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

  When they were within a few feet of the bank, men met them with blankets and stretchers. They covered the victim in blankets, and handed one to Matt. He wrapped it around his shoulders, and waved the second gurney away. He glanced at the shivering woman and recognized Sara Bradford.

  Her face was ghostly pale, and lips slightly blue, she shook uncontrollably.

  “What’s up with you and water?”

  For a moment, she gave him a blank stare. Then shook her head. “N-not even f-funny, Foley.”

  ****

  Ensconced on the gurney, warm cover held tight against her body, Sara studied the officer as he took out his notebook. “When they’re finished with you at the hospital, we’ll get your statement.”

  “I-I think I c-can answer your questions now.” Her voice quavered. “I’m n-not injured. There’s nothing the hospital can do that I can’t do at h-home.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded, pulled the blanket tighter, and ran through the night’s events as the officer scribbled on his pad.

  When she’d finished, Matt pulled the officer aside for a moment. Matt turned from the trooper, then came back to stand next to her. “You okay?”

  “Yes...thanks...you saved my life. I couldn’t have made it to shore.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe someone deliberately pushed me into the lake. My insurance company will have a coronary.”

  Matt leaned against the ambulance door. “That’s the least of your worries. Whoever shoved you over that rail meant business. You should go to the hospital. People in shock don’t always realize they’re injured.”

  Sara shook her head. “I’m not in shock, and I couldn’t face another visit to the ER.”

  His jaw worked, and he turned away. Hands on his hips, he gazed at the gap in the guardrail. A moment passed before he swung around to face her. “You’re very lucky to be alive. By some miracle, you’ve survived two attempts on your life.” He glanced down at her. “Right now, your guardian angel is asking for reassignment.”

  “Has anyone ever told you your sense of humor is inappropriate?”

  “It’s been mentioned.” His mouth softened a little, erasing its grim set. “How do you plan to get home?”

  “If I may borrow a cell phone from someone, I’ll call Pete to pick me up.”

  “Don’t bother, I’ll take you. I think these guys have all the information they need from you.”

  “I don’t want to put you out, Matt. You’re wet. I can call Pete. I’m just five—”

  “—Sara, I’m in no mood for a debate.” His jaw seemed locked again as irritation crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I’m here and I’ll take you. The way this night has gone, you may need a bodyguard, and Pete isn’t exactly Kevin Costner.”

  It wasn’t worth a fight. He was tired, wet, and probably as cold as she felt. Since he thought her a killer, he was probably regretting the rescue.

  His accusation yesterday still stung. She wished she’d known Matt better while Mary lived. Perhaps he would have trusted her, realized she could never kill anyone.

  Despite Matt’s suspicions of her, he apparently hadn’t relayed them to Mary. She would never have believed him anyway. Sara and Matt had called an unspoken truce during the last year of Mary’s illness. They were civil to each other, even friendly, in Mary’s presence. That ended with her death.

  Were all cops suspicious by nature? She couldn’t fight that. He’d have to prove himself wrong. She sat up and clutched the blanket closer, then stepped out of the ambulance. “You have serious issues.”

  “That’s entirely possible.”

  Matt took her arm and guided her to his SUV, waited until she slid into the seat, then slammed the door.

  He walked around and got into the driver’s seat. Why was he mad at her? She’d done nothing to raise his ire, except not follow his orders without question. Did he resent her intrusion into his professional life? She rested her head against the seat back. She couldn’t worry about his feelings right now. She didn’t have the strength.

  Silence hung like a heavy cloud on the drive home. Sara glanced across at the stubborn set of his jaw then turned back to stare out the window. For reasons she didn’t understand, tears pushed at the back of her eyelids. She held them in by sheer force of will. Why the tears now? The danger had passed and she wasn’t the crying type.

  Sara Bradford’s Home

  They stopped under the portico. Her reluctant hero got out and opened the car door. Chilled to the very core of her being, she stepped out of the car and the dam of emotions she’d held inside, broke. She gulped back a sob, and turned to flee into the house. He caught her and drew her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest.

