Free Alana Candler, Marked for Murder by Joanie Bruce

filling the coffee maker with water and coffee grounds, she flipped on the power switch.
    Now . . . pastries. Where would they be?
    A quick glance around the room revealed a small refrigerator hidden behind a white wooden door. She gasped when she opened the door. It revealed pastries of every kind. Carefully, she picked up a small croissant and a chocolate doughnut and arranged them on a saucer from the cabinet beside the sink. Just as she was pressing the buttons on the microwave to warm the pastries, the phone at the reception desk began ringing. Quickly she stepped up to the desk and picked up the receiver.
    “Uh, Mr. Jaydn Holbrook’s office. May I help you?”
    “Yes, this is the Evercrest Employment Agency. I wanted to let Mr. Holbrook know the replacement secretary we scheduled for him this morning had an unexpected death in the family and won’t be able to work today. We don’t have another secretary available to work with the qualifications he requires, but if he has to have one today, I’ll try to find him someone with less experience. I know Mr. Holbrook likes someone with a good deal of secretarial expertise. Hopefully, the lady we planned to send today will be able to return tomorrow.”
    Alana’s tongue covered her top lip while trying to decide what to tell her.
    “Hello. Are you there?” The voice on the phone drummed into her ear.
    Alana finally spoke into the receiver.
    “Yes. Uh . . . Mr. Holbrook has someone for the day, but if the other lady can come tomorrow, that would be fine.”
    She hung up the phone and inhaled a cowardly breath. She wasn’t sure if she could keep up this hurried pace for a whole day, but she knew she needed to do something for the man who gave her the most precious gift a human being could give another.
    Her life.

SEVENTEEN
     
    CHET PULLED THE MAIL FROM his box and stood flipping through the bills and ad fliers. His neighbor, Pops, slammed out of the house and yelled into the air, then lowered the volume to just above a whisper.
    Good grief, he’s weird!
    Chet shook his head as he walked up the driveway and pulled a party invitation from the stack of mail. He saw Pops racing to the back of the house with his hand up to his ear and realized he was talking on the phone. Chet’s curiosity propelled him forward as he crept up the driveway, trying to get close enough to hear the phone conversation.
    When Pops’ voice became excited, Chet shuffled a little closer to a camellia bush and strained to hear the excited whispers. Several words carried across the wind, and what he heard made his skin crawl.
    “. . .sheet . . . loot . . . tonight . . .”
    The blood rushed to Chet’s face.
    Could they be talking about a sheet murder?
    He was sure the sudden excitement filling his body caused the bushes around him to shake.
    Be careful, Chet! Don’t let Pops know you heard him.
    He squatted on the ground and waited until his breathing slowed and the trembles in his body stopped.
    Could Pops be involved with the murders they were investigating?
    He should call the department!
    The snickers and laughing faces of Elliott and his other buddies in the department flashed through his mind after his last arrest—an old lady he arrested for shoplifting. She’d turned out to be the owner of the store.
    No! He wouldn’t call ’em yet. Not until he had proof.
    He clenched his jaw and listened for more information. Pops stomped across the yard, talking to the person on the phone until his voice faded away. Chet gulped as Pops disappeared inside the old shed.
    He’s going out again. Maybe tonight!
    Chet squeezed the mail tightly in his hands and crept low until he reached the end of his porch. Sitting on the bottom step, he watched for movement next door and thought about what he’d heard.
    The word sheet made him quiver. The scene of the last murder haunted his thoughts. The intruders disarmed the security system, broke a downstairs window to gain entrance to the home, killed the