.

  Tom drew his gun and headed back down the stairs. "Sounds like trouble. Stay here."

  "Wait. There's a faster way down." Her words tumbled into an empty stairwell as Tom ducked outside.

  Helen hurried to a door on the opposite side of the living room. It opened into a hallway, then to the main staircase and the bookstore. Helen hugged the wall as she descended the car­peted stairs to the second floor. She stepped into the first room, where Rosie housed all of the romances. Decorated in flowers and lace, the room usually held a warm romantic charm. But at the moment, it held no charm whatsoever. Light from the windows cast eerie shadows over the bookshelves and gift items.

  The front-door chimes tinkled as the door opened again. She heard the door slam followed by a loud groan, then footsteps running across the porch. Helen rushed to the window in time to see a dark figure race across the side yard. A piece of paper flew out from under his arm as he ran. He disappeared into the woods not far from where she had come just minutes before. Her heart lurched. Worried about how he'd managed to escape Joe and Tom, Helen hurried into the hall and down the remaining steps.

  At the bottom of the stairs she found Joe groaning as he gripped the banister and hauled himself upright. "He's getting away." Joe gasped and staggered toward the door before falling to his knees.

  "What happened?" Helen flipped on a light switch. The intruder had been looking for something. No doubt about it. Rosie's desk was bare, its contents scattered across the floor. Even her penholder, a pottery vase, lay on its side, pens and pencils strewn amongst the broken pieces of ceramic.

  "Got me from behind." Joe rubbed the back of his head.

  "You're in no condition to go after him." She glanced at the moaning sheriff, whose bulk filled the doorway as he held his stomach.

  "Neither is Tom. “I’ll call for some backup. The guy went into the woods. I’ll have them approach the water from the condominiums just south of here."

  “Maybe I can catch him.” Helen pushed past Joe and headed across the lot and into the woods where she'd last seen the intruder.

  Because she'd walked the path a number of times with Rosie, Helen didn't have too much trouble at first. But as the streetlight diminished, the going became painfully slow or at least it seemed that way. The woods were only about sixty feet deep, and once she got through them, she'd be on the ocean's edge. The floodlights from the nearby condos would afford some visibility. Helen emerged from the trees and scanned the area
. Not surprisingly, the man had disappeared.

  There were only two ways the guy could have gone. Well, three, if you counted going straight ahead, which would send him over the cliff into ocean and rocks. Not an option unless he planned to kill himself. He could have doubled back into the woods, but the most obvious way was south toward the condos. Hopefully, deputies would head him off there.

  Helen scrambled over the slick, jagged rocks. Hopes of catching the guy faded by the second. She hesitated before jumping across a three-foot gap between the rock surfaces.

  Twenty feet below, the churning water pummeled the rocks. A wave crashed in and sent up a wall of seawater, then another. Icy salt water stung her face and hands. Helen waited for the next wave to recede, but before she could jump, someone grabbed her from behind. A scream tore from her throat, only to be caught by the wind and carried out to sea. Helen jabbed her attacker in the stomach, then heard him grunt and gasp for air.

  Just as she would have spun around to deliver a kick, her foot slipped, sending her headlong into the boiling cauldron below.

  Chapter Eleven

  The wind and sea roared over the sound of Helen's scream. She grasped at the slippery rocks, trying to get a grip and push herself back. Though an outcropping of rocks about four feet down had stopped her fall, she saw no way of retreating fast enough to escape the surging waves below. In seconds, she'd be picked off the cliff like a toothpick and flung into the water.

  Helen cried out again for help, pleading with God to save her. The water swelled, and Helen held her breath as she waited for the end. Saying good-bye to J.B. in her mind, she then closed her eyes and prayed.

  Miracles happened every day. In her lifetime she'd witnessed quite a few. Most would have termed them normal, everyday things, like the birth of a child, or the emergence of a butterfly from a cocoon. She'd seen people, including herself, live when the circumstances had dictated death.

  At the moment, Helen marveled at the miracle she was still alive. And in the fact that someone had grabbed her ankles and was pulling her up to safety. Soon she was high above the thundering wave that hammered against the place she'd just been lying.

  Helen rolled over onto her back, offering a prayer of thanks. She managed to get to her feet, anxious to thank whoever had pulled her to safety. He was gone. Two possibilities swept through her mind: God had sent an angel, or the man who'd attacked her had experienced a change of heart.

  Wet and cold, she headed for the condos and the officers now coming toward her. "Did you see him?"

  Neither had. Tom gave her an odd look. "How'd you get so wet?"

  Helen told them what had happened, then added, "He stopped to help me. Can't have gotten too far."

  "We'll scour the area," Tom said. "We have a couple more units coming to help—no need for you to stay."

  "Good. How's Joe?"

  "Okay. He's still at the shop. Wants to talk to you."

  Helen left the manhunt to the deputies and walked back to Rosie's place. Another officer, a young woman, had joined Joe to help gather evidence. Joe's pride had been injured more than his head, Helen decided, as he gave her a surly greeting. He introduced the officer as Stephanie Jones.

  "Stephanie used to work in Portland," Joe said. "She knows your son."

  "Glad to meet you, Mrs. Bradley."

  "So you know Jason?"

  "Right," Stephanie said. "Detective McGrady was my mentor before my husband got transferred to Lincoln City.” She shrugged. "I quit and got a job here." She then grinned. "Speaking of which, I'd better get back to it."

  Joe's dark eyes swung from Helen to the papers strewn across the floor. "I take it you didn't do this."