  All the anxiety and horror of the last hour overwhelmed her in a flood of tears. Minutes seemed to tick by until the tears finally stopped.

  She pushed away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s been a stressful night. I guess you’re entitled to a good cry. I’d give you my handkerchief but it’s wet.”

  He walked her to the door, took her key, opened the lock, then followed her inside.

  She paused, watching as he closed the door behind him. “What are you doing?”

  “Go upstairs and get into dry clothes. I’ll check the doors and windows. I’m going to wake Pete, ask him to sleep here tonight. Tomorrow you’ll need to see about getting some protection.”

  “What kind of protection?”

  Matt stopped and looked down at her. “A gun, pepper spray, a bodyguard, or all of the above.”

  “Don’t wake Pete...”

  “Don’t argue. The decision’s made. Deal with it. Does Pete have a gun?”

  Her teeth chattered. “I...t-think so.”

  “Where’s your bedroom?”

  “Upstairs...first door on the r-right.”

  He turned her towards the stairs. “Go change into something warm. I’ll come up later to check the locks on your windows.”

  Her knees weak and unsteady, she moved up the stairs and made her way to the bedroom. In the shower, she turned on the water as hot as she could stand it, letting the heat evaporate the deep-seated chill and wash away the fishy smell. She grabbed a pair of flannel pajamas and a robe, then climbed into bed. Before she settled in, someone knocked on the door. Maddie rushed forward, followed by Beatrice and Matt.

  Maddie sat on the bedside. “Matthew told us what happened. Are you all right?”

  Sara nodded, and blinked back the moisture that welled in her eyes. She had become such a wimp. She hated it.

  Beatrice pressed a cup of hot lemon tea into her hand. “Pobre niña. Esta bebida, lo hará mejor.”

  Sara forgot her own discomfort as she watched Matt check the windows. He still wore his wet clothes. He held a steaming mug, but he must be near frozen.

  Matt turned to faced them. “Those French doors need bolts at the top and bottom. Ask Pete to take care of it tomorrow.” He grabbed the doorknobs and shook them, then stepped away. “I didn’t see a security system. I suggest you get one as soon as possible. That’s an extra layer of protection.” He nodded and left the room.

  Sara sneezed, then caught Beatrice’s attention. “There’s a thermal sweat suit and jacket in the closet that belonged to Josh. Make sure the chief changes into them before he leaves.”

  Beatrice nodded, took the clothes from the closet, and marched down the hallway. A woman on a mission.

  Sara slid down in the bed, resting her head against the pillows. It was probably unfair to set Beatrice on Matt in his weakened state. But it needed to be done. He could be so stubborn and he wouldn’t change otherwise. It would be interesting to be a fly on the wall for that confrontation.

  The immoveable object and the irresistible force, set on a collision course.

  She pulled the comforter up under her chin and closed her eyes. A shiver ran up her spine. Matt had been right, she should have gone to the hospit
al. They would have given her medicine to make her sleep. Now she faced the long night, reliving her life and death struggle in the lake.

  CHAPTER 13

  Matt Foley’s Home

  On the way home, Matt called to check on the APB that went out on the sketchy truck details Sara provided. Nothing had turned up yet. It probably landed in a chop shop somewhere in Dallas an hour after the incident.

  The house stood dark when he pulled into the driveway. No surprise there. Stella, his housekeeper, usually left before nine.

  He entered the kitchen through the garage, and Rowdy greeted him at the door with his happy face. Thankfully, without any dead bird offertory he’d dragged in the doggie door.

  Stella left a dinner of grilled pork chops and a baked sweet potato in the microwave. She was a jewel, but he’d grabbed a sandwich earlier in the evening. She’d also made a peach cobbler. He finished off a bowl of his favorite dessert and a glass of milk before heading off to bed.

