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Authors: Patricia Bradley

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Silence in the Dark

BOOK: Silence in the Dark
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© 2016 by Patricia Bradley

Published by Revell

a division of Baker Publishing Group

P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

www.revellbooks.com

Ebook edition created 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4934-0172-7

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Epigraph
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Patricia Bradley
Back Ads
Back Cover
The L
ORD
himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.
Deuteronomy 31:8
Prologue

T
en-year-old Bailey Adams huddled with the Carver twins on Cassie’s bed. They’d given up pretending Cassie and Jem’s parents weren’t arguing or that their dad wasn’t drunk. Bailey avoided their eyes, knowing how embarrassed they were. “Maybe I should just go home.”

Jem shook her head. “No, stay. He’ll go to sleep soon, and tomorrow it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

Cassie threw back the blanket. “I’m going to tell them to stop!”

Jem grabbed at her arm and missed. “You’ll just make it worse.”

“I don’t care. I can’t stand it anymore.”

She wasn’t gone five minutes when it sounded like firecrackers exploding in the living room. And screams.

“No! Don’t shoot!”

Another boom.

Silence.

Jem jumped from the bed. “Cassie! I have to go help her!”

“No! He might shoot you.”

“My daddy wouldn’t hurt me. You climb out the window and go next door to Mr. Arnold’s house and call the police.” Jem ran out of the room.

Bailey’s thumping heart jerked in her chest as she turned and stared at the open window.

Another gunshot bolted her into action as footsteps stomped down the hallway. She climbed through the window and ran for all she was worth to the neighbor’s.

A week later at the funeral home, Bailey slipped away from the room where three caskets lined the wall. Every time she heard someone say how lucky she was, her insides cringed at how she’d run away. Why did she live and Cassie and Jem and their mother have to die? What if she’d stayed and tried to talk to Mr. Carver? Maybe he would have listened and the twins would still be alive. She should have stayed . . . but sweat ran down her back just thinking about it.

She found the washroom and hunkered down in one of the stalls. She didn’t think she could face one more person. The restroom door opened, and Agnes Baker’s nasally voice filled the room.

“Such a pity.”

Just her luck to be caught in the same room with the worst busybody in Logan Point.

“I know. I heard he started drinking and lost his company and that gorgeous house.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard that.”

“They say he was gambling too. Christine Carver was a saint. And those two beautiful girls. Only ten years old and so sweet and innocent.”

Correction. Maude Arnold was the worst busybody. Bailey just hoped they didn’t want the stall she was in.

“Well, I’ve heard that God only takes the best,” Agnes said.

“Explains why the Adams girl survived without a scratch.”

“Maude, you shouldn’t say things like that. And you certainly don’t joke about it.”

Bailey’s cheeks burned as she stared down at her Mary Jane shoes.

“Well, it’s true,” Maude snapped. “Don’t you remember when she hid my keys in Vacation Bible School? And wouldn’t tell where they were until I threatened to paddle her? That girl gets into more trouble—”

Bailey flung the stall door open. “Excuse me.”

“Bailey! I didn’t mean—”

She glared up at Maude. “Yes, you did. You don’t think I’m good enough to go to heaven.”

She walked out of the washroom, her head held high.

But what if Maude was right?

What if she wasn’t good enough?

1

P
RESENT
D
AY
V
ALLE
R
OJO
,
IN
C
HIHUAHUA
, M
EXICO

Bailey Adams lifted the 9mm Smith & Wesson and aimed at the water bottle nestled in a bank twenty-five yards away. She squeezed the trigger. The bottle jumped in the air, and she fired again, hitting it once more.

“Bueno!” Elena clapped.

Bailey lifted her eyebrows. “English, please.” Her smile took the sting out of the words.

“Very good. How did you get so good?”

She aimed again. “My dad taught me to shoot when I was fifteen.”

Too bad he hadn’t taught her earlier—maybe Jem and Cassie would still be alive. Her breath hitched. Where did that come from? She hadn’t thought of the twins in years. The gun wavered, the weight too heavy to hold up, and she lowered her hand. She tried to lick her lips, but her mouth had turned to cotton.

“Are you all right?”

She glanced down at the gun. Would she have run away if . . . She shook her head as if to break free of the memory. Woulda,
coulda, shoulda
did nothing but keep the memory alive. “Yeah. Now it’s your turn.”

Her friend eyed her but took the gun Bailey held out. Once another plastic bottle was in place, Elena quickly shredded it.

“Very good yourself,” Bailey said.

Elena tilted her head. “You are a strange missionary. You handle a gun like a pistolero, yet you let Father Horatio run you out of the valley. Why?”

