When A Stranger Calls (New York State Trooper Series Book 7) Read online

  Table of Contents

  When A Stranger Calls

  Copyright

  DEDICATION

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  More Books by Jen Talty

  MEET THE SARICH BROTHERS

  About the Author

  When A Stranger Calls

  NY State Trooper Series book VII

  JEN TALTY

  Sign up for Jen’s Newsletter (http://eepurl.com/crLz6r) where she often gives away free books before publication.

  Join Jen’s private Facebook group (https://www.facebook.com/groups/191706547909047/) where she posts exclusive excerpts and discuss all things murder and love!

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  WHEN A STRANGER CALLS: New York State Troopers Series, Book Six

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 Jen Talty

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author or Cool Gus Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Jupiter Press

  DEDICATION

  A very special thank you to THE TALTY CREW! Without your support and feedback I wouldn’t have been able to step out of my comfort zone and write this book!

  To Casey Hagen…Thanks for making me laugh.

  To all the men and women who serve in law enforcement. You are greatly appreciated!

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  This, for now, is the last book in the NY STATE TROOPER SERIES. I have loved writing this series and sharing it with you.

  However, please join me in a new series called: ADERONDACK HEAT. The series will be set in various locations throughout Upstate, NY, featuring firemen, of course. The first hero you met in WHEN A STRANGER CALLS. His name is Cade Nash. The first book is titled: BED ON FIRE.

  Please join my newsletter (sent out when I have a new release) or join THE TALTY CREW and never miss any announcements.

  Sign up for Jen’s Newsletter (http://eepurl.com/crLz6r) where she often gives away free books before publication.

  Join Jen’s private Facebook group (https://www.facebook.com/groups/191706547909047/) where she posts exclusive excerpts and discuss all things murder and love!

  PROLOGUE

  Fifty years ago…

  Rusty Fowler stared at the infant suckling at his wife’s breast, his little fisted hand resting against her chest.

  “He’s beautiful,” he whispered as he ran his hand across the baby’s bald head. “And so are you.”

  Ashley looked up at him with a bright smile and tears in her eyes. “Are you sure you want to keep up with this charade?”

  “It’s not a charade and I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” He sat on the edge of the hospital bed. “I told you seven months ago that I loved you and can’t live without you.” He’d met his Ashley at the local corner store. She’d been shopping for the family she cooked for and he’d been on his way home after a double shift in a factory in the next town over. It didn’t bother him that she’d already been pregnant. He loved her at first sight and she loved him back.

  “But the baby isn’t yours.”

  He stroked the baby boy’s cheek with his index finger. Rusty would have been crazy not to worry about resenting this child, considering he couldn’t have any of his own, but the moment he laid eyes on the boy, he knew that somehow, he’d make this trio a family. “I am this boy’s father. The only father he will ever know.”

  Ashley let out a guttural sob.

  “Don’t cry, baby.”

  “I don’t deserve you.”

  “It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.” He kissed his Ashley on the lips. “What shall we name our son?”

  “Our son,” she whispered. “Russell, after you of course.”

  “And his middle name?”

  “You pick.”

  He thought about it for a long moment. “Merriman. Your maiden name.”

  “Russell Merriman Fowler. It’s perfect.”

  “Just like his mother.”

  She smiled, staring at her son, tears gliding down her cheek. “I want to quit my job and stay home with our son. I was thinking I could start a catering business.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  Rusty leaned over and kissed his son. No one could take that away from him now.

  Chapter 1

  Brooke Fowler stared at her late grandfather’s will, which left everything to her. Everything included a rundown house in Lake George, fifty-thousand dollars, and an old brass key with an illegible note. She wiped a single tear that had rolled down her cheek, swallowing the primal need for revenge.

  In less than two weeks, she’d lost all she’d held dear.

  Finding out her live-in boyfriend had been cheating on her with her own assistant sent her over a cliff she wasn’t sure she could ever recover from. She balled her fists just thinking about it. She should regret having tossed an expensive one-of-a-kind painting at Debbie, her assistant, but she didn’t. She didn’t even regret trashing her office, then storming off to the eighth floor where all the VP offices were located, trashing her boyfriend’s office, along with tossing a mug at him, though the bastard ducked and she missed.

  Getting fired and arrested? Yeah, that sucked. Big time.

  The worst, though, had been finding out her grandfather had died. He was all she had in the world and now he was gone. She never got a chance to say good-bye and tell him how much he’d meant to her, even when she didn’t always show it. She, of all people, should know how precious life was and how quickly it could be taken away.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” her grandfather’s attorney said.

  “I kept my grandpa waiting and he died.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Brooke blinked and looked around the lawyer’s office decorated in modern white furniture with wall to wall bookcases, which held, old, thick law books. Whoever decorated this place should be shot.

