Fall from Grace: For Whom the Bell Tolls

By Renee Weeks

You see, it all begins with a drunk driver who leads to a cold case murder, which then mingles with a case of a woman searching for her birth mother. When a drunk driver named George Martin takes a fateful drive across the immaculate lawn of Glendale’s Our Lady of the Lakes Catholic Church, crashing into the church’s bell tower, his accident reveals a body that had been buried beneath the tower some thirty-odd years ago. Meanwhile, Addison Temple, the beautiful, smart, and sassy female detective, investigates a murder case involving one of her clients. Her nemesis and male counterpart, Logan Stanton, has been called in to assist the local police department with the cold case involving the body found under the Catholic Church bell tower. The two detectives soon learn their cases may somehow be connected. As they attempt to unravel the mysterious connection and solve the murders, their rivalry turns into a mutual attraction that intensifies as they move ever nearer to solving the crimes. However, as they close in, danger looms that threatens to destroy them both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647501631

Renee Weeks

The author, Renee Weeks, can usually be found watching an old murder mystery movie or reading a book on an intriguing whodunit, and that book will more likely than not include a touch of romance. Writing a novel was always on her bucket list and eventually, it became a reality. When not absorbed in the latest gripping murder plot, Renee is an associate editor/writer for a business publication and a professor who teaches graduate and undergraduate business courses, loves cooking, working out, and otherwise spends far too much time at the computer. She lives in rural Minnesota with her husband, Australian Shepherd, and an assortment of cats.

Book preview

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About the Author

The author, Renee Weeks, can usually be found watching an old murder mystery movie or reading a book on an intriguing whodunit, and that book will more likely than not include a touch of romance. Writing a novel was always on her bucket list and eventually, it became a reality. When not absorbed in the latest gripping murder plot, Renee is an associate editor/writer for a business publication and a professor who teaches graduate and undergraduate business courses, loves cooking, working out, and otherwise spends far too much time at the computer. She lives in rural Minnesota with her husband, Australian Shepherd, and an assortment of cats.

Dedication

To Tim – my husband, my inspiration, my champion.

Copyright Information ©

Renee Weeks (2021)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Weeks, Renee

Fall from Grace: For Whom the Bell Tolls

ISBN 9781647501624 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781647501617 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781647501631 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020916533

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

I have to start by thanking my husband, Tim. From reading early drafts to giving me his opinions on the final version, he was as important to this book getting done as I was. Thank you so much, my dear. I am eternally grateful to my daughter, Desiree, for her encouragement, honest critiques, and support during this entire writing journey.

Chapter 1

George Martin never meant to cause problems for anyone—really. He had only wanted a couple of drinks after work before going home. He knew that if he had more than that, his wife would kill him—probably, literally. But one thing leads to another and, of course, you know what happened; he had more than two. It was quite understandable, therefore, that when he staggered out of the bar in downtown Glendale, that he should not have been driving a car.

George managed to unlock the car door and fell into the driver’s seat. After some fumbling, he finally got the key into the ignition and took off. He always took the same route home—he knew no cops would be patrolling the street that went by the Catholic Church. He had never had an accident nor been caught for drunk driving and he was sure before long, he would be safely poured into bed by his wife.

As he swerved down the avenue that connected to Abbey Street, he was thinking about his wife. Elaine was such a peach, always there for him, always so patient even though he sometimes came home just a bit tipsy. Lately, though, she had been less than patient. She had threatened to leave him if he didn’t stop his drinking. He was just wondering if maybe she was right, and he should cut down and spend more time with her when his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the unusual direction his drive home had taken. He found his car somehow traveling at high speed across the immaculate lawn of the Our Lady of the Lake Catholic Church.

George tried to stop the damn thing. But although he tried and tried, he couldn’t—it had a mind of its own! When it came to rest, it had managed to thoroughly destroy three flower beds, two rose bushes, and had remodeled a major chunk out of the bell tower. George no longer had a problem with alcohol; in fact, George no longer had problems of any kind. For you see, the bell tolled for George—George was dead.

***

Police Chief Carter McGraw sat at his cluttered desk sipping his coffee. He grimaced and thought, Who made this stuff? It tasted like tar heated up. He dumped the cup into the wastebasket and coffee splashed onto the floor and onto his pant leg. Damn! He just wanted to get through another day, which meant another day closer to retirement for him. Chief McGraw had been with the Glendale Police Department for nearly 30 years and he was getting tired. His hair was now gray—what there was of it—and his stomach was getting bigger every year. He had turned into a soft, wrinkled old man. All he wanted was to retire, go fishing, and try to avoid the chores his wife always had for him. He was just wondering how he would be able to accomplish that feat when his sergeant walked in.

Sergeant Walker tossed a report onto his desk and fell into the chair across and said, Another drunk driver got it last night, Chief. Wouldn’t you think they would learn by now?

Chief McGraw shrugged his shoulders and reached for the report and replied, Some things never change. He read, The driver of the vehicle was a George Martin, age 47, address 302 Maplewood, DOA.

Sergeant Walker explained with a grin, This one’s a bit different, Chief; the guy wound up crashing into the bell tower of the Catholic Church.

