The Price of Redemption

The Price of Redemption
Pamela Tracy

It wasn't his first dead body. And it might not be his last.Barely twenty-four hours after arriving in Broken Bones, Arizona, Eric Santellis discovered a body in his shed. Luckily, he had an alibi: he'd been in prison when the lady had taken her last breath. Then a second corpse turned up and, surprise, surprise, it was a cop.Instead of being blamed for a murder–or two–Eric began helping the lovely Ruth Atkins investigate her husband's death. But the killer could be closer than they realized. And finding him might be their biggest test of faith yet.

The Price of Redemption

Pamela Tracy

They say it takes a village to raise a child. In my case a village helped me realize my dreams of publication, and there are many, many villagers who need special thanks.

First, to the members of the Loaded Pencils critique group (established 1993 and still going) who taught me most of what I know: Betty Hufford, Stacy Cornell, Karen Lenzen, Dana McNeely, Bill Haynes and Mark Henley.

Next, to the members of the CCLP critique group (established 2002 and still going) who keep me on task and tell me when I’m meandering: Cathy McDavid, Libby Banks and Connie Flynn.

Also, to my last-minute readers, who catch my silly mistakes: Stacy Cornell, Elizabeth Weed, and Stacey Rannik.

Last, to the editors who make it all come together: Jessica Alvarez, Krista Stroever and Becky Germany.

The word thanks doesn’t seem to say enough.

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ONE

It wasn’t his first dead body. Or even his second.

In truth, if Eric Santellis needed to, he could, off the top of his head, remember standing over roughly four, no five, corpses. All died violently. One had been his best friend. Two had been relatives. Two had been strangers who’d had the bad luck and bad judgment to mess with one of his brothers.

But this dead body scared him more than all the others—even though there was no way he could be fingered for her death.

Nope, Eric figured this woman had been dead awhile and he had an airtight alibi courtesy of Florence Prison. And her discovery guaranteed him a spot on the front page of every major newspaper—again.

Unable to stand the stench any longer, Eric stumbled across the shed’s uneven flooring. In places, the boards had given in to age, neglect, and some spots were little more than earth. He tripped up the two narrow steps leading outside and to fresh air, sunlight and wide-open spaces. A moment later, he thought there might not be enough fresh air in the world to rid his nostrils of the stench of his discovery. Once he could breathe again, he flipped open his cell phone and started searching for a location that might allow a signal. Reception, here in the middle of nowhere, was hit-and-miss.

He found a spot and soon connected with the local authorities and a dispatcher. “Sheriff’s Office. How can I help you?” She sounded all of twelve years old.

“Yes, I’m at 723 Prospector’s Way. I’ve just discovered a body in my shed.”

“Are you sure the person is deceased?”

“Very sure.”

“Your name please?”

“Eric Santellis.”

His family had helped establish this small town more than a hundred years ago. His last name often rendered the good people of Broken Bones speechless. Otherwise, he’d have mistaken the silence for a lost connection.