Poisoned Promises: Prairie Crime Thriller, #1

By Maggie Thom

"Oh that was so good, I didn't want to put it down… I love the twists and turns of your writing. Another hit for the mystery genre." Connie Nixon

 

 

It's not only illegal… it's lethal.

 

Bryana has come home to find someone to work with her disabled mother. But her mom has other plans. She is trying to get her life back. The only way Bryana sees that working is if her father, who abandoned them years before, pays for the damage he has caused. His precious company, Pratner Fertilizer, has always come first for him. Time to make him pay where it will hurt the most.

 

Lee hates Pratner Fertilizer. They killed his father and now, almost his uncle. Going undercover Lee plans on taking down the company even if it means using the heir to do it.

 

Bryana intends to use Lee to get answers and to fuel his need to take down her father. But there is a whole lot more to her father's company than that of making and selling fertilizer. He has made millions from developing a deadly chemical. How are they going to stop a man who has paid off government officials? And who knows how to play the game and win?

 

In this gripping novel, part of the Prairie Crime Thriller Series, set in the fictional place of Connemara Alberta, prepare to dive into a psychological rollercoaster of heart-pounding twists and turns. Lose yourself in this gripping tale that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Enjoy.

 

"Oh, my goodness!!!! What a page turner!! Could not stop reading…" Ingrid

 

"Wow!! I am momentarily speechless. I have just finished reading this book and it is fantastic. It was so packed with tension and intrigue…" Gill Clay

 

Multi Award Winning Author Maggie Thom invites you to step into her new series, The Prairie Crime Thriller Series.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Quadessence Press
• Release date: May 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990787058

Book preview

Chapter 1

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Doctor, what is going on? What happened? Meredith demanded. Or tried to but her voice was somewhat garbled. Wilson Sr. pressed his hand to her shoulder, trying to calm her. She’d been in that hospital bed for five days. In and out over the last year, but this time it looked like her health had taken a turn for the worse. The first few days were spent saving her life but, now that she seemed to be out of the woods on that score, the questions were starting.

The doctor looked barely old enough to be out of college, but he was well respected in his field. Or so they’d been told.

You’ve had a stroke. That seemed to be the doctor’s response any time Meredith tried to talk. He didn’t seem to think she’d comprehended that fact yet.

How? I’m not even forty years old? It’s not normal, right? I can’t feel anything on my left side. Will that come back?

Wilson winced at the sounds coming out of Meredith’s mouth. His once very articulate wife was struggling to make sense. Taking a stab at what she had tried to say, he asked, Any news on why this happened? Will she gain anything back or is this it? He kept his eyes from straying to her basically dead left side. She didn’t seem to be able to move or feel anything there.

The doctor looked down at the clipboard he was holding. We’re going to do some more tests. It is unusual but not unheard of for someone your age to have a stroke.

Meredith burst into tears. She’d been doing that a lot. That part of her body still seemed to work just fine. Wilson squeezed her hand. He was in shock, too. His beautiful wife had changed almost overnight. Her health issues had been that she’d seemed more tired than normal. She’d had an upset stomach. She’d had headaches. She’d had tingling in her fingers. That had been one thing, but this? Unlike the doctor, though, Wilson had a good idea what had brought this on. Not that he was going to share it. But it would change everything. He’d been hoping he was wrong. In fact, he’d even tried to convince her not to go to work for a while.

His wife continued to cry ugly tears. Her face, at least the right side, was blotchy and scrunched up. The left side was untouched. Unmoving. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

She started speaking but whatever she was saying came out like a growl that was all garbled. What can you do about it? I’m too young for this? What kind of treatment is there? Why? Why me? I have children. How can I raise them like this? With her right arm, she picked up her left arm and let it drop. It flopped back onto the bed, like a dead weight.

Can she have something to settle her down? Wilson asked the doctor, ignoring his wife’s garbled vehemence, probably telling them she didn’t want anything. Shh. It’s okay. Let me talk to the doctor.

What are we going to tell the kids?

