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Authors: Joanie Bruce

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Alana Candler, Marked for Murder (7 page)

BOOK: Alana Candler, Marked for Murder
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Steve nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” He stood up to leave but turned back around. “Hey, where’s Florence this morning? Her desk is a mess, and as long as I’ve been coming to this office, I’ve never seen it look that way.”

“She’s out with the flu. The temp’s not very organized. It’s been rough.”

A heartless grunt burst from Steve’s mouth. “
Humph
! Now you see how the rest of us live.” He chortled as he walked out the door.

Jaydn sighed and turned back to the mass of paperwork cluttering his desk, wishing his efficient secretary would return.

ELEVEN

 

OH, WOW! I ALMOST BEAT
you this time.” Chet flipped the tennis towel over his head and wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

Elliott looked at the score sheet in his hand and gaped at his own winning score of sixty-love. He grinned on the inside and shrugged. Chet’s bluster was talking again in spite of losing the game.

Elliott picked up his racket and stuffed it into his bag. “Yeah, well, how come you don’t show more of that winning spirit at work?”

Chet’s smile dissolved into a frown, and he sat down on the bench lining the tennis courts. “I just don’t understand it. It’s not like me at all. Brad’s gonna fire me if I don’t stop making so many stupid mistakes.” His normally self-assured attitude was taking a beating.

Elliott took a long look at his partner. “Maybe you’re trying too hard, Chet. It’s not as bad as you’re making it sound.”

Chet squared his shoulders. “Yeah it is, and Brad’s not gonna put up with it much longer. I’ve gotta do something to show him I’m worth keeping on the force.”

Elliot’s usual teasing banter was checked when he saw the look of determination on Chet’s face. “Be patient, man. The mistakes you’ve made are normal for rookies. We all made mistakes our first time out of the gates. I made my share.”

“Sure enough?”

“Yeah. The worst one was when I gave a ticket to the mayor for parking in his own parking space.”

Some of the discouragement left Chet’s face, and he grinned.

“For real?”

“Shoot, man! I didn’t know he was the mayor. He’d just got elected, and all I knew was that he was parking illegally.”

Chet laughed out loud, his round stomach jiggling.

“Yeah, well, arresting the bank president’s bodyguard instead of his mugger last week sure made the chief mad. I should’ve known the man with the muscles and the holster was the bodyguard, not the thief.”

Elliott shook his head and hid a smile. “At least I was there to straighten out the mess, Chet. That’s why Brad pairs rookies with seasoned officers. So they can learn all the tricks. Don’t worry about the chief. His patience is never ending—especially with rookies.” He grinned. “Now, are you ready for another round?”

“Nah. I don’t think so. Guess my mind’s not on tennis today.” The sentence came on the back of a huff as he chased a ball rolling across the tennis court. “Have you heard any more clues about Alana’s kidnapping?” he asked as he tossed the ball at Elliott to stuff in the bag with the others.

“Not yet. None of the test results have come in from the DNA samples, and they’re still trying to prove Alana was in the hotel. If they can prove she was there, then someone at the hotel has to be involved.” Elliott jerked up his bag. “Come on, man, I’ll take you home.”

Together, they grabbed the rest of the loose balls from around the court and headed to a gray Chevy Malibu parked by the curb. Inside the car, Elliott tried to ignore the smell of sweat and hot bodies and concentrated on getting home quickly. After three games of tennis, he was ready to head home, hit the shower, and order a pizza.

As Elliott drove through Chet’s rustic neighborhood, the smell of magnolia trees and steaks on the grill wafted through the open windows of the car. Sniffing appreciatively, Elliott turned his head toward a barking dog coming from the driveway of the red house next door to Chet’s.

“Hey, Pops!” Chet yelled out the window and waved at the man leaning over a huge Pyrenees dog. The man was without a shirt, and his shorts were ragged and torn with holes in all the wrong places.

Gesturing with a disgusted arm movement, the man shook his head and stomped into the side yard as his dog followed.

Elliott looked at Chet with raised eyebrows. “Pops?”

“Yeah. I call him that ’cause he’s got a whole pile of beer cans stashed in his back yard. He’s one strange dude.”

“You think he’s strange because he piles up beer cans?’

“No. I think he’s strange ’cause he’s strange. I introduced myself to him the day he moved in. He just grunted and turned away like he did just now. He’s a recluse, man. He comes home at all hours. Doesn’t work a job that I can tell, yet deliveries come to his house constantly. Giant flat-screen TVs, brand new industrial sized appliances. A truck from Williams-Sonoma pulled in last week and delivered a whole new living room suite, including a huge entertainment center.”

“Maybe he’s got lots of money,” said Elliott.

“Living in that icky-colored red house? In this neighborhood? No way. He didn’t win the lottery either—I checked. I’m keeping my eye on him. He has a white box truck in the shed behind his house and pulls it out all hours of the night. After a while, some man brings Pops home, and the next day the truck is returned and stashed in the shed again.”

“Maybe he’s making deliveries or something. You never can tell.”

“Right. Two weeks apart? Don’t think so. He’s strange, I tell ya.”

Elliott watched Pops as he played around with the dog—throwing a bone and teaching him to fetch. The dog returned with the bone, and Elliott laughed when the dog dropped it on his owner’s toe and made Pops holler. Still, Pops leaned over and praised the dog with rubbing and pats—the dog’s tail slapping back and forth.

“Looks like his dog loves him—even if he is weird.”

Chet frowned. “You don’t believe me, do ya? One of these days, I’m gonna follow that truck and satisfy my curiosity.”

Elliott gave him a wary eye. “You better watch out stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong. It might get cut off.”

Chet opened the door and stepped out onto the driveway. “All right, next time he pulls outta that shed, I’m gonna call
you
, and you can come with me.”