  "Not my style. And I hadn't worked my way down here yet." Helen huddled under her wet jacket, while Joe picked his way through the scattered papers and office supplies.

  "Did you see who it was?" Joe asked.

  "Yes and no. I wouldn't be able to pick him out in a crowd."

  "It was a man?"

  She nodded. "He had a build similar to Tom's. Dark hair. I couldn't see his face."

  "Well, let's hope we find him."

  Helen hoped so, too, in a way. At the same time she felt an overwhelming flood of compassion. The man had saved her life. After telling Joe about her close encounter with death, Helen excused herself. "I'm freezing. If you don't mind, I'm going to go upstairs and find something warm in Rosie's closet." Without waiting for an answer, Helen jogged up the stairs and proceeded to strip out of her wet clothes and towel down. She put on a pair of pants and a sweater, threw her wet things in the dryer, then hurried back downstairs. Joe was still going through the mess, and Stephanie seemed intent on checking for prints.

  Helen stopped on the lower step. "Tom told me you had a suspect in Ethan's murder."

  'We're closing in. The guy who ransacked this place might have been him. Description fits."

  "So who is he?" Helen asked.

  'We were checking out Ethan's office this afternoon and found an interesting message on his voice mail." Joe hunkered down to get a closer look at a batch of canceled checks. "A guy named Alex Jordan left a message for Ethan to meet him at the Clam Digger at seven last night."

  Alex Jordan? Helen sank onto the stairs.

  Joe went on. "He wasn't too hard to track down. The guy works for Chuck. One of the gals at the Clam Digger remembered waiting on him and Ethan last night. They left together. Jordan just moved into the area a month ago."

  "I know. I talked to him this morning. He was working on my house. He was there most of the day fixing the roof." Helen frowned. "So what connection could he have to Ethan? And why would he break into Rosie's?"

  "Haven't figured that out yet."

  "Have you talked to Chuck?" Helen asked.

  "No, that's another problem. Lynn says he hasn't been around since Sunday night."

  Helen moved closer to the desk. "I don't think that's a coincidence, do you? Seems to me one might have to do with the other." Thinking aloud, she added, "Do you think Chuck could have hired Alex to do more than pound nails?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's no secret how Chuck felt about the city council's decision to deny him permission to build on his beachfront property. Ethan came out strongly opposed to the variance. Chuck insisted there's no danger of erosion, but Ethan didn't want to take any chances."

  "So Chuck hires a hit man?" Joe tossed her a skeptical look. "I don't think so. Daniels might have his faults, but killing somebody, or having them killed, to get some houses built isn't one of them."

  "Hm. Now who isn't being objective?"

  Joe didn't find her comment the least bit amusing. "I'm using common sense."

  "I was using common sense with Rosie too."

  "Helen." Joe sighed. "Rosie pulled a gun on you."

  "That may be, but she was scared. With Chuck. . .you have to admit, the timing is right. The council turned down Chuck's proposal a little over a month ago. By the way, have you checked Alex out?"

  He shook his head. "Lynn says the guy just showed up one day needing a job. Chuck needed some extra help that day and signed him on. Spur-of-the-moment thing. She says he's been a good worker. He has some real talent for finishing work. Couple of other guys backed up her story. But nice guy or not, he had dinner with Ethan."

  "Which makes him a suspect." Helen remembered Alex's easy smile and grace. His dark hair and build. He certainly could have been the man she'd seen fleeing into the woods. And he could have pulled her from the rocks. But a killer?

  "Right now we just want him for questioning," Joe said. "But something is definitely wrong. The guy didn't check in with Lynn this afternoon like he was supposed to. And he hasn't been home. Looks like he might have moved out in a hurry. Closets stripped clean—didn't tell his landlord he was going."

  "Where did he live?"

  "Lincoln City. Had a small rental a block off the beach." With the eraser end of a pencil, Joe flipped over a couple of pages in the checkboo
k that lay open on the floor.

  "Okay, say Alex Jordan did kill Ethan. How do you explain why Rosie reacted as she did? And why would Alex, if it was Alex, break into her place? She must know something. Maybe she's afraid Ethan's killer will come after her."

  "Or maybe she hired Jordan to kill Ethan."

  "Joe.” But before Helen could express her indignation, Joe interrupted.

  "Hey, take a look at this." He pointed to an entry in the checkbook's ledger. "Looks like Rosie recently came into a nice little nest egg. I could be wrong, but I don't think she makes this much in a month selling books and knickknacks."

  Helen came around to peer over Joe's shoulder. "Especially not this time of the year."

  "There's a deposit listed here for a hundred thousand made a couple weeks ago. That's in addition to the daily entries."

  "Maybe Rosie wrote down the wrong amount," Helen said. "There's a line through it."

  "I don't think so. The deposit may have been lined out, but it's still added in to the balance. All the other deposits are in odd amounts."

  "You're right. The $147.53, $165.26, $78.39, and $120.89 were in line with her daily sales."

  "Has Rosie mentioned anything to you about coming into an inheritance?" Joe asked.

  "No. And she would have, I think." In truth, Helen didn't know what to think about Rosie anymore. She stifled a yawn. "Looks like it's going to be a long night. You two want a cup of tea or coffee? I don't think Rosie will mind if I make some."

  "No thanks," Stephanie answered. "Never drink the stuff. Um, Joe, I'm finished with the prints. I'll take them in and run them if it's okay with you."

  "That's fine. When you're finished you can go home. Can you come in tomorrow?"