The Right Call
Authors: Kathy Herman
Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Romance, #Suspense, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Mystery, #Christian, #Crime
THE RIGHT CALL
Published by David C Cook
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David C Cook Distribution Canada
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This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s
imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the
Holy Bible,
New International Version
®
. NIV
®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International
Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
LCCN 2009941758
ISBN 978-1-4347-6784-4
eISBN 978-0-7814-0428-0
© 2010 Kathy Herman
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive
Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado
Springs, CO 80920. www.alivecommunications.com
The Team: Don Pape, Diane Noble, Amy Kiechlin, Caitlyn York, Karen Athen
Cover Design: DogEared Design, Kirk DouPonce
Cover Images: iStockphoto, royalty-free
First Edition 2010
To Him who is both the Giver and the Gift
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Great Smoky Mountains and rolling hills of East Tennessee provide the stunning backdrop for this story, though the town of Sophie Trace exists only in my imagination. The characters I created to populate this unforgettable place will forever walk the pages of my heart.
I drew from several resource people, each of whom shared generously from his or her storehouse of knowledge and experience. I did my best to integrate the facts as I understood them. If accuracy was compromised in any way, it was unintentional and strictly of my own doing.
I owe a debt of gratitude to Commander Carl H. Deeley of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department for his thorough response to my many questions and for reading selected scenes and offering valuable input, as well as putting me in touch with specialists who provided detailed answers to my ballistics questions. Thanks, Carl. You are a well-connected guy and always so willing to help.
I want to extend a heartfelt thank-you to my friend Paul David Houston, former assistant district attorney, for helping me understand criminal charges and how they typically play out in the courts. Paul, we’ve got a good rhythm going. Thanks for your quick responses and concise answers. Seems we’re always on the same wavelength.
A special word of thanks to those whose prayers kept me going, especially through a seemingly endless bout with unavoidable distractions, including my husband’s back surgery: my tenacious prayer warrior and sister Pat Phillips; my online prayer team—Chuck Allenbrand, Pearl and Don Anderson, Judith Depontes, Jackie Jeffries, Joanne Lambert, Adrienne McCabe, Susan Mouser, Nora Phillips, Deidre Pool, Kim Prothro, Mark and Donna Skorheim, Kelly Smith, Leslie Strader, Carolyn Walker, Sondra Watson, and Judi Wieghat; my friends at LifeWay Christian Store in Tyler, Texas, and LifeWay Christian Resources in Nashville, Tennessee; and my church family at Bethel Bible Church. I cannot possibly express to you how much I value your prayers.
I’d like to say thank you to my sister Caroline Berry for receiving these chapters via email and saving them so I’d have a copy “off premises.” I appreciated the effort and the peace of mind it gave me.
To the retailers who sell my books and the many readers who have encouraged me with personal testimonies about how God has used my words to challenge and inspire you. He uses
you
to fuel the passion that keeps me writing.
To my novelist friends in ChiLibris, who allow me to tap into your collective storehouse of knowledge and experience—what a compassionate, charitable, prayerful group you are! It’s an honor to be counted among you.
To my agent, Joel Kneedler, and the diligent staff at Alive Communications. Your standard of excellence challenges me to keep growing as a writer. I only hope that I represent you as well as you represent me.
To Cris Doornbos, Dan Rich, and Don Pape at David C. Cook for believing in me and investing in the words I write; and to your hardworking staff for getting this book to the shelves. What could be more exciting than being colaborers “on the same page” for Him?
To my editor and friend, Diane Noble, for extending such amazing grace as I struggled to meet the extended deadline on this book. In spite of your mother’s passing and the mountain of grief you must feel—not to mention your own pressing deadlines—you gave me valuable insights that have greatly strengthened the story line. I love working with you! You’re a marvel.
To my husband, Paul, who never gives up on me even in those moments when I’m just sure that I’ve exhausted every ounce of creativity in my soul. What a patient, objective, persevering partner you are! Were it not for you I would’ve listened to the lies of the Enemy and believed that I had nothing else to contribute—and this trilogy would never have been written.
And to my Father in heaven, who knew the outcome of this story before my fingers typed the first word: I’m amazed by Your faithfulness. Though my writing schedule did not go according to plan,
Your
plan was never thwarted and the message never compromised.
Prologue
A man is a slave to whatever has mastered him.
(2 Peter 2:19b)
Stedman
Reeves leaned against a massive oak tree on the hazy hillside and looked out across Stanton Valley, painfully aware that if he went through with Grant Wolski’s deal, he would end up in hell. And if he didn’t, his life would seem like hell. What kind of choice was
that?
