An Uncommon Alliance

By Ann Steele

A small community is shaken when seven-year old Sadie Miller is abducted from her front yard and her body is found days later. The police have no clues and no suspects. Sadie’s grieving uncle, John Weston, owner of Weston Funeral Home, feels helpless and is desperate for answers. A mysterious stranger appears in the mortuary days later claiming it wasn’t the child’s time to die; she was supposed to live to be an old woman and make significant contributions to humanity during her life. When John questions how the stranger could know such specific details, the stranger replies, “I am Death.” John naturally assumes the stranger is a kook. Such a claim is nothing short of preposterous yet, with one touch, John is convinced. He learns that Death knows the identity of Sadie’s killer but cannot tell John who it is. Instead, over the course of numerous visits, he provides clues that will help lead John to the killer. But is John clever enough to figure them out before the killer can strike again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Steele
• Release date: May 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463215807

Ann Steele

I have been writing fiction since 2002. I am married with three grown children and four grandchildren.

Book preview

An Uncommon Alliance

By Ann Steele

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 Ann Steele

Alex Steele, Editor

Cover Design by Laura Shinn Designs

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This ebook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and some of the places are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual event, place or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Chapter 1

When Brad Miller was killed by an enemy sniper while serving with his Marine unit in Afghanistan in February of 2017, his wife Arlene thought that was the lowest point of her life. Things got even worse when her daughter, Sadie, went missing the following year.

Sadie was a bright, spirited seven-year-old girl who was abducted in broad daylight while playing in her own front yard. It was the week of spring break and she and her mother had been sitting outside on the denim quilt Arlene’s mother made for her sixteenth birthday, playing games and enjoying the beautiful spring day. It had been a difficult year for them both and Arlene was now starting to feel like she was getting a handle on her grief. Sadie, like most kids, was resilient and bounced back sooner than her mother.

After Brad’s body was returned to the States, along with his few personal effects, Arlene bought two silver chains and attached Brad’s dog tags to each of them, one for her and one for Sadie. The necklaces were worn every day and gave Brad’s little family a measure of comfort in his absence.

Arlene stepped inside to make lunch that afternoon in April while Sadie opted to stay outside and play games on Arlene’s tablet. When Arlene returned less than ten minutes later with a tray of sandwiches, chips, and sodas, Sadie was gone. Arlene didn’t waste any time before calling the police to report that her daughter was missing. Two officers were dispatched to her ranch-style home, which was located at the outskirts of town. While they were respectful and took down her statement, they didn’t appear concerned. Kids wander off all the time, they tried to assure her. Arlene knew better. Someone abducted her daughter; there was no doubt in her mind. How could she explain to these two men about the mysterious connection between a mother and her child? They wouldn’t understand.

It wasn’t until the following day that the police concluded the child hadn’t wandered off after all and began an active investigation into the abduction.

It was all anyone in Glen County could talk about over the next three days. Who would do such a thing? And in broad daylight, no less? Ridley, Virginia was a small, rural community of about fifteen thousand residents. It had always been such a quiet, peaceful place with little crime, nothing more serious than petty theft as a rule. Apart from the explosion at the fertilizer plant several years earlier, the abduction of Sadie Miller was the worst thing anyone could remember happening in the area. Everyone had a theory as to what happened to Sadie, the most popular being that a young black man, an outsider who had been seen loitering around town, took the little girl. The story was posited with such fervor that it soon became fact to a lot of people. Truth was, no one knew for sure. The cops were stymied, making matters even worse. Children were no longer allowed to roam unaccompanied as they had always done before. Folks began to look at each other with suspicion. The tension in the air was palpable.

In the end, it wasn’t the police that found Sadie; her body was discovered by Bruce Morton while he was plowing his field three days after the abduction. Bruce started out that Sunday morning, eager to finish the plowing so he could do the spring planting of barley as well. The morning was crisp, the air calm. Bruce enjoyed the ritual of churning and preparing the soil, and loved how fertile and promising the field looked after it was freshly plowed. His dog Hudson, a border collie who accompanied him everywhere, was sleeping by his side on the tractor seat.

