Irene Brand - Yuletide Peril

Lance’s voice seemed troubled, and she glanced quickly toward him. “No.”

Taking a deep breath, Lance said, “He committed suicide at Mountjoy. There was some talk that he was murdered, but it looked more like suicide. The police department searched around a while, but they couldn’t prove anything.”

Janice’s optimism about her inheritance crashed. “My dad didn’t talk much about his family, but I’ve heard him say that someone in each generation of Reids died a tragic death.”

“Yes, that story goes around.” He hesitated, but Janice had to be warned. “It isn’t just any Reid, but the owner of this house.”

Her eyes widened. “If that’s the case, then I might be the next victim.”

Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasn’t finished it yet. However, since 1984 she’s published thirty-two contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles. She started writing professionally in 1977 after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself to writing.

Consistent involvement in the activities of her local church has been a source of inspiration for Irene’s work. Traveling with her husband, Rod, to all fifty states, and to thirty-two foreign countries has also inspired her writing. Irene is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters with strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187 or visit her Web site at www.irenebrand.com.

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For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.

—II Timothy 1:7

Thanks to Lieutenant Carl Peterson, Mason County Sheriff’s Office, for providing information about meth labs and other illegal drugs.

Dear Reader,

Thanks very much for reading this book, and I pray that it has been a blessing to you.

Since I’m a “from-scratch” type of cook, I wanted to share one of the recipes I mentioned in the book.

PORK CHOPS AND RICE

5–6 boneless pork chops

3 cups boiling water

4 bouillon cubes

1 cup rice

½ cup chopped celery

¼ cup chopped onions

¼ tsp pepper

Brown chops and remove from pan. Add water and bouillon cubes to pan and stir until dissolved. Add rice, celery, onions and pepper and stir. Put chops on top and bake at 300°F for 1½ hours.

When you prepare this recipe for your family, I hope you think of me and pray for my writing ministry.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

The summer storm reached the old house as the fourth member of the gang stepped up on the porch. A clap of thunder, as loud as a mortar blast, rumbled across the metal roof. A bolt of lightning sliced the skies and struck a spruce tree, toppling half of the tree on the roof of the house. The man jumped as if he’d been shot and scuttled inside like a scared rabbit.

Another streak of lightning revealed three other men lounging on the dilapidated furniture. One of them laughed uproariously. “I believe the old house is getting to you, boss. We’d better can some of this noise—it’s better than what we’ve been using to scare people away.”

Rain blew in the broken windows soaking the ragged carpet, and the intermittent lightning revealed a room that at one time had been elegantly furnished. But time and the elements had taken a toll on the old house—its grandeur was a thing of the past.

Ignoring the comment, the newcomer took off his hat and shook the water from it. “We’ll have to suspend operations for a few days. The big heiress is coming to town. I don’t think she’ll visit the house, but just in case, be sure that everything is hidden. We don’t want any evidence that we’ve been using the house in case she gets nosy.”

“You say she ain’t apt to be around long,” the man who’d first spoken commented.

“Chances are she’ll pocket her money and leave without causing any trouble,” the leader of the group said.

“Don’t give me that baloney, man. I’ve been shadowing her for a month, and she strikes me as a stubborn woman who won’t be easy to scare. You’d better let me get rid of her.”

“No,” the leader said in a tone that brooked no argument. “We’ve got a good thing going here, and I won’t ruin it. If we kill the woman, we’ll have cops all over the place. Murder is not an option, for now, at least.”

Stanton was a step above her hometown of Willow Creek, but that still didn’t say much for the town where Janice Reid intended to make her home. Her primary reason for coming to Stanton was to meet with the lawyer who’d handled her uncle’s estate. As she braked at the town limits and drove slowly into Stanton, Janice focused her attention on the street in front of her, because she’d only had her driver’s license four weeks.

Brooke, her eleven-year-old sister, perched on the edge of the seat and watched for the office of Loren Santrock. Brooke located all of the fast-food restaurants, but she didn’t spot the lawyer’s office as they drove through the town.

Glancing at the fuel gauge of the car, Janice said, “Let’s stop for gas, then we’ll look for Mr. Santrock’s office again.” She pulled off the street, stopped by the pumps of a convenience store and took a deep breath, thankful that they’d made a safe journey. She didn’t have much confidence in her driving ability.

“What do you think of the town?” Janice asked Brooke. With a pensive glance at her sister, she added, “Does it look like a good place to live?”

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t care where we live as long as we can finally be together.”

Janice’s throat tightened and tears stung her eyes. Brooke was only ten years younger than Janice, but she felt almost like her mother. She’d had the primary care of her sister until their parents were sent to prison when Janice was fourteen. Brooke was placed in a foster home and Janice had been sent to the Valley of Hope, a residential facility for children with a variety of problems. Janice had been allowed weekly visits with her sister, but the years before Janice could be Brooke’s legal guardian had passed slowly for both of them.