âDo you know what caused your uncleâs death, Janice?â
Lanceâs voice seemed troubled, and she glanced quickly toward him. âNo.â
Taking a deep breath, Lance said, âHe 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 couldnât prove anything.â
Janiceâs optimism about her inheritance crashed. âMy dad didnât talk much about his family, but Iâve heard him say that someone in each generation of Reids died a tragic death.â
âYes, that story goes around.â He hesitated, but Janice had to be warned. âIt isnât just any Reid, but the owner of this house.â
Her eyes widened. âIf thatâs the case, then I might be the next victim.â
Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasnât finished it yet. However, since 1984 sheâs published thirty-two contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles. She started writing professionally in 1977 after she completed her masterâs 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 Ireneâs 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.
For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.
âII Timothy 1:7
Thanks to Lieutenant Carl Peterson, Mason County Sheriffâs 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 Iâm a âfrom-scratchâ type of cook, I wanted to share one of the recipes I mentioned in the book.
PORK CHOPS AND RICE
5â6 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 heâd 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. âI believe the old house is getting to you, boss. Weâd better can some of this noiseâitâs better than what weâve been using to scare people away.â
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 houseâits grandeur was a thing of the past.
Ignoring the comment, the newcomer took off his hat and shook the water from it. âWeâll have to suspend operations for a few days. The big heiress is coming to town. I donât think sheâll visit the house, but just in case, be sure that everything is hidden. We donât want any evidence that weâve been using the house in case she gets nosy.â
âYou say she ainât apt to be around long,â the man whoâd first spoken commented.
âChances are sheâll pocket her money and leave without causing any trouble,â the leader of the group said.
âDonât give me that baloney, man. Iâve been shadowing her for a month, and she strikes me as a stubborn woman who wonât be easy to scare. Youâd better let me get rid of her.â
âNo,â the leader said in a tone that brooked no argument. âWeâve got a good thing going here, and I wonât ruin it. If we kill the woman, weâll have cops all over the place. Murder is not an option, for now, at least.â
Stanton was a step above her hometown of Willow Creek, but that still didnât 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 whoâd handled her uncleâs 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 sheâd only had her driverâs license four weeks.