All he understood was kids, but he was quite sure he knew what she was asking. It was something he didn’t know. Their children were a tweenager and a teenager, so they were in that mixed stage of needing her and wanting her to give them space. He wasn’t home much; he had a business to run that took up almost all of his waking hours. His wife had spent hours there too, but only when the kids were at school or sleeping.

Meredith kept blubbering on. He held her hand but really couldn’t help but look at his watch. He’d already been at the hospital for a few hours. The business could run fine without him, but he wasn’t sure he could run fine without it.

Mom. Mom. Eleven-year-old Bryana came bounding into the room and immediately sat on the edge of the bed. She peered at her mother with youthful curiosity, not quite understanding what was going on. She’d been asking a ton of questions and demanding to see her mother. Are you okay?

Get down from there. Wilson grabbed her and pulled her off the bed, despite his wife’s mewling protest. As soon as the girl’s feet hit the floor, she turned and hugged her mom as best she could and then laid her head beside her mom’s.

Give your mom some space.

She’s fine, Meredith said as she used her good arm to hug her daughter. Where’s Wil?

Bryana seemed to understand her mother’s words. He’s hiding by the door. It’s okay, you can come in. Bryana waved at her older brother. Reluctantly, her thirteen-year-old brother made his way to the bed. Their father watched it all with a sense of dread. Glancing at his Rolex, another day lost or part of a day. All because his wife was lying in this hospital bed.

A throat clearing sound caught his attention. He turned. His least favorite person, his mother-in-law stood there looking defiantly at him. Clamping his jaw shut, he stepped out of the way, letting the rest of the family get near his wife. The nurse finally came back to give Meredith a sedative. Leaving his kids with his wife, he went in search of the doctor. He was standing by the nursing station.

Any ideas what happened? Wilson needed to know what they knew.

The doctor mentioned pretty much what he had said in the room. While he talked, he lifted his right hand and moved his fingers as though it helped with his explanation. All Wilson got out of his explanation was that so far they really had no clue but would do what they could to find out. Wilson gave a silent internal sigh of relief.

Will she get the function on her left side back?

We really don’t know how much she’ll gain back, but we have seen a lot of progress in individuals who have ischemic strokes. Which is the type we believe she had. The blood flow to the brain becomes obstructed. It’s most likely due to a blood clot.

But she’ll never ride a bike? Or run? Or even walk normally again, will she?

Some of that depends on how much of her brain was affected by her stroke. We’re monitoring and doing more tests. She’s young, so there is definite—

It’s okay, Doc. I don’t need to hear the same things you tell my wife to make her think she’ll get better. We both know that isn’t true. Wilson sidestepped the doctor and made his way to the fourth-floor offices. As he got out of the elevator, he smiled at the receptionist.

Mel. Hi. Is Martin in?

Let me see.

Wilson knew he wouldn’t have long to wait. As one of the biggest and regular contributors to the hospital, he was pretty sure Martin would drop everything to see him. While he waited, he moved to stand next to a window so he could look outside. A sunny and bright day. So in contrast to what he was feeling.

Hi. If you want to follow me, his office is right this way. He followed the receptionist down the hall to Martin’s office, the hospital administrator. As he entered, Martin got up from behind his desk and came around it with a smile and an extended hand.

Will. What brings you by?

You know about my wife?

Yes. I am sorry to hear that.

Well, I need you to stop them from doing any more tests as to why. I want the diagnosis to be something that is normal for a stroke victim.

Ischemic stroke accounts for about 87% of all strokes.

Good. Put that on her chart. No more tests.

He could tell he’d caught Martin off guard, but he got the slight nod that he needed and a request for some specialized equipment. Expensive but worth it. Finding out why she’d had the stroke would change nothing. He’d put some money into her rehabilitation. Maybe there was some hope there.

First, though, he had to find out how many people knew what happened. With where his thoughts were going, thinking he’d have to eliminate some people, and not just figuratively, he realized he was more like his old man than he thought. Business always came first. The man had taught him something besides hate.

Making his way back to Meredith’s room and making excuses to his family that there was an emergency at work, he made his way to his office at Pratner Fertilizer. He’d barely sat down before his phone rang.

Hello?

What are we doing with this product? Are you going to stop because Meredith is ill? The man’s tone was insulting.