Bruce and his wife Lisa, both in their late twenties, lived well on his manager salary from the busy feed store and the income from her part-time job as a receptionist for a local dentist. Bruce inherited the two-story house and acreage from his parents when they passed away and he owned it all free and clear. The money they earned from their crops each year was used for luxuries like trips, remodeling the house, and their biggest upcoming adventure of all, the arrival of their new baby due in July.

Bruce reached the west end of the field where it met the back yard of his house, turned the tractor one hundred and eighty degrees, and headed east once more. This particular turn, almost an hour after beginning, marked the half-way point of plowing the two-acre-across-by-four-acre-deep field. The Farmers’ Almanac predicted a pleasant spring with the right amount of rain and a somewhat cooler summer than the year before; perfect conditions for growing barley. He paused, looking across the now soft, deep rich soil on the north half of the field and gave a satisfied smile.

As the tractor moved along at a steady pace, Hudson sat up and sniffed the air. Several seconds later, he emitted a low growl, leapt from the seat, and ran toward something at the edge of the field where it met the wooded area up ahead. Bruce couldn’t tell what Hudson was after because he was driving east into the morning sun. At first glance, he wondered if it might be a dead animal. The closer he got, the more the object resembled a child’s doll. When he was about twenty yards away and in the shadow of the trees, he stopped the tractor in horror. It was neither an animal nor a doll…it was the body of a naked child.

Bruce scrambled from the tractor and raced to the child’s side. Her abdomen, arms and legs were bruised, and her blond hair was matted with dried blood. Although she wasn’t moving and appeared to be dead, Bruce needed to know for sure. He bent down next to the child and laid his index and middle fingers across the carotid artery. She felt cold to the touch and there was no pulse. He collapsed onto the dirt. Oh, god, he gasped in disbelief. Hudson forced his muzzle under Bruce’s arm and whined in commiseration.

Bruce fumbled into the back pocket of his jeans for his cell phone and dialed 911.

Nine-one-one, what is your emergency? replied the dispatcher after the first ring.

Yeah, this is Bruce Morton, out on Route 6, he said, wiping away the tears that were stinging his eyes. I’m out tilling my field and came across the body of a little girl. I’m not sure, but I think it might be Sadie Miller that went missing a few days ago.

As the dispatcher took down all the information Bruce could provide, she dispatched the sheriff’s deputies and an ambulance to his location, assuring Bruce they were on their way.

Because the field was located behind Bruce’s house and he might not be seen from the road, Bruce climbed back onto his tractor and drove back across the length of the field, directing his dog to remain behind with the little girl. Hudson complied, sitting on his haunches a few feet from the body with a sulking whimper. Bruce reached his backyard as the sheriff’s car pulled up the drive. He turned off the tractor, jumped down, and greeted the deputies both by name.

Morning, Gill. Tom.

Hey, Bruce, responded Gill, the older of the two. Tom gave a polite nod. What have we got?

At that moment, Bruce’s pregnant wife Lisa stepped out onto the porch, a dishtowel in her hands. What’s going on? she asked, brushing back a stray lock of hair that had fallen across her face.

Um, mumbled Bruce, glancing over at Gill for help.

We have a possible situation out in the field, ma’am, said Gill. I’d like to ask you to remain inside while we investigate.

Lisa looked at Bruce, wide-eyed. She’ll find out soon enough, he thought. Nodding toward the house, he said, Go on inside, sweetheart. We’ll talk later.

As Lisa stepped back into the house, Bruce suspected she would go straight upstairs to their bedroom, whose window overlooked the field, so she could check things out for herself. She might even get out his binoculars from the closet for a better look.

Okay, Gill resumed. Tell me what you found.

Bruce glanced out across the field. The little girl’s body was too far away to be seen from that distance. I was out plowing my field, he said, gesturing with his thumb, with my dog Hudson, who was asleep on the seat next to me. All of a sudden, he jumped off the tractor and ran toward something. I couldn’t tell what it was, I was too far away, plus the sun was in my eyes. As I got closer, I thought he found a dead animal or something, but… He looked away and cleared his throat. It’s a little girl. I think it might be Sadie Miller.

The two officers exchanged a meaningful look. Okay. Let’s go see what we’ve got, said Gill.

Sure, said Bruce. She’s at the far end of the field, at the tree line. We can ride the tractor out if you’d like. It will be faster and easier than trying to walk.

