Skip Shaughnessy in Keeping Secrets

By Marjorie Strebe and TBD

Still dealing with the murder of his father, rookie cop Skip Shaughnessey is plagued by nightmares, anger, and unforgiveness. He can't forgive himself, and he won't forgive the man who pulled the trigger. But when he apprehends the heroin dealer he believes is ultimately responsible for his dad's death, he's targeted by a drug gang who wants him

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marjorie Strebe
• Release date: Dec 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781737202578

Marjorie Strebe

Marjorie Strebe believed on the Lord Jesus Christ in October, 1974, at age 17. She learned early on to trust the King James Bible and she's never studied from another version, nor attended a church that preaches or teaches from any other version. She's worked in several children's ministries, in the bus ministry, gone on church visitation, accompanied the church on a mission's trip, was the guest speaker at two ladies conferences, and currently teaches the ladies Sunday school class at her home church.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A Prayer for Skip

No! Skip Shaughnessy bolted upright in bed. Sweaty and trembling, he searched the darkness for the lighted numbers on the digital clock.

Midnight.

Diving under the covers, he buried his head in his pillow, trying to muffle the murdering dealer's violent threat, ringing in his ears.

You're dead ... dead ... dead …

It was three years ago, in ’91, and the courtroom’s AC was on the blink. Skip had testified. After the defendant had lunged toward him, the courtroom became a chaotic blur of motion. As deputies dragged him away, his thundering voice spewed threat after threat.

Pressing into his pillow, Skip clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes tight. He couldn’t escape the courtroom drama that plagued his sleep night after night. His dreams were far worse. The defendant came after him with a butcher knife … or a gun … or a crow bar.

As the lingering effects of his nightmare dissolved, Skip glanced around his dark room.

Silence never sounded so sweet, but now he was wide awake. Hopefully, he could relax enough to drift into a restful slumber, not a fitful sleep, tortured by recurring nightmares. Yet, he constantly shifted positions, unable to get comfortable, and his mind now wandered from the trial ... to his situation at work ... to the bills coming due.

With a sigh, he glanced at the clock. One thirty-four. He had to get some sleep. If he was late for work … Well, he wasn’t going to think about that right now. He couldn’t afford to be late again. And with his job, it was imperative he was well-rested.

Skip yawned and looked at the clock again. That wasn’t going to happen, and tomorrow would be another long day.

The last time he looked at the clock it was after three; and the next thing he knew, his mother was shaking him. He’d slept through his alarm clock.

Nightmares again? You want to talk about it?

Skip sprinted down the hallway into the bathroom. No time. I’m late for work.

And he was, but that was still an excuse to avoid facing the real issue, and Skip knew that his mother knew it.

Dressed neatly, he raced down the polished, hardwood stairs, gliding his hand down the varnished banister. He pulled on his leather police jacket and headed out the front door. A bone-chilling winter breeze sliced through his jacket like a switchblade.

Skip looked up at the sky—snow clouds overhead. Living in the small town of Forest Valley, Wyoming, he saw more snow in a year than some people saw in a lifetime.

Briefing started in fifteen minutes, and he lived a twenty-five minute drive from the station. Jumping into his mother’s brown station wagon, he flew by vehicles like they stood still. He would rather risk a speeding ticket than be late again.

I’m dead. My job is history.

As soon as Skip left the house, Erin returned to her own bedroom. With a weary sigh, she dropped to her knees beside her bed to pray for her son, like she did every morning.

Her heart ached to relieve him of some of the financial burden he bore: the never-ending utility bills and property taxes, groceries, shoes and clothes for his little sisters, doctor bills, school fees, insurance for the car, home, and healthcare. He was far too young to carry the weight of financially supporting his family. At his age, his only responsibility should be himself.

Bowing her head, Erin spoke softly to Jesus.

Lord, surround Skip with your loving protection today. Be with him everywhere he goes, in everything he does. Use him in a mighty way. And help him to forgive. He blames himself for his dad’s death. He’s angry at You for not stopping it. And his bitterness against the man who pulled the trigger is growing every day. Please stop the cycle of bitterness and anger before it completely destroys his faith in You.

Mom, are you okay?

Erin turned to see her nine-year-old daughter standing in the doorway. Erin forced a smile through her tears.

Go back to bed, Stephanie. School’s canceled today because of the snow that’s headed our way.

No school? Yippee!

Shh. Your sisters are still sleeping. Now go back to bed.

Turning into the police station parking lot, Skip spun the car into the first available space. His wristwatch read 6:35. By the time he changed into his uniform and reached the briefing room, the first-shift officers filled the hallway.

Late again. Craig Bradley spoke in his usual condescending way. My, my.

Sergeant Kevin McAllister pursed his lips and looked at Skip. Why are you always late?

He doesn’t have to be on time, said Jerry Jordan. The chief likes him. He gets a paycheck for doing nothing.

Not totally. Jesse lets him direct traffic, said Kevin.

Captain Paul Kramer appeared in the doorway. All right, you guys, knock it off and hit the street. He looked at Skip. Shaughnessy, you and Spencer in my office.

