Alana Candler, Marked for Murder (22 page)

FORTY-THREE

BRAD AND NAOMI WALKED BACK
into the apartment after Jaydn and Alana left, and Brad locked the apartment up tight.

“I’m going to bed now, sir. Make yourself at home. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks, Naomi. I’ll be fine.”

Brad walked into the dining area and listened to the clock ticking on the kitchen wall. The tapping of the second hand moving around the face of the black dial irritated his already taut nerves. He pulled out his cell phone and pushed the number one—his speed dial number for home. Hearing the voice of someone he loved would calm his worried heart.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Lisa.”

“Hello, sweetheart. Can you hold on a minute? I’m just getting Timmy out of the tub.”

“Sure.” Brad pulled out one of the black lacquered chairs and sat down. He rolled his head around on his shoulders, trying to relax his tense muscles. Until he heard from Alana and knew she was safe at Jaydn’s mountain cabin, he wouldn’t be able to relax.

He sat there rolling his head from side to side when the meaning of what Lisa said finally pierced his tired brain. He looked at the clock hands that showed 1:30.

In the tub? At this time of night?

“Brad? Are you there?”

“Yeah, what do you mean, you have Timmy in the tub?”

“Well . . . he’s got a fever.”

“How high?”

“It’s 103.2.”

Brad could hear Timmy whimpering in the background, and his voice rose a pitch higher. “That high?”

“Remember, Brad, he always has a higher fever than Rob or Jan. Especially when he’s got an ear infection.”

“How do you know he has an ear infection?”

Lisa’s end of the conversation got quiet. “I didn’t want to worry you, hon, but I took him to the doctor this afternoon. He’s had a fever all day.”

Brad blew out a grieved sigh. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I wish I could be there to help you.”

“We’re making it fine, sweetheart. Just worry about Alana now and your work. The Lord’ll take care of us. He always has. How are things going? Did you make it to Ross okay?”

“Yeah, I made it fine.”

“You sound like something’s wrong.”

He should have known Lisa would pick up the troubled tone in his voice.

“Someone tried to drown Alana in the pool tonight.”

“Oh no! Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. But it’s a miracle she wasn’t hurt, or worse. Jaydn and I just happened to pull up when the guy was pushing her head under the water with one of the pool nets. When he saw us coming, he dropped the pole and ran. I chased him, but he had a car waiting.” He blew out a troubled breath.

“Did you see his face?”

“No. He wore a mask.”

“Did you tell the Ross police? Can’t they give her protection?”

“They don’t have the manpower.” Frustration rippled through his tone of voice. “They have the same flu bug we’ve got in Landeville, only worse.” His breath puffed out between his teeth. “I just don’t know who’s after her, or why. It’s eating me alive. If I knew the reason, I’d know how to fight it.”

“Honey, you have to trust the Lord. I’m sure God put you there in time, and He’ll give you the answers if you trust Him. He’s allowing these things to happen for a reason. Maybe He’s trying to teach us a lesson about something. Let’s trust Him and find out what it is. You know what the Bible says, ‘All things work together for good to them that love the Lord.’ Trust Him, Brad. He knows what He’s doing.”

He leaned back and relaxed in his chair. “Now I know why I called you, sweetie. Thanks for the encouragement. I love you, Lisa.”

“I love you too, Brad, and I miss you. You aren’t driving home tonight tired, are you?”

“No. It’s too late. I’m staying at Jaydn’s apartment.”

“He has an apartment in Ross?”

“Well, it belongs to the company, but I found out tonight that Jaydn inherited the company from his dad.”

“The whole company?”

“Lock, stock, and bonds.”

“Wow!” was all Lisa could say.

“He doesn’t want anyone to know, so don’t mention it, okay? Anyway, I’m staying tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll probably spend some time with the police chief here and see if he has any ideas or leads. Then, I’ll head home.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Please don’t worry about Timmy. I started him on antibiotics right away, and I can tell he’s already feeling better. As a matter of fact, his temperature’s down a little from this afternoon. So, don’t worry, okay?”

“That’s easier said than done, but I’ll try.”

“Oh . . . I have two messages for you. Your secretary called to tell you that the CD of pictures Alana dropped off at the station—the ones she took of the last murder scene—got misplaced at the office and were somehow mailed to the lab in Stranton. It took the lab there forever to figure out where they came from. When they finally saw someone familiar in one of the pictures, they knew it came from your office. They said they’d overnight it tomorrow. You should receive them the day after that. Sandee didn’t know how they got mixed up. Anyway, she asked me to let you know.”

“At this rate, I could have had prints made at the local Wal-Mart. What’s the other message?”

“Let’s see, I have it written down. One of your officers called . . . here it is, let’s see . . . it was Elliott. He said he finished some of the lab work and wants you to call him . . . at home if you need to.”

“Thanks, Lisa. I’ll give him a call. I love you, honey. Sleep well.”

He hung up the phone and quickly dialed Elliott’s home number. When Elliott picked up, Brad could hear fatigue in every syllable.

“Hey. Lisa said you called.”

“Yeah. Just thought you’d like to know. No fingerprints on the suicide note or the pen.”

“None? As in wiped clean?”

“Yep.”

The chair creaked as Brad sat back down. “Well, well. How do you imagine Chet managed that? He writes the note, wipes it
and
the pen clean, then shoots himself? Does that make sense to you, Elliott?”

“Nope.”

“We need to label this a homicide, get back into the murder scene, and do some serious digging for clues. Get the boys in there tomorrow and go over Chet’s house with a fine-toothed comb. Check out his desk at the station as well. See if he left any clues there.”

“Okay, boss.”

“Nice work, Elliott. What about the hotel where Alana was attacked? I know they didn’t find any prints, but what about DNA evidence?”