There is a slim chance that this chemical is responsible. Which you also know. So don’t get all high and mighty with me. He sat back and looked out of his window. The view always calmed him. Keep testing. Keep doing what we’ve been doing. No change. Except, figure out how to make this safer. Buy some new safety gear. And make it more lucrative.

It’s already lucrative. The government is paying you millions in grants.

Yes, but I want to turn that into billions.

Chapter 2

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Bryana stood at the entrance to her office. It could have been anyone’s. There were no personal items in it or on the surrounding cubicle walls. When she’d taken the job she’d promised herself it would only be temporary. Could two years be considered temporary?

Depressed at that thought and at being there, she hung her coat on the back of her chair, put her phone on her desk, and sat down. She logged onto her computer and signed into the company’s app. There were forty help requests already. The good thing about arriving early was that she got the pick of the good ones. She sifted through them, choosing nine. It was way more than she needed but also knew that others would be coming in soon.

Working for the customer service department for WeWin Software Ltd. was an okay job but a dead-end one. The company had developed an online program to help people organize their work, their company files, and their day. The app allowed for collaboration, file sharing, and working teams.

It was great in theory but had some flaws. Ones that, if she got the promotion she was expecting, she could fix. She had some ideas that would make the company well respected and sought after. A lofty goal that would take some time.

Complaints and help requests flooded in a lot. After four years in business, the company should have fixed the bugs. Instead, they’d hired drones to convince people they needed to buy more.

Bryana was one of those drones. She hated it but needed the money. The throbbing at the base of her skull intensified. Coffee would help but her coworkers were starting to arrive. Two minutes before they were to start work. Typical. Not wanting to talk to any of them, she hid in her cubicle for fifteen minutes waiting for them to settle down and at least pretend they were working. Normally, she’d have gotten busy answering emails and answering phone calls But she just didn’t have the energy. The stress of everything was getting to her. Being at a job she hated but needed and hoping that she was getting a promotion was just the tip of her stress. The extra money would alleviate some of the bills she had to pay for her mother.

More work. More pay. More stress.

Almost as though she’d conjured her, Bryana’s phone rang. The ringtone let her know who was calling and she wanted to ignore it. She was always waiting for that one call... the one that might tell her, her mom was worse. Picking up her phone, she answered it.

Hello, Mom.

Bryana. I’m calling because I know you’ve been working hard. I want to uh— There was some muffled talking in the background.

What’s going on? Her mom rarely called her. Unless she needed something. I have to work. She started to pull her phone away from her ear but before she could hang up, her mom started talking again.

Wait. I, uh, want to give you something. More muffled voices. I’m buying you a vacation. For two weeks. Or would you prefer a month?

Did you win the lottery? Bryana rolled her eyes. Since she was paying half of her mom’s bills, Bryana knew she couldn’t afford it. It was so random and definitely bizarre.

No. But I know you’ve been working hard. I’m booking you on a cruise next week. It runs for ten days. That will be great, won’t it?

Don’t. Just don’t. Bye. Bryana hung up amidst her mom’s protests. Her mom’s call felt like a dripping water pipe on her head. It reminded her she had a lot of responsibilities and wasn’t meant to forget them. No matter how much she hated them. Had her mom called to ruin her big day on purpose?

Pushing away her thoughts, she listened for the noise of computer keyboards clicking away. It meant everyone was working. Or doing something. She wasn’t in the mood to chitchat. If things went as planned, this day was going to improve her life. She got to her feet and made her way to the staff room, unheeded. As usual, though, no one had made any coffee. Which was good because then she could make it the way she wanted—not too strong and not too weak and with a dash of cinnamon and salt. No one liked it but her.

With a fresh cup of coffee, she beelined it back to her desk. At work, she was a beacon of light and help, but didn’t want to hear about her coworkers’ binge drinking weekend or the illicit things they’d done. Besides, she was pretty sure they were rubbing off on her. She was thinking of doing things out of character for her—drinking excessively... having a one-night stand with some stranger... She chuckled to herself as the reality of her doing either of those things was almost zero. But she needed something new, something different...

Like a vacation.