He heard a twig crack behind him and let out a sigh of self-loathing.
Grant came and stood next to him. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”
“Look, if you’d just be patient, I could get the money—”
“I need it now.”
“I can’t just scrape up that kind of cash overnight.”
“Then you shouldn’t play poker with the big boys.” Grant locked gazes with him. “I’m offering you a gift, man. If I were you I’d take it.”
Some gift
.
Grant held a gun in each of his gloved hands. “Pick one. You said you know how to shoot.”
“Yeah, targets and wild game.” Stedman studied the pistols, both Smith & Wessons, but couldn’t bring himself to take either. “I’ve never shot a person before.”
“Pretend you’re playing one of your video games. If you can hit a bull’s-eye, you can put a bullet through a guy’s head. Here, hold these.”
Grant handed him the guns, then reached into his back pocket and took out a photograph. “There’s your target.”
Stedman looked into the eyes of a husky young man with sandy blond hair. “Who is he?”
“Name and address is on the back. Make it quick and clean.”
“What’d he do, stiff you for money?” His legs suddenly felt shaky. Did it matter what the guy did? How could he justify taking his life?
“It’s none of your business.”
“It might make it easier if I knew what he did.”
Grant flicked the picture with his finger. “Never mind what
he
did. You’re the one who owes me. Just make sure he’s dead before you walk away. Which gun do you want to use? They’re both stolen. The cops can never link either of them to you
or
me.”
“Then I guess it doesn’t matter.”
A murder weapon’s a murder weapon
. He handed the bulkier pistol back to Grant.
“When you’re done, wipe it clean and throw it in the pond at the park. Make sure no one sees you.”
“That’s all there is to it?”
“That’s it.”
“If I do this, how can I be sure we’re even?”
“I’ll give you a notarized receipt for the sixty grand. Look, you owe me big-time. Either pay me the money or do me the favor.”
Some favor
. He rolled his head to one side and then the other, his heart racing like a runaway train. How could he refuse? Sixty thousand dollars might as well be a million.
“Unless you make this right,” Grant said, “I’ll make sure you never get a seat at a high-stakes poker table again. You’re finished.”
“Can’t you cut me some slack—just this once? You know I’m good for the money. I need a little time, that’s all.”
Grant shoved him with both hands. “You’re on a losing streak, and I don’t have forever. I told you what you could do to satisfy the debt. Take it or leave it.”
Stedman exhaled the words, “I’ll take it.” The voice was his but seemed to come from someone else. Was he really willing to murder a man in cold blood, just so he could keep on gambling?
An image of his grandmother’s scowling countenance was branded into his conscience. No way could he go to her and beg for another loan. Not after he stole from her. Not after he promised to stop gambling. He had to handle this on his own. Once his luck returned, he would never get into this kind of trouble again. He’d make sure of that.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Grant said.
“No, I’m going.” Stedman clutched the gun tightly, and it shook in his hand.
“Good. You’ve got till midnight. If you involve me in any way, I
will
come after you.”
“Don’t threaten me, Grant. I’m not the enemy.”
“Let’s make sure we keep it that way. Call me when it’s done. Just say ‘I ordered the pizza’ and hang up. Don’t say anything else, and we’re never to speak of this to anyone under any circumstances. Walk away and forget it.”
So that was it? Just kill the guy, pitch the gun, and get back to playing cards?
He studied Grant’s cold gray eyes and stony expression. How many times had he sat across the poker table from this guy, searching his face for any hint of the cards he held, yet missing the evil motives crouching in his heart?
“What’re you staring at?” Grant said.
“Nothing.”
He turned to go, and Grant grabbed his shirt. “Listen to me. If it makes any difference, there’s a greater good at stake here.”
“Like what?”
“Like the person who’ll be hurt the most deserves it—and more. You’ll be doing a lot of people a huge favor.”
“What about the poor sucker I’m about to put a bullet in?”
“Do it right, and he won’t know what hit him. For once, his old man will be powerless. Be sure to follow the story on the news. It’s going to be sweet.”
I’m going to kill somebody’s kid?
Stedman turned his back on Grant and trudged down the hill toward his pickup, his boots feeling as if they were made of lead. Had he actually agreed to do the unthinkable—just so he could stay in the game?
Father David’s words came rushing back to him.
Your gambling’s an addiction, son. Get help before they own you.
He kicked a rock and sent it sailing. Too late for that.