“No way, man. I’m not stupid.”

Chet laughed and closed the door. Elliott gave him a quick wave then pulled back into the road.

Chet lifted a hand toward Elliott as he drove off, and then he turned to study the house next door. Pops and his strange behavior gave him an idea. If he could prove Pops was involved in some kind of crime, he’d win points with the chief.

A plan began to form in his mind. The next time the box truck pulled out of the shed and down the road, he’d be following . . . a discreet distance behind.

TWELVE

 

AT BRAD’S HOUSE, ALANA SIPPED
her coffee and watched in amazement as Lisa ran around the house gathering papers, books, and a glass jar for Jan’s science experiment. Clad in jeans and a tee shirt, Lisa looked like she was dressed appropriately for the marathon she was running. Her blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she looked like a teenager instead of the mother of three children.

“Jan, I thought I told you to get all this ready yesterday,” Lisa said in exasperation to her passive four year old slumped in front of her.

“I did, Mama. But, Rob wanted to do a ’speriment too, an’. . . an’. . . he just took mine to use for his.”

Lisa gave her a frown as she stuffed a sack lunch into a black backpack. “Well, go and tell your brother that we have to meet the school bus in five minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The head of curls bobbed up and down as she nodded. She rushed to the bottom of the stairs in the middle of the hall and yelled to the bedrooms above. “Ro-o-o-ob! Mama says get down here!”

Lisa looked in irritated amusement at Alana and shook her head.

“Jan,” Lisa said quietly to her daughter. “I could have yelled myself.”

Jan cocked her little head full of curls to the side and looked searchingly at her mother. “Then why did you tell me to do it?”

Alana laughed inwardly at the innocent question and tried to hide her expression from the little girl.

A loud banging echoed from the stairs as Rob barreled down the steps three at a time.

“Never mind.” Lisa told her daughter as she helped place the backpack on her seven-year-old son’s shoulders and shoved them both toward the back door. She turned to Alana.

“Listen for Timmy, will you? He probably won’t be up for a while, but I’ll be back in a few minutes. The bus stop is at the corner.”

Alana nodded and laughed as she watched her sister-in-law push her offspring out the door. Jan’s blond head never stopped bobbing as she argued with her older brother about why she should sit in the middle seat. Rob’s light brown hair, straight as a board but angled with two stubborn cowlicks, remained perfectly still as he listened calmly and headed toward the
back
seat of the van—his usual place.

As their Chevrolet minivan backed out of the carport, a twinge of jealousy invaded Alana’s good spirits. She remembered the happiness in Lisa’s face that morning when she greeted Brad after his morning shower.

Alana sighed as the longing for a family and a husband to care for resurfaced. Since her choice of men wasn’t the best in the world, that itch for a family had resulted in nothing but disaster so far.

Her first attempt at a serious relationship was with Tom Watting, a self-assured, seemingly perfect individual. After two years of dating, she was sure a proposal was right around the corner.

In her imagination, she’d supplied a house, a family, and even a dog to complete the picture of a marriage with Tom. But when her feelings were pushed to the side gradually, her dreams of the perfect marriage vanished like fog on a sunny day. Tom’s work as financial wizard and advisor for his family’s multi-billion dollar company became more important to him than her dreams.

Alana used her work in photography as a way of ignoring the problems with their relationship. The more work she did, the less time she spent thinking about Tom. Her growing lack of interest and attention eventually caused him to search for attention in other places.

Alana’s face flushed as she remembered finding him kissing another girl in the restaurant that he had told Alana was their “special place.”

Looking back, she realized it wasn’t fascination with her job that caused her growing lack of interest in Tom, but the dissatisfaction in their relationship. Being married to a rich executive would have made her miserable. His scheming and borderline dishonest practices would have continually pricked her conscience.

Martin Strands, her second beau, was considered the most handsome man in the tiny town of Bishop, but when the newness of their relationship wore off, he began showing his true colors. As the only son of a wealthy lawyer in town, Martin, the owner of several pool halls, considered himself above the rules of the town and used his power and money to manipulate those around him in order to enforce his own agenda—pleasing himself.

When she broke off their relationship, a sinister side of Martin’s personality revealed itself. His anger pushed her even further away—making her thankful God stopped her from making a terrible mistake.

The dream of having a family of her own kindled an ache in her heart that wouldn’t go away. When God sent the right man to make that dream a reality, it would take top priority in her life. After her engagement with Martin ended, photography became her life.

Alana sighed deeply and went to get her Bible from the suitcase in her bedroom. Thankful the water didn’t reach her Bible inside her waterproof bag, she sat down at the kitchen table facing the window and opened the Bible. After her close brush with death, reading God’s Word was a pleasure.

Last night on the local cable station, her favorite television evangelist preached that Christians are commanded to praise God in all circumstances of their lives—both good and bad. She felt guilty for complaining when God truly blessed her in so many ways—as Brad reminded her in the hospital.

No matter what came into her life, she vowed she would remember to praise God, even if it seemed impossible.

It was hard to praise and thank God for being attacked, but according to the preacher on the television, that’s what the Bible instructed her to do. The verses in Ephesians spoke to her heart as she read them aloud.

“Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Dear Lord, I know I haven’t been as close to You lately as I should have been, but I do love You, Lord, and I thank You for taking care of me. Even though You allowed my car and other things to be ruined, You saved my life, and I thank You for that. I thank You also for this man, whoever he is, that jumped in the lake and saved me. Help me find him and thank him in person. Help me learn to be thankful in all things like the verses showed me this morning. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.

She raised her head and stared out the double-glass patio door at the fine mist covering Lisa’s rose garden. The damp and dreary weather that hovered over the city conspired to make her feel lethargic and depressed.

BOOK: Alana Candler, Marked for Murder
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