  Double doors led into the bedroom he’d shared with Mary. The space was large, decorated with her impeccable taste. She’d avoided a feminine environment with a cornice board over the king-size bed, and had selected a forest green and tan color scheme in bold stripes and plaids.

  He undressed and threw the clothes Beatrice forced on him into the laundry basket. The jogging suit must have belonged to Josh Bradford. Too big for Pete. It felt strange wearing a dead man’s clothes, but he’d had no choice. Beatrice threatened to undress him if he didn’t do it himself. From her stubborn frown, he didn’t doubt she would have tried. She’d been right. The dry clothes had made him feel better.

  After a hot shower, he crawled between the warm flannel sheets and tried to unwind. Sleep lurked, just beyond his reach. The old brain refused to shut down, replaying the night’s events in endless, vivid color. The horror of watching someone almost drown, the fierce cold of the water, the shock to discover the victim was Sara Bradford, left him with a bone numbing weariness. Rowdy seemed to sense his angst, and snuggled in beside him.

  As always, his thoughts turned to his wife. They had shared something rare. She’d been his first love. His only love. They’d planned a future, filled with children. A lifetime to grow old together.

  Man plans. God laughs.

  The scene outside Sara’s home made him uneasy. His attempt to comfort her, feeble as it had been, disturbed him. Compassion overwhelmed him. He’d wanted to pull her close, smooth her damp hair with his hand, to reassure her that he was there. She was safe. But he hadn’t.

  Unbidden, Sara’s poem eased into his thoughts. It amazed him how accurately the words described Mary. His throat tightened as he realized for the first time, he and Sara shared an invisible bond. They’d both loved the same woman, in different ways.

  He turned over and punched his pillow. One thing he knew for certain, he could never care for anyone that intensely again.

  Another thing he knew for sure. Tonight’s incident erased any doubts he might have had. Someone wanted Sara Bradford dead. But who? And why? Could he have misjudged Sara? Had someone else killed her husband? It seemed a stretch, but it was possible Josh Bradford’s hit-and-run was somehow connected to Penny Pryor’s death. All questions that needed answers soon. Before another attempt was made on Sara’s life.

  He weighed the evidence against Sara’s culpability in her husband’s death. Even though he no longer wanted to believe it, the motive was almost overwhelming. Josh Bradford’s death had been too convenient. She’d gotten rid of an unfaithful husband and inherited a bundle.

  People had killed for much less.

  ****

  Sore muscles and lack of rest convinced Matt to sleep in. Foul weather had kept him from his morning run for more than a week. He hated to jog in the rain. Despite the blue skies, this wasn’t the day to resume his habit. He and Rowdy would get into shape tomorrow.

  He filled the Yorkie’s food and water bowls, made a large mug of coffee in the Keurig, and took it out to the deck.

  He’d only placed one restraint on Mary using her money after they married. He insisted they live in the home he bought. In that, he’d been fortunate. Acting as his own contractor and with Joe Wilson’s help, he’d built a two-story, redwood and glass structure, with five thousand square feet of living space. It sat on a twenty-acre tract of land, left to him by his grandfather.

  Matt took his coffee out to the multilevel deck that flowed down to the large backyard. Heavy wooden outdoor furniture formed a conversation pit near a rock open-air fireplace. The morning air was chill and clear, but bright sunlight filtered through the fifty-foot pines to warm his face, and abate the nip in the breeze. Rowdy finished his breakfast and lay at his master’s feet, eyeing a doe and her fawn, munching corn from the feeder, just beyond the tree line.

  The serenity could almost make him forget the evil out there.

  Almost.

  His iPhone blared the William Tell Overture. That would be Chuck, the station desk sergeant. Matt slid his thumb across the screen. “Foley.”

  “Just a heads-up, Chief. The Terror has been by twice doing his Chicken Little impersonation. Muttering that some people keep banker’s hours.”

  The Terror was Councilman Terence Hall. The perfect way to end the start of a good day. “Thanks, Chuck. I’ll be in for the nine-thirty meeting.”