***

The bulldozer hummed steadily as it slowly knocked down the leftovers from George Martin’s late-night drive. Each trip back and forth to the waiting dump truck took a bite out of the remains of what had been a landmark at Our Lady’s for nearly a quarter of a century. People gathered and found themselves fascinated by the process. Finally, all that remained was the last chunk of the tower base. Everyone started to scatter; there was nothing more to see.

Suddenly, the bulldozer stopped, and the driver jumped off and then ran down into the hole. He started yelling excitedly, Call the police, someone—I think I just found myself a body!

***

As Chief McGraw drove to the Catholic Church, his mind turned back in time to 25 years ago. That is just about how long the church has been in existence. What was going on at that time? Who could have been buried beneath the bell tower? Damn, this would happen just as I was about to retire. Why can’t people just behave? He arrived at the scene just in time to see the forensic guys doing their stuff. A couple of guys were measuring while others were labeling and taking photos. The medical examiner, Dr. Theodore Morgan, was supervising the operation. Dr. Morgan was much younger than the chief, well-spoken, well-dressed, and considered himself something of a ‘ladies’ man.’ The chief disliked Dr. Morgan’s know-it-all attitude. Just because he had this ‘highfalutin’ degree, he felt the doctor treated him no better than a gloried traffic cop.

Chief McGraw hurried over to Dr. Morgan and motioned to the site and asked, What you think about this, Morgan?

Dr. Morgan turned to him, smirked, and said, Isn’t that your department, McGraw? I’m just here to pick up the bones and perform the analysis.

It’s your job to figure out who it is! retorted McGraw as he glared back at him and walked back to his car.

***

Addison Temple leaned back in her office chair and ran her fingers through her thick, auburn hair. She was tired, no doubt about it. That late-night stake-out had taken its toll on her. Following deadbeat husbands for suspicious wives was not a fun part of her job! And, she did love her job! Being the only female private detective in the city really had its advantages. It gave her such a sense of ‘self,’ of being a ‘strong’ woman, not just figuratively, but intellectually. She was her own boss, something she had always wanted to be. She wasn’t going to be sucked into being the ‘typical’ woman, not her! She craved adventure and independence and no man was going to take that away from her. She rose and looked out onto the city. It was getting late in the afternoon and she could see people hurrying down the sidewalk, presumably on the way to their homes and families. She had to admit that sometimes she wished she had a husband and family to go home to, but then, she came to her senses.

Addison Temple was what one would consider a ‘looker.’ She was tall and well-built. Her green eyes and complexion were nothing short of enchanting. Her legs went on for miles, it seems. She believed in using her looks to her best advantage when it came to male clients. There had been a few male clients who had doubted her detective abilities but certainly had not doubted her ‘female’ abilities. However, after seeing the results of her work, they soon changed their minds on the first score. They had discovered that she was good at her job—something she already knew. It had taken a lot of hard work to get where she was today, and she was determined to stay there.

There was a knock at the door and she turned. In walked her trusted secretary, Stella Downey. Stella had been with her since the beginning. Often, Stella had gone without pay in those early days until the money had started coming in. Stella was not what you might call ‘pretty’ in the usual sense of the word, but she had something else—call it personality if you like. She could out wise-crack anyone, and usually did. Today, her dyed blonde hair swung against her shoulders as she swayed across the floor. Boss, there is a young lady here to see you—she says it’s important. Shall I say you are too busy right now and ask her to come back later? You look so tired, she said with a look of concern as she saw the look of fatigue on Addison’s face.

Addison replied, That’s all right, Stella, I’m okay—just a late-night stake-out and you know how they can be!

Stella nodded, and her dyed blond hair seemed to nod as well. She answered with a smile, Maybe it won’t take long, Boss. I just couldn’t help but ask if you could see her—she looks so desperate. I’ll show her in.

In a minute, she was being addressed by a young woman of about 25 or 30 years of age, Miss Temple, my name is Ava Richardson. Addison shook hands with the woman and noticed the woman’s hand was shaking and felt clammy.

Please have a seat, said Addison as she pointed at the chair in front of her desk. Can I get you anything, coffee perhaps?

No, no, thank you, was the woman’s response.

Well then, let’s get down to the reason for your visit today, Addison stated. She looked across at the young woman seated in front of her with a smile.

Addison took note of the details of the woman’s appearance and dress. Her hair was worn short with little fuss and her dress was simple. She wore little makeup. Her hands were strong, and it appeared she had done domestic work as her hands were a bit red and rough. A gold wedding ring could be seen on her left hand. Addison wondered why the woman was here and why she appeared so anxious.

Addison tried to put the woman at ease. Please just tell me who you are and why you need my help, she said reassuringly.

Ava clasped her hands tightly in her lap and swallowed, My name is Ava Richardson and I live on the edge of town. I am here because I need you to find my parents. I am adopted, you know, and have never known who they are.

Addison watched her client begin fidgeting with her purse, opening and closing the clasp nervously. Why are you seeking the identities of your parents now, since I assume you were adopted at a very young age? she asked.

I need to learn more about my genetic history, you see, Ms. Temple. My doctor wants me to learn all I can to make recommendations for my son’s treatment. He may die if I don’t find out, and soon, replied Ava. Her