Witness to Murder

Witness to Murder
Jill Elizabeth Nelson

Poised for an interview, TV reporter Hallie Berglund walks into a murder scene instead.The victim's boyfriend stands over the body, murder weapon in hand. Hallie couldn't stop the crime, but as the star witness, she'll see the man brought to justice…right? Not according to her colleague Brody Jordan, who is convinced the police–and Hallie–are targeting the wrong man.To prove it, he'll need Hallie's help. The victim was wearing a bracelet handcrafted by Hallie's long-dead mother. Now Hallie is the only one who can unearth the secrets of the past–and bring the sinister truth to light.

“Open the envelope. It could be a juicy lead on a new story that’ll land you in the office next to mine,” Brody teased.

“You are trying hard to butter me up.” Hallie laughed.

“Not at all. I recognize a woman with a destiny when I see her.”

A tiny smile curved her mouth, and Brody’s pulse did a little cha-cha.

“Get out of here, Jordan. I’ve got work to do.” She turned away, and he left, chuckling.

A scream halted him midstride. He whirled and raced back to her carrel. Hallie stood in the aisle between work stations, hands to her chest, wide stare fixed toward the floor. He followed the direction of her gaze and spotted the manila envelope on the carpet. Next to the packet lay a braided gold rope.

Hallie pointed a trembling finger toward the dropped items. “Somebody sent me the cord that strangled Alicia. And this, too.” She thrust a piece of plain white paper at him.

Plain block letters in bold black marker said YOU COULD BE NEXT.

JILL ELIZABETH NELSON

writes what she likes to read—faith-based tales of adventure seasoned with romance. By day she operates as 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.

Witness to Murder

Jill Elizabeth Nelson

And you will know the truth,

and the truth will set you free.

—John 8:32

To those whose lives have been stunted by fear. (Isn’t

that all of us at times?) May the truth spoken in

love—to ourselves, to others—make us free to live in

the joy and peace God intends for His children.

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

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Channel Six television news reporter Hallie Berglund put her right foot on the bottom step of the swaybacked porch, then stopped cold. The hairs on her arms prickled. What was that awful noise coming from inside the house? Some kind of music? This century-old Victorian was rented by four University of Minnesota coeds, but even if they liked punk rock they wouldn’t listen to this. And why was the front door several inches ajar?

Careful to keep the heels of her pumps from clacking against the wood, she walked carefully up the remaining two steps, but angry creaks from the porch boards announced her arrival. Whoever—whatever—was inside gave no indication her approach had been heard. The noise progressed in decibels.

Hallie frowned. There had to be a logical explanation. On the telephone, Alicia Drayton had sounded eager, almost desperate, to do the interview as soon as possible. The part-time fashion model and full-time student had said her roommates would be out all afternoon—a perfect opportunity for the two of them to talk privately.

The sound continued—long, drawn out. Like something a person would hear on a dark and moonless night, not in the balmy afternoon of a cloudless June day. She doused the impulse to back away and wait for her cameraman to catch up with her. She was a reporter, and she needed to find out what was going on. Sooner rather than later.

Her rap on the warped door panel widened the opening, revealing a foyer done in dark wood and last decade’s wallpaper. She stepped inside onto a scatter rug and was greeted by lingering scents of mingled women’s perfumes. To her left a set of stairs led upward. Ahead and to her right lay an opening framed in old-fashioned wide wood.