That’d be fine. Tom, why don’t you stay here and wait for the ambulance. Looking out at the partially plowed field, Gill asked Bruce, Can the ambulance get across if they stay on the unplowed side?

I think so. That ground is still pretty hard.

Right. Let’s go. As they walked toward the tractor, Gill slipped the recent picture of Sadie Miller from his breast pocket. He’d need it to help confirm the suspicion that it was her lying at the end of the field.

Chapter 2

Delivering news of a loved one’s death was the worst part of Sheriff William Laird’s job. He had been sheriff of Glen County for over thirty years and death notifications were as difficult now as they had been from the first. This particular one would be the most challenging.

As he drove up the gravel driveway toward Arlene Miller’s home, he could see her watching his approach through the front window. She was a lifetime local, like him. Her father had been a friend of Laird’s even before she was born. Laird watched her grow from a silly, awkward girl in braces to the smart, beautiful woman she now was. He respected her husband Brad for serving in the military and admired Arlene for her unwavering support of his service. Having served himself, Laird knew that military life could be hard on families. He remembered how devastating it had been for Arlene when she received the news that Brad had been killed in Afghanistan after being deployed for only three months. And now, his stomach in knots, Laird knew this young, widowed mother was hoping that he was bringing her good news about her missing child; alas, that wasn’t the case.

Laird, a tall, rugged-looking man with graying hair, pulled up close to the house, stopped the car, and got out. Arlene met him on the porch. By the somber look on his face, she knew right away that her worst fears were realized—her daughter was dead. She collapsed onto the porch and sobbed.

Laird sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. I’m so sorry, Arlene, he said in a soothing voice. I wish I could have brought you better news.

He didn’t try to quiet her or tell her everything would be fine. He knew what it was like to lose someone you love; he had been a widower for six years. Well-meaning words of solace brought him neither comfort nor consolation when his wife died. With the passage of time the sting of grief softened; it was never fully erased, however. Arlene needed to cry. She lost her only child, and less than a year after losing her husband. Laird was empathetic and, even more important, he was patient.

Sometime later, Arlene’s sobs began to subside. She pulled away and as she wiped her eyes and nose with shaking hands she asked, Where is she?

She’s been taken to the hospital for now. When you’re ready, I can drive you there. A positive identification of the body by the next of kin was required.

Arlene nodded. Thank you, Bill. I want to go now. Let me grab my purse.

Laird helped her up, making sure she was steady on her feet before letting go of her. She disappeared inside, returning several minutes later holding her purse. She fumbled inside for her keys to lock the door. Her shaking hands made it impossible to thread the key into the lock; she lost her grip and the keys fell onto the porch. Laird bent down and picked them up, found the key that went to the house, and bolted the door for her before dropping them back inside her purse. He held her arm as they walked to his squad car, opening the passenger side door for her. As she climbed in, he said, There’s a package of tissues in the glove box, if you need them.

It was a fifteen-minute drive to Glen County Hospital. Laird needed to prepare Arlene for what lay ahead but didn’t want to rush her. After several minutes of silence, he said, We should talk before we get to the hospital.

Arlene didn’t answer right away. Her head was turned away from Laird, the outside scenery rushing by without her seeing any of it. She opened the glove box, retrieved the package of tissues, and, after helping herself to a couple of them, wiped her eyes. Okay, she murmured.

Keeping his eyes on the road, Laird explained how and where Sadie had been found, the injuries she sustained, being particularly sensitive about the sexual abuse, and the suspected cause of death based on the head wound. Arlene wept as he spoke, keeping her head bowed and the soaked tissues pressed against her eyes. How could something like that happen to her little girl? And here in Ridley?

After you make the positive identification, Laird continued, you can take all the time you need with your daughter. There’s no rush at all.

Thank you, she said. Was anything found on her body? she asked a minute later, a hopeful tone in her voice. She was wearing her father’s dog tag on a silver necklace the morning she was taken.

No, I’m sorry.

The two of them lapsed back into silence and nothing more was said until they reached the hospital. Laird parked near the front door and led her through the lobby to the bank of elevators. The few people that were in the lobby paused as Arlene passed and gave her a nod of sympathy. She didn’t notice.