  He finished his coffee, then went upstairs to shower, shave, and dress for work.

  Twin Falls Police Station

  With a wave at the desk sergeant, Matt turned right into the break room for another caffeine fix. He snatched a large foam cup from the counter, filled it with the dark brew, then took the stairs to the detective bureau to meet Davis and Hunter.

  Upstairs, Matt started fresh coffee in the conference room, then checked his cell phone messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait.

  At nine-thirty, Hunter and Davis sauntered in and stashed two wet, folded umbrellas against the wall.

  “Raining again?” Matt asked.

  Hunter shook his head. “Nope. It’s Hal. We tried to outsmart him with the umbrellas. One problem—the sprinkler system shoots up. We were half successful.”

  Obvious point. Only the bottom half of their pant legs were wet. “I thought the engineer fixed that.”

  “So did he. He was standing in the lobby when we came in.” Davis slid into a chair. “The old guy threw a shop towel on the floor, and stalked off.”

  Matt spread his hands in a sorry-about-that gesture. “I’ll tell him to just shut the thing down until he solves the problem.”

  Hunter went to the conference room coffee station, filled a cup half-full of creamer, added four packets of sugar, then filled it with coffee.

  “He likes a little caffeine with his cream and sugar.” Davis shook his head.

  His partner shrugged and took a seat at the conference table.

  From his inside jacket pocket, Davis retrieved a small black notebook. “We received the list from Sam Pryor, five people he could remember who once lived in the neighborhood and still live in town.”

  Davis turned a page and found his list. “Probably a few others they aren’t aware of, but we’ll start with these guys and add any new possible wits that come up later. We ran the names through NCIS and CCH.”

  The National Criminal Information System and Computerized Criminal History.

  “None had a rap sheet,” Davis continued. “We plan to interview old neighbors who still live in the Pryor subdivision.”

  Hunter picked up the dialogue. “Two guys, Charles Edwards and Donald Tompkins, work for Global. Edwards is a retail vice president. We confirmed with the Pryors that Edwards drove a white panel truck back then. He and his wife owned a dry-cleaning establishment. However, he was in the military at the time. Tompkins is a security guard for Global and former Dallas police officer. They think he drove the police van home in those days. Also, something curious about Tompkins. He lives in a neighborhood pretty upscale for an ex-cop/security guard. We’ll try to check his f
inances without getting a warrant.”

  Davis added, “Seth Davidson was the family’s pastor. Adam Elliot is in business, somewhere in Dallas, and was in high school at the time the Pryor kid vanished. He’s a former employee of Global, and both were former neighbors of the Pryors.”

  Hunter took the last gulp of coffee. “The final guy on the list is Jacob Jamison. He’s deceased, but his widow, Maddie Jamison, still lives here. They separated years ago, but never divorced. He left her a chunk of change when he died. Neither Davidson, Elliot, nor Jamison owned a white van, of any kind, to the Pryor’s knowledge. We’ll interview as many of them as we can locate today.”

  Matt nodded at Davis. “I’ll take Seth Davidson. He’s my pastor and knows most of the people in town in one way or another. He might be able to help.”

  “We’ll cross him off our list,” Davis said removing a pen from his pocket. “Hunter also spoke to the church secretary at the old retreat about the stored records. They still have the retreat schedule back to the date Penny disappeared. The secretary didn’t volunteer to pull the dates we need, but said we were welcome to look through the files.”

  Back in his office, Matt stared out the window, processing the information the two detectives presented. He pulled a yellow legal pad from his desk drawer and made two columns, listing people who lived in the Pryor neighborhood and also worked at Global. All but two made both lists.

  The fact the Global security guard had been one of the Pryor’s neighbors and had been at the explosion Friday was significant, as well as Adam Elliot’s access to the building, despite the fact he no longer worked there. The list Tompkins gave him had Elliot’s name with an active access code.

  Granted, Global was a major employer in Twin Falls, but he wanted to pay particular attention to those on both lists.