Bailey skittered her gaze away from the question in Elena’s eyes.
Because running is what I do.
She holstered the gun. “I think it’s time to head back. Miguel is probably ready to leave, and it’ll take at least thirty minutes to reach your village if we take the lower trail back.”

“Sí. It was kind of Miguel to allow you to come along on his visit to his family.”

That’s what she liked about Elena. She didn’t push subjects Bailey didn’t want to discuss. They hiked in silence along the trail, Bailey admiring the emerald mountain vistas when a clearing allowed an occasional view of the river below. The rest of the time, she mentally ran through her litany of excuses for not staying: it just wasn’t working out . . . she caused more harm than good . . . she was needed at the church school in Chihuahua. Excuses were something else she was good at.

No excuse covered the fact that she hadn’t worked hard enough. If she had, a way would have been found for her to stay. They rounded a bend on the trail, and Bailey caught her breath. Not twenty yards from where she stood, bright flowers dotted a plot of ground. Reds, purples, all colors. Her heart pounded in her throat. Poppies. Mexican opium poppies.

Elena pulled on her arm. “It is not good for us to be here. Come. Quickly.”

Bailey nodded. But as she turned to leave, a man stepped from the rows. His eyes widened when he saw her, then narrowed. She
stared, transfixed by his intense blue eyes. Elena pulled harder. “Run,” she hissed.

He started toward them. “Hey!
Qué haces?

Bailey turned and ran the way she’d come. Minutes later, the whine of a four-wheeler split the air. He was coming after them. The trail forked, and she followed Elena on the narrower path.

“This way,” Elena said as she branched off again on an even smaller foot trail.

Thank goodness her friend knew this area. They half-ran and half-stumbled on the overgrown path until they reached the edge of the village. Bailey collapsed against a scrub oak. “Do you think he’ll find us?”

Elena sank beside her. “I doubt he will look. He probably wasn’t even coming after us—there are so many poppy fields around here, if they chased everyone who stumbled across one, they wouldn’t have time to do anything else. He probably was going to check on another plot.”

“When did the farmers start growing poppies?”

Elena shrugged. “A few years ago. At first it was only one or two farms, but now probably half the farmers in the village have poppy fields.”

Bailey had no idea it had gotten that bad in the village. “Did you see the man? He didn’t look like a farmer to me.”

“No. I was running too hard.”

“He was an Anglo.”

“You must be mistaken. Gringos do not come to the poppy fields.”

A shiver crawled down Bailey’s spine. She knew what she saw and would never forget the cold stare he’d fixed on her with eyes the color of blue ice. “I think we should report the field.”

Elena’s fingers clamped her wrist like a vise. “Do you want to get me killed?”

“Of course not.” Bailey struggled for an answer. The villagers
never viewed growing marijuana in the light of others being harmed. It was a way to feed their families and that was all that mattered to them, especially when Father Horatio encouraged it. She didn’t realize so many had switched from marijuana to opium.

“Then you will say nothing?”

She held Elena’s wide-eyed gaze. With a sigh, she said, “Let me think about it.”

Bailey would say nothing for now. The poppy field wasn’t going anywhere, and it would be a few weeks before the opium could be harvested. When she came back from the States, she would report it anonymously, and no one would be the wiser.

Elena hugged her. “I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon.”

“Me too. I miss Valle Rojo.”

“You had the best tea parties, and I learned so much at the computer classes. I miss your teaching.”

“But not me?” Bailey teased.

“Of course, but it is easier when you are not here to . . .” Her friend frowned.
“Tu pincha mi conciencia.”

“English.” Their friendship had started when Elena wanted to practice her English, but by the time Bailey left Valle Rojo, Elena was even more than a friend. She helped Bailey organize the tea parties that brought the village women to the church and even taught some of the Bible classes.

Elena pressed her lips together. “Sometimes you were like pretty shoes that are too tight.”

“I only wanted you to know your worth.” She hated that she hadn’t been able to make a difference in the village or help her friend deal with an alcoholic husband.

“I know. You just cannot change overnight what has always been.”

So she’d discovered. And as usual, she didn’t stand well against attack, preferring to cut and run. Still, it hadn’t been her decision to leave but the mission board’s, after the so-called priest ramped
up his campaign to get rid of her. “Father Horatio could have asked me politely to leave. He didn’t have to put the rattlesnakes in my car. I’m surprised he hasn’t found me today and demand that I leave.”

“He’s in Chihuahua this weekend.”

So that was why Elena had invited her to visit. She’d known the priest would be away. Not that he was an actual priest. The folk-healer-slash-spiritual-mystic had proclaimed himself one and taken the name Father Horatio. And because he had success in healing, many in the village followed him, especially the men.

BOOK: Silence in the Dark
9.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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