The thought of what it would cost her to take her mom’s out-of-character charity made her insides revolt. Her computer dinged. Grateful for the distraction, she quickly got to work answering emails. Most were simple fix issues with the program. She directed the customers to a webpage she’d created with videos and images showing what they needed to do. It saved so much time. Not that she got credit for it. The company was okay with it but wanted her to re-do them so they included how the customers could upgrade. They wanted their staff to sell. Sell. Sell. She hated that part. It was sleezy. The irony was that she often did manage to get her customers to buy something else without saying anything. She had so many customers requesting her the company had opened an exclusive message board just for her.

A loud chime echoed through the room, three times. It wasn’t as loud as a high school bell, but it was annoying. It made her cringe, with that instant internal ‘ugh’ feeling. She was tempted to ignore it, but also knew she had to be there. It was a ‘get out of cubicle hell’ day. The job paid decently but knowing she’d be making more is what kept her there. It helped with the headaches that weren’t hers. Feeling optimistic that things were about to get better, she stood up.

Her first mistake.

Bryana, hey. Didn’t know you were here. How was your weekend? Oh, mine was such a blast. Got so wasted Friday night. I think I was drunk all weekend. The man laughed at his own joke. I hooked up with this woman...

Bryana smiled weakly as she pushed her way past the forty-year-old man who still acted like he was eighteen. He fell into step beside her, as though she had invited him. He kept talking about his exploits, and Bryana kept trying to get her ears to grow over or shut off. If it wouldn’t have been telling, she would have clapped her hands over her ears. Instead, she walked with her yappy coworker into the meeting room. Which was a joke. It was an empty cement room, with no frills and no windows. She shivered, grabbed a chair, and plopped it between two other coworkers whom she didn’t know. She felt relatively certain she wouldn’t have to listen to any more stories. The twenty or so other staff all grabbed chairs from the stack in the corner and set them down. The grating on the cement floor almost sounded like a horror show.

There was a tap on her shoulder. Her rambling cubicle mate obviously hadn’t finished talking. He was right behind her, leaning close. She turned her back on him but that didn’t deter him. The guy to her right glared at her, grabbed his chair, and moved to the far side of the room. She twirled her beaded bracelet around her wrist. It helped to ground her and distract her.

Gee, thanks for getting him to move. This is so much better. Now, I can tell you all about what happened. Such a crazy weekend...

If she ever had enough money, she was going to invest it all into teleportation. Or a device that she could instantly slap in someone else’s mouth so they couldn’t be heard. The images that came to mind kept her somewhat occupied and able to ignore the over-the-top story the man was shoveling.

You could always just tell him to shut up.

That was her goal, one day to be able to tell someone to leave her alone. To stand up for herself. For now, she sat and waited for her boss, who was going to be late, anyway. If she’d had the nerve, she’d do like everyone else and pull out her phone.

That would be rude, Bryana. Her mom’s voice in her head dug into her nerves like an eagle’s talons.

This day could only get better.

Chapter 3

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Hello?

Hi. Is this Jim Marker, acting CEO of WeWin Ltd.?

Yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling?

Wilson smiled. It always took a bit of waking someone up to help them realize they weren’t really in charge. He took a deep breath and started. No. But here’s what I will tell you. I know you got this job because your uncle got it for you. You were only to be in the position for eight weeks, while the real CEO, Chester Bean, was off due to knee surgery. However, your uncle made sure that Chester wasn’t able to return to work. A bungle during his surgery has left him needing multiple surgeries and a lot of therapy. Which means you’ve now been doing a job you have no aptitude or brains for, for five or so years. You are just a figurehead, while your uncle siphons off a few dollars here and there. In the last four years, that has amounted to six point seven million. Do I have your attention?

He could almost see the man’s mouth moving like a fish when it was pulled from the water. This was the best part of what he did, getting to wake people up and let them know that they were being watched.

And your daughter just graduated from university, right? She’s got her master’s in behavioral psychology. Your son, however, is busy globetrotting, living off the three million they’re paying you. For a job you have no clue how to do.

Who are you?

Wilson laughed, loving the false bravado in the man’s voice.

