Evidence of Murder

Evidence of Murder
Jill Elizabeth Nelson

The photographs Samantha Reid uncovers in her new store are shocking.Horrifying. And dangerous. This new evidence could reopen a decade-old multiple homicide case that someone wants desperately to keep closed. And when the evidence comes out, a reluctant Samantha is drawn straight into the spotlight. All the attention is wrecking her business–and drawing the killer's eye straight to her.Then she meets Ryan Davidson, the last surviving member of the murdered family. In spite of herself, she's drawn in by his need to find the truth. Together, they work to unravel the mystery, while the killer works to keep the secrets buried–forever.

Samantha’s intercom buzzer sounded. On shaky legs, she padded to the kitchen and pressed the button to hear who was there.

“Ms. Reid, this is Officer Johnson of the Plymouth Police Department. Your intruder says he has a right to be here. Would you mind coming down?”

A few seconds later, Samantha cautiously unlocked her door and peered out into the night. A pair of officers held a man between them—someone she recognized. She glanced up into the stone face of Ryan Davidson, the same man she’d seen in a photo earlier that day.

Their gazes locked, and raw emotion flickered in his blue eyes. The power of his bewildered pain snagged her breath. In recent times, she’d seen that look in another pair of eyes.

Her own.

JILL ELIZABETH NELSON

writes what she likes to read—faith-based tales of adventure seasoned with romance. By day she operates as a housing manager for a seniors’ apartment complex. By night she turns into a wild and crazy writer who can hardly wait to jot down all the exciting things her characters are telling her, so she can share them with her readers. More about Jill and her books can be found at www.jillelizabethnelson.com. She and her husband live in rural Minnesota, surrounded by the woods and prairie and their four grown children who have settled nearby.

Evidence of Murder

Jill Elizabeth Nelson

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble, or hardship, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger or sword?…No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.

—Romans 8:35, 37

To the victims and their families affected by

violent crime. May they find peace and comfort

in the Lord who loves them.

Acknowledgments

Heartfelt thanks goes out to numerous people who contributed to this book in priceless ways. First of all, many hugs to my husband, Doug, who is so patient with my busyness and distraction, particularly when deadlines loom. I’m also particularly grateful to my cousin, Neil Wicks, who willingly answered endless questions about the Boundary Waters canoe area based on his personal experience. Also, many thanks go to Ira Casperson and the staff at Monte Cleaners in Montevideo, MN, who provided a tour of their fine facility. Waving from shore to Mike Fries of Great River Houseboats for filling me in on the operation of a houseboat business. Many kudos to my fine editor at Steeple Hill, Emily Rodmell. She applied the necessary sandpaper and polish to this story. Finally, to my agent, Beth Jusino—you’re the bomb!

CONTENTS

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

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

One more nasty surprise in this old building might send her screaming for the funny farm. Samantha Reid glared at the door in front of her. Another unexplored room to tackle. What mysterious trial lay beyond? They’d disturbed a mouse nest in one of the dryers, and herds of spiders scurried for cover every time they moved something. Did spiders run in herds? They sure seemed to around here, especially down below in the basement—mice and spiders. Sam shuddered.

Good thing nothing was down there except museum-quality dry-cleaning equipment that must have dated back to the early days of the industry. That stuff could stay put until she found a place interested in carting the heavy pieces away. But up here on the main floor, she didn’t have the luxury of delaying the project.

Squaring her shoulders, Sam turned the knob and eased open the door to the storeroom. She groped along the wall and flipped the light switch. A pair of fluorescent tubes flickered to life as smells of dust and chemicals nipped her nose. Her gaze scanned the twelve-foot-square room, and she puffed out a long breath that didn’t stir the sweaty bangs plastered to her forehead.

How had a lifelong bachelor like Abel Morris accumulated so much junk? She stared at a maze of stacked boxes and metal shelves stuffed with dust-coated paint cans and half-empty jugs of cleaning solvent.