Free Alana Candler, Marked for Murder by Joanie Bruce Page A

owner, and ransacked the place. His face felt cold when he remembered the pools of blood and the body wrapped mummy style.
    Of course, the word sheet didn’t always mean bed linen. It could be a sheet of paper or even sheet metal, for all he knew. He had to be careful not to make a mistake.
    He needed to find out if Pops was involved in any way with the murders!
    The word tonight sent fire through Chet’s veins and infused urgency into the situation.
    Maybe he’d call Kent. Kent never made fun of him—even when he messed up. Kent would tell him what to do. He crept into the house and dialed Kent’s number on his cell phone.
    The phone rang several times but went to voice-mail. Chet hung up. Tapping his foot impatiently, he tried to piece together the facts he knew. The seven murders the department was investigating occurred about two weeks apart. Pops went on his midnight runs about two weeks apart, and they were suspiciously close to the same dates the murders had occurred. Pops moved to Landeville a little before these murders began.
    The timing is perfect. The events have to be connected. This can’t be coincidence! Brad thinks the murders might even be linked to Alana’s kidnapping. If I solve both cases, I’ll be a hero.
    Excitement rushed through Chet’s veins as he pictured himself being praised by his chief for single-handedly solving not only the murder cases but Alana’s kidnapping as well. He might finally earn the respect and admiration of his fellow officers.
    Elliott’s sarcastic smile surfaced in his thoughts and ruined the mental picture.
    What if all of it was coincidence? Maybe Pops really was delivering cargo—like Elliott said.
    He punched in Kent’s number again and listened to the voice telling him to leave a message. With a determined grunt, Chet laid his phone on the bedside table and searched for a pair of dark pants and a shirt. Tonight he was going stalking—he’d gather irrefutable proof before he revealed his suspicions to the department.

EIGHTEEN
     
    ALANA HUNG UP THE PHONE , took a deep breath, and glanced at the clock above the elevator doors. Five more minutes, and she would be done for the day. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the tension that had settled around her eyes.
    What a day!
    After the phone call she received from the employment agency, the day completely fell apart.
    The pastries she was warming were as hard as bricks by the time she rescued them from the microwave, and the coffee was as weak and thin as dishwater. Not only had Mr. Holbrook reprimanded her severely for not having his coffee on his desk, but he also raked her over the coals for forgetting to ask Simmons and Ward to meet with him in his office.
    The phone rang off the wall all day—one person after another asking to speak to “Mr. Holbrook, please.”
    There was no paper for the computer printer anywhere in the desk or the large closet that contained supplies, and when she called the building secretary to inquire about the paper, he said it had not yet been delivered. After borrowing enough paper to get the letters typed, she’d missed her lunch in order to get them finished and ready for the mail before the mailman came to pick them up.
    As the mailman stood waiting for the letters, she searched in vain for stamps. Finally, when he waited as long as he could and left, she found them in the envelope box in the bottom drawer.
    Angry at no one in particular, she hurried down the elevators to the bottom floor— barely catching the mailman as he walked out the front door— only to return and find three people waiting in the office to see Mr. Holbrook. All three of the fretful visitors were angry about Mr. Holbrook’s instructions for not receiving visitors and furious that they weren’t informed of his decision prior to “coming all this way” to see him. They released on her the brunt of their anger.
    As she sat back in her chair, she reminded herself of her strong