Uh. See, I’m just telling you what I know—

—If you hurt my family—

—You’ll what? Run to your wife, who wears the pants in your family? She’s the one who manages the money and tells you what to do. Right down to the three shades of blue striped socks you’re wearing today.

Jim gasped and when he shot upright, his clothes made a loud screech-sliding sound against the leather office chair.

You can’t... I’ll call the police... you have no right—

Go ahead and call the police. Your daughter will be first. Your son is too easy. He spends most of his time partying and sleeping in a new bed every night. No challenge there. Your daughter is a bit more conservative. It would be easy to lure her into a job that would send her overseas, to a country that loves to sell women.

No. No. No. Please. What do you want?

Now he had him. So nice of you to ask. I know that you plan on giving Bryana Styles, your cubicle customer service rep, a promotion. I believe her new job will be overseeing the customer service department?

No. She’ll be writing up some procedures and teaching the other staff on how to do customer service better.

Oh, well thank you for clearing that up. That’s not what she believes though, is it? She thinks she’s getting promoted to Operations Manager. It doesn’t matter what the title is, you can’t give it to her.

What? She deserves it. She has the happiest customers. They request her. She also has the most upsells each month. Of course I’m promoting her.

No, you aren’t. Remember your family. I can get to them anytime, anywhere. You will find another person to give that promotion to. Understand?

Jim was silent but Wilson wasn’t worried. In fact, he looked down at his watch: 8:35 a.m. His first gift was arriving.

Look, I have to go, the reception has just brought me—

A box about 12x12? It doesn’t hold a head this time, but it might next time. Go ahead and open it. I’ll wait. Make sure you don’t hang up on me.

He heard some clatter as the man scrambled to open the box. Waiting wasn’t his strong suit, but he counted to twenty silently.

What the hell!

What? You don’t like my gift? I thought you’d like the fresh-cut locks off of each of your family members’ heads. Don’t worry, they don’t even know that we were that close. It was done while they were sleeping. He paused. Now that you have a taste of what I can do, Bryana does not get that promotion, right?

Jim’s voice was shaky when he responded. No. I’ll give it to Stacy.

Good job. Have a good day. I’m going to have a great day. He hung up and slid his phone into his pocket. Stripping off his gloves, he tossed them on the passenger seat, before climbing out of his Hummer and heading into his house. His young daughter barreled toward him, clutching him around his knees. He bent down and swung her up into his arms.

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. The words were like music to his ears. If only all of his children were so loving.

He set her down, kissed his wife on the lips, and made his way to his office... or relaxation room as he called it. His man cave, as his wife called it. No one else was allowed in but him. He closed the door behind him and made his way to his leather couch, sinking down into its comfort. Truly, he was supposed to be in his office at Pratner Fertilizer but hearing that Bryana was getting a raise had derailed that. He knew she was paying for some of her mother’s services.

Reaching for the remote, he turned on the TV and flipped through some channels. The morning news was on. It was the usual—crime, accidents, doom and gloom, everything is going to hell outlook. For some reason, it reminded him he’d been sent an email the night before that he needed to read asap. But he’d had other pressing matters. Pulling out his phone, he opened the article.

Ralph Stoltz has retired after thirty-five years as Minister of Agriculture.

Wilson felt like he was freefalling out of a plane.

The bastard hadn’t said a word.

He called the number he had. Sorry. This number is no longer in service.

Intense anger coursed through his body.

This changed everything.

Chapter 4

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Good morning, everyone, Jim Marker, the CEO, said in a loud booming voice as he entered. He often started his meetings like that, like he was outside and needed to talk over the loud sound of a jet engine. Bryana rolled her eyes but kept her head down, not wanting to look at the ridiculous man who was her boss. He was loud, gauche, and completely useless. But in charge. Rarely could he answer a question or give clear direction. And, as usual, he was late.

Why am I still here?

Her mind was flipping between the promotion that was hers and what the hell she was doing there. It really was a dead-end job. One that was going to pay her more but one that she really didn’t want to be her life’s career. At thirty, she was starting to think that’s all there was for her.

If you’d stop hiding...

She tried to convince herself that wasn’t true. She wasn’t hiding, just procrastinating a little from dealing with a few