After boarding the summoned elevator, Laird hit the M button that would take them to the basement. As the doors opened, a large sign could be seen on the opposite wall that announced ‘Morgue’ in bold, green letters with an arrow pointing to the left. Arlene gave an audible gasp. She worked as a nurse at this hospital until Sadie was born and had been in the morgue several times before. This was the first time, however, she was there for someone she loved and to identify their body. She looked up at Laird with pleading eyes, swallowing hard. I don’t know if I can do this, Bill, she whispered.

I’m right here, he told her, holding her arm. Lean on me. He guided her out of the elevator and down the hall where they were met by the medical examiner who was waiting outside the door that led to the morgue. He was a studious-looking man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He wore a white lab coat over a light blue shirt with a navy-blue tie. In his hand was a file folder. He introduced himself to Arlene as Dr. Raymond Worth and offered her his sincere condolences. I know this is difficult, Ms. Miller, he said in a gentle voice. Take your time. Let me know when you’re ready.

Arlene closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and, after several long seconds, said, Okay.

Dr. Worth opened the door to the morgue, stepping aside for Laird and Arlene to enter before closing the door behind them. He crossed to the other side of the room where a panel of six metal doors was set into the wall, belonging to the cold chambers. He tucked the file folder under his arm, opened the middle left door, and slid out the drawer. A small figure was covered by a crisp white linen sheet. Ms. Miller? he said, inviting her to join him.

Arlene leaned with her full weight against Laird as he escorted her forward. As she looked down at the covered figure, she could feel her heart beating in her tear-filled eyes.

Dr. Worth drew the sheet down past the little girl’s shoulders, enough for Arlene to make the identification without exposing all the extensive bruising scattered across the body. The head wound had been cleaned and inspected by the medical examiner as a courtesy to the mother; the full autopsy would be done later.

Arlene’s knees buckled and she would have fallen if Laird hadn’t been holding on to her. Her free hand covered her mouth as tears spilled down both cheeks.

Laird nodded to Dr. Worth, who asked, Ms. Miller? Is this your daughter? Is this Sadie?

Yes, she managed in a muffled voice. That’s my Sadie.

Laird had his positive ID. The Sadie Miller missing person case was officially now the Sadie Miller homicide case. Take all the time you need, he whispered to Arlene. Would you like to be alone with her?

Arlene gave a weak nod of her head.

Will you be okay?

She steadied herself against the side of the drawer before nodding once more.

Laird let Arlene go and took a chair across the room, allowing her some private space with her daughter. Dr. Worth also drifted to the other side of the room where he removed a pen from the breast pocket of his lab coat and made a notation inside the file.

Arlene spent the next fifteen minutes with her daughter. She wept as she caressed the little girl’s cheek and hair, whispering superfluous apologies as well as promises of her undying love. Through her tears, she couldn’t help noticing the thin, red mark that ran across the front of Sadie’s neck that must have been caused when the perpetrator tore away the necklace that held Brad’s dog tag. Arlene reached out and traced the mark with the index finger of her right hand as she rolled her own necklace between the fingers of her left. The longstanding heartache of losing her husband now collided with the fresh wound of losing her daughter. The pain was overwhelming and it felt as if ice water was running through her veins. She felt her knees begin to buckle once more. Laird saw what was about to happen and leapt from his chair, crossing the room in time to catch her before she collapsed. Dr. Worth retrieved the chair Laird vacated and brought it over for Arlene to sit down. He exited the room and returned a moment later with a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to her.

Arlene took a sip and thanked the doctor. This is too much, she groaned after she took a few more sips of water.

I’m so sorry, Arlene, said Laird, squatting beside her, a sympathetic hand resting on her knee.

Dr. Worth left the room for a second time and returned several minutes later with a brown prescription bottle containing half a dozen pills he obtained from the hospital pharmacy. This is a mild sedative; it will help you relax. You can take one now if you’d like, he offered. Otherwise, you should take one as soon as you get home. You should also take one before you go to bed, to help you sleep.

Arlene took the bottle, which didn’t have a child-proof cap. That one small detail was not lost on Arlene. With a heavy heart, she popped the lid off with one hand, tipped out a pill and swallowed it with a swig of water, hoping it would somehow eradicate the pain she was feeling in one swift, magical moment. I hope Brad was there for her when she died, she murmured to no one in particular. Both men did their best to assure her that was indeed the case.

I’m ready to go now, she told Laird as she stood. "Is there