  “I cancelled a visit with him to go to a stupid party with my boyfriend, only I didn’t even get to go to the party.” She thought about continuing the ugly story, but what would be the point? Instead of going to the one person she could always turn to in times of need, she spent the night in county lock-up. No amount of mascara would make any mug shot look good.

  “Mr. Fowler was eighty.”

  Brooke narrowed her eyes. “A spry eighty, thank you very much.” Though, she’d been begging him to go to the doctor for a physical. Turned out he had a heart condition. The doctors told her that even if the condition had been caught a few months ago, he still might have had a massive coronary anyway. That didn’t make her feel any better.

  And now she was alone.

  Really alone.

  “Is there any reason I’d have to leave the house?” She’d only arrived in Lake George two days ago. When she reached the house after identifying her grandfather’s body, the front door had been wide open. She thought maybe the paramedics had
left it that way. That was until she walked into her grandpa’s guest bedroom, which had also been his office, and all his desk drawers had been pulled out, files everywhere.

  But the kicker had been the next morning when she walked into the kitchen and the back door had been ajar and she knew damn well she hadn’t left it unlocked. She called 9-1-1 for a second time. The cops had been nice enough, but couldn’t really do anything except talk to a few of the neighbors.

  “No reason why you can’t live at the house,” the attorney said.

  “What about the money?” God, she sounded like a cold-hearted bitch. She wanted to scream I loved my grandpa. He was the best man in the world! But again, what would be the point? Both her parents and her grandparents had taught her to be practical. Chin up and face the world head on, no matter what.

  Being jobless also required her to be practical.

  Facing a misdemeanor charge of assault and a civil lawsuit required her to be balanced and level headed, which certainly wasn’t an easy task in her current state of mind.

  “There are various legalities we need to jump through, but this is a simple estate, so I suspect two months, three at the most.”

  Brooke did a mental calculation of her bank accounts and current bills, the biggest one being the Camaro convertible she’d splurged on when she’d been promoted to Regional Sales Manager. She could sell the car and buy a Hyundai. Easy peasy.

  Not.

  Acid bubbled up her esophagus. She loved that damn car.

  “What about my pending legal situation?”

  “It could slow things up, but not by much.” The attorney handed her a business card. “I don’t handle those kinds of cases, but this woman does and she’s very good. If you don’t have a lawyer for that situation, call her. I’ll tell her you’re a client of mine and I’m sure she’ll cut you a break.”

  Brooke took the card. Jillian White-Sutten, Attorney at Law. “I will call her. Thanks.” Another thing she couldn’t afford.

  “I need a few signatures on these papers.” The lawyer pushed a couple of documents across the desk.

  Brooke scanned the papers, which were all requests for probate court, and signed them.

  “I’ll be in touch,” the attorney said.

  Brooke nodded as she gathered up her belongings. The lawyer’s secretary walked her to the front door.

  She stepped onto the sidewalk, her brand new black Camaro, parked in front of the building, taunted her. Her grandfather had been so proud of her accomplishments, always reminding her that her parents and grandmother were smiling down at her. She looked to the sky and waved. “Sorry. Seems I’ve developed a temper.”

  People walked by, giving her weird looks. She shrugged it off. Let people think she was nuts. Her mind had fractured in a million directions. Her heart shattered. The combination sent her into a rage she thought would take over her life if she didn’t find a way to push it down, controlling it, until she found the time to fall apart. She hopped in the car, revved the engine while the top folded down, before slamming it into drive and pulling out onto the street, heading for the main drag off Lake George Village.

  By the time she turned off Beach Road on to East Shore drive, tears burned the sides of her face, probably taking thick clumps of mascara with them. With no cars in sight, she pressed down hard on the gas. Her trembling fingers curled around the steering wheel at ten and two. The wind whipped her hair across her face. She blinked, picturing the forty-five-degree turn coming up, followed by a few lesser curves, but still harrowing at higher speeds. Foot to the floor, she wanted to feel the car lean on its edge, taking the turn fast, hard, and out of control.

  Fire flew from her skin as it did when she’d gone bat-shit crazy in her office. ‘Ballistic Brooke’, that’s what her ex-coworkers called her as she’d been escorted out of the building…in handcuffs.

  She sucked in a breath, lifting her foot of off the pedal, tapping the brakes.

  Her heart skipped a beat and her body trembled. She’d never been an adrenaline junkie, so why did she all of a sudden want to test her own limits?

  The next five miles she did her best to control her breathing and clear her brain. She should be thinking about her grandfather’s funeral arrangements, not what it would be like to start a new career as the female version of Evil Kneivel.

  She pulled into the country store at the corner of Cleverdale and Route 9. When she’d been little, her grandparents would give her a dollar and she’d go to this very store and buy an ice cream, skipping the entire way. Glancing around the parking lot, she realized how much it had changed, yet stayed the same. Another line of gas pumps and an addition to the building were the most notable changes.