“I’m afraid not, Chief. It’s strange that there weren’t many prints. You’d have thought the maids would have left something. Actually, it looked like a brand new room to me . . . new carpet, new furniture. Even the walls looked freshly painted. There was a slight odor that might have been aired out paint fumes.”

Brad blew out a frustrated breath of air.

“What about Bo and Kent’s report? Was there anything suspicious in either report?”

“Haven’t seen either report.”

“Well, I have a feeling the hotel manager is in this up to his eyeballs. Okay, Elliott. There’s one more thing I want you to do.
Alana met with Jaydn’s sketch artist to see if she could remember anything about the man who attacked her at the hotel. They came up with a sketch of the man’s eyes. I’d like you to take a look at it and see if it looks anything like our man, Hollister.”

“Okay, Chief, but I didn’t get a good look at the guy, and the mug shot we have is several years old.”

“See if you recognize anything at all.”

“Okay, Chief. There’s one more thing. The other day when I took Chet home from playing tennis, he was ridiculing his neighbor’s ‘icky
red
house.’ Remember the word he used for a middle name means red? Chet might have been trying to point a finger at his neighbor as being his killer and maybe involved in the sheet murders.”

Brad rubbed his face with his hand and mourned for his friend. “It probably wouldn’t hold up in court, but you might be right, Elliott. Good work. Keep digging. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

Brad sat back wearily in the chair and closed his eyes.

Lord, Lisa’s right. I know I have to trust you. Please help me find the answers. Somewhere, there are the pieces I need to solve this puzzle. Will you please help us find them?

Feeling restless, Brad left the dining room and strode into the darkened living room, where he sank into the recliner and sat with his head held in his hands for a while—praying to God—hoping answers would be revealed magically. He knew God didn’t work that way, but he could use a miracle right about now.

When the telephone started an insistent ringing, he jumped up and walked back into the kitchen.

“Brad Candler.”

Jaydn’s voice came over the line, making his report. “Alana was dead on her feet when we got here, so I sent her to bed. I told her I’d call and let you know we got here without problems. I don’t believe anyone even followed us to the airport.”

“Thanks, Jaydn. I’ll call Alana in the morning.”

“When you call, use the house number. Sometimes the cell service out here is sketchy. I left the number on a pad beside the phone. We’re locked in, and the security system’s on over the whole grounds. No one could get in here tonight without sounding enough alarms to make us all go deaf.”

Brad let out a relieved laugh. “Thanks, Jaydn. I’ll rest easier, knowing my sister’s safe.”

“I thought you’d also like to know security guards from the office are here too, stationed all around the property—especially around the lake perimeter. They’re off duty until next week, so they’re prepared to stay for as long as we need them.”

Brad was speechless. If it wasn’t for Jaydn, Alana would be dead. How could he convey his thanks for something as significant as that? When he spoke, his voice was quiet and husky. “Thanks, Jaydn. I don’t know what I’d do without you, my friend.”

The silence was deafening. It had been an emotional day for them all.

“Just get a good night’s sleep, buddy. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” Jaydn’s voice was hoarse.

“Good night.”

Brad hung up the phone and climbed the stairs. His legs felt thick and heavy, but he made it up the stairs to his room and fell into bed. His weary eyelids closed, and he prayed for wisdom. Tomorrow would be another day, full of more questions. Hopefully, with God’s help, they’d find answers.

FORTY-FOUR

THE NEXT MORNING, JAYDN JOGGED
around a short path where the daily walks of Evan and Sam had worn down the grass and packed the dirt into a level running field. He waved at one of the security guards as he passed his position and slowed down to a fast walk. The sweat running down his forehead had more to do with the mental turmoil he was fighting than the physical exertion. His reaction to Alana’s entrance into his life stunned him. Just being in the same room with her made his pulse rate increase. And the desire to hear her tantalizing laughter and breathe in her flowery scent was overwhelming.

As he passed the second story window where she was sleeping, he thought about the thing that made her special to him—her strong faith in a Supreme Being—something he wished he could share. Her loyalty to God stirred the pot of hidden emotions swirling within his tormented soul.

Alana was nothing like his father’s brand of Christian. She was
real
. And, yet, he wondered if he could find that closeness to God and actually
live
what he believed. It wasn’t just
important
to him, it was
essential
.

A longing crept over his heart like kudzu, squeezing out his independence—making him long for a Higher Authority he could trust in and lean on. It was a longing that would not go away. He craved a decision about God—one way or the other—and soon.

Patricia’s face suddenly appeared before him.

Was she a “real” Christian? She went to church every week, but she never talked about her faith—or her God—as Alana did. She never displayed affection or trust in a Supreme Being. Her relationship with God, if there was one, differed so much from Alana’s trust and friendship with her God.

Other comparisons between Alana and Patricia suddenly plowed their way into his thoughts. Alana made his heart glow with radiance and life, whereas Patricia just made his heart feel dead and lifeless. And to think he actually considered giving her a ring.

“Thank you Lord, for saving me from making that mistake!”

Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. He just spoke to a God he vowed didn’t exist—until now. That was a prayer, wasn’t it? He stood in stunned silence as the sweat ran down his face and burned his eyes.

Distractedly, he wiped away the burning from his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. To mumble a prayer meant he believed a God existed, or he wouldn’t have spoken
. Did
he believe there was an omnipotent being?

Yes!

He realized with a start that his whole view of God and Christianity changed in an instant. And, why? All because of a brown-eyed believer who put her faith where her heart was supposed to be. She
lived
her faith, and through her life, he saw how important God could be in a person’s life. In
his
life. He longed for a relationship with a God that loved him unconditionally and wanted the best for him in spite of his faults.