  She leaned forward and cleaned up her face. She really wasn’t a vain woman, but her grandmother taught her that a little style and grace made a powerful woman less intimidating.

  The bell rung above the store door, just like it always had. The pimpled-faced kid behind the register didn’t even look up, his fingers tapping away on a smartphone. She made a beeline for the freezer and snagged three boxes of Éclair’s ice cream on a stick. The chocolate ones. Her father’s favorite. After that, she stopped in the beer section and picked up a case of her parent’s favorite beer.

  The kid looked up at her when she dropped the case on the counter.

  “I.D., please.”

  She laughed, though it sounded more like a snooty grunt. At almost thirty, getting proofed didn’t happen often. “Thanks.” She signed the credit card receipt and picked up her groceries, turning on her heels, nearly walking right into Mrs. Georgina Ramsworth. “Excuse me,” Brooke muttered, adjusting her bag and her beer.

  “I would say so.” Stuffy Mrs. Ramsworth lowered her gaze to Brooke’s feet, then followed it up to her face with a scowl. “I’m sorry for your loss. We were very grateful to your grandfather for being our driver and taking care of the house during the winter these last few years.” The words might be kind, but the woman giving them was anything but. “He will be missed.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Mrs. Ramsworth reached out toward Brooke’s chest, but yanked her hand back as if she’d been burned. “Such an exquisite pendant. Where did you get it?”

  “It was my grandmother’s,” Brooke said as she tried to scoot around the unpleasant lady so she could make a beeline to her car, before she told her to screw off.

  “It looks like an antique. And quite expensive, dear.”

  Brook chomped down on her tongue. “It belonged to my grandmother.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Ramsworth frowned. “When will the funeral arrangements be announced?” Mrs. Ramsworth always reminded Brooke of Cruella Deville with the way she constantly looked down at anyone who wasn’t from the same stock as her.

  “I’m working on them.” She wanted to add it would be private, but her grandfather would have a hissy fit right there in heaven. He wanted people to celebrate his life.

  “If you need anything, we are right down the street.”

  Right, like she’d let Brooke through the front gate. Her husband, the original Wendell Ramsworth, however might. He’d always been sort of nice to people, but his wife certainly wore the pants in that family. “Nice to see you again.” Not. “I need to get going.”

  Mrs. Ramsworth pointed at the case of beer. “That isn’t going to solve anything, dear. I know you’re hurting, but it’s really not the way to deal with it.”

  Why? Because it’s not a five-hundred-dollar bottle of wine?

  “I have a friend dropping by, so it’s not all for me.” Wow. She just resorted to lying to a woman who would judge her no matter what she did.

  Brooke scooted around the snobby socialite and ran for her car, dumping her ice cream and beer into the passenger seat. When she turned, she caught the ugly gaze of the younger Wendell Ramsworth, the eldest and only grandson. Great. Just what she needed.

  “Hello, Brooke,” he said as he leaned against the hood of her car. �
�I’m real sorry about your grandfather. He’d been very supportive this last year with my situation, so, if there is there anything you need, just let me know.”

  “Really?” She gritted her teeth. “It’s one thing for your grandmother to be fake nice to me, but you?”

  “There’s no reason for me not to be nice and I know Michelle would love to see you.” He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “You know how to reach us if there is anything we can help you with.”

  “Thanks to you, Michelle and I haven’t talked in years, so, don’t go acting like we’re all hunky-dory.” Wendell didn’t care about anyone else but himself. He acted all nice and sweet, but deep down he was a ruthless, self-serving bastard, and he proved that the day he made her out to be a liar in the eyes of her best friend.

  He laughed. “I’ll tell Michelle you said hello.”

  “Whatever.” She hopped into her car. Heat bristled off her finger tips as she slammed the gearshift into drive, gravel peppering the air in the wake of her spinning tires, causing the back end of the car to fishtail. She didn’t care about anything other than the pounding of her heart against her chest. Tears once again stung at her eyes. Holding the pedal down, the engine roared like a lion, drowning out the million thoughts crushing her brain.

  Sirens bleeped behind her.

  She jumped, easing her foot off the gas, slowing the car down. She blinked a few times, trying to pull herself back to reality from wherever she’d just gone. Her hands quivered as she rolled the car to a stop on the side of the road, shifting it back into park. Her heart beat so fast it smacked the back of her throat.

  What the fuck was she doing? Had she lost her ever lovin’ mind?

  She checked the rear-view mirror and did her best to rub away the black smudges under her puffy, bloodshot eyes.

  The State Trooper stepped from his vehicle, looking around as if he didn’t have a care in the world as he adjusted his hat and hooked his sunglasses into his pocket.