Yes, sir. Skip trailed Paul into his office. Officer Jesse Spencer followed him in and quietly closed the door.

With a heavy sigh, Paul dropped into his swivel chair and leaned back, his stern gaze making Skip squirm, while the captain’s silence spoke volumes.

Standing at parade rest, Skip shifted his gaze to his partner, but when Jesse returned his glance, without exchanging any words, Skip easily received his message: You got us dragged into the captain’s office again.

Kramer’s eyes narrowed and locked with Skip’s. Skip didn’t dare break his gaze a second time. When the captain brought his right hand to his chin and tapped his index finger on his cheek, Skip swallowed hard.

I have a problem. One day, an officer within our department petitioned Chief Clark to waive the minimum-age requirement, allowing a certain high-school senior to join the police department immediately following his graduation. That was not an easy task. This boy still had a month before his eighteenth birthday, so I recommended against it.

Kramer paused.

However, at one time, his father had been our assistant police chief, and Chief Clark believed he had tremendous potential. Since he would turn eighteen before he graduated the Academy, the chief crawled out on a limb and petitioned the governor to grant special approval for a minor to carry a gun. Even then, City Council didn’t like the idea of accepting a student right out of high school – no college, no experience, his maturity in question.

To make exception by hiring one so young, Chief Clark faced public ridicule and potential lawsuits for prejudice when he rejected other young applicants; in addition to the possibility of Skip being hurt or killed in the line of duty. Neither set well with City Council.

Oh, my, I’m in big trouble, thought Skip.

With him under my command, his performance reflects on me, said Kramer. How can I convince myself that this lad is worth the time and money we’re investing in him when he can’t even get to work on time? If I remember correctly, the last time he showed up for briefing was nearly two weeks ago.

He’s been working through personal problems at home since the death of his father, said Skip, intentionally referring to himself in the third person.

The captain leaned forward. That was three years ago! Give me one reason I should allow him to continue with our department.

Skip couldn’t. If not for Chief Clark, Kramer would have fired him months ago.

Kramer turned to Jesse. Spencer?

He’s sharp, Captain, an incredibly fast learner; and teachable.

Can you teach him to get here on time? If he’s late again, he’ll be demoted.

Skip winced.

Demoted? said Jesse. What’s lower than a patrol officer?

Civilian, whispered Skip. He means I’m fired.

Chapter 2

Partner Trouble

Shrugging into a khaki overcoat, Winston Puckett hoisted the large, black sports bag onto his shoulder. This is the last of it, Eddie. Let’s go.

The middle-aged Puckett led Eddie Calhoun through the door of his expensive home and out to his shiny black Lincoln Town Car, where he deposited the bag into the trunk of the car with several others.

Eddie whistled at the trunk full of heroin Man, oh, man. My clients will be happy.

Speaking of which, since you dropped out of high school, how do you get this stuff to the kids? Winston slid onto the leather seat behind the wheel.

Eddie dropped into the passenger’s seat. Hey, I may have dropped out of high school, but I’m no dummy. I keep good contacts there, one of which is the principal. She said that I’m welcome to drop in and visit anytime, so I do. I visit the football team – I have a few clients there. I visit some of my favorite teachers – I have quite a few clients in their classes. Sometimes, I sit in on a history or English class. That makes my old teacher feel important; then I do business afterward.

Running late, Winston swung around a corner, squealing tires, cutting off another driver. Flying through a red light, he swerved around another car en route to his nifty little hideout, which was actually fairly big, in view of the police station, and right out in the open. He intended to store his drug supply until he arranged to get it to his other suppliers. He’d leave Eddie with the one sports bag full for his high school clientele.

You sell drugs in the school hallways?

No, man. We arrange a meeting place after school. I think the police might be getting wise because they’re doing random locker searches with drug dogs, and I don’t want any of our clients getting caught. Cause if they’re caught, they might talk. And I’m not keen on going to jail.

Don’t overestimate our police department. I’m wanted in so many states, I’ve lost count, and to the best of my knowledge, Wyoming isn’t one of them. For the past two years I’ve had a great hideout in this dumpy little town in plain sight of their headquarters. Their backward police department doesn’t have a clue how close I am, let alone the drug dealings that are going on around them. They have a boy in their department same age as you, and they won’t even train him because they’re afraid he’ll get hurt.

Then why did they hire him?

I told you; they’re backward.

Winston swerved in and out of traffic, leaving angry drivers honking at him.

You suppose you ought to slow down? asked Eddie. We surely don’t need to draw the attention of the cops right now.

Winston laughed. This police department’s a joke. In every state I’ve been in, I’ve outrun and lost anyone who’s attempted to pursue me. That’s why I’m still wanted. They can’t catch me, and the stupid cops in this little town couldn’t catch a three-year-old on a tricycle.

Deciding he might arrive at his destination faster without the headache of the early-morning, rush-hour traffic, Winston veered left onto a side street.

Skip followed his partner out to the cruiser, fully expecting a second lecture, but Jesse didn’t say a word as they climbed into the car and left the station parking lot.

Sorry for getting you into trouble, Jesse.

I’m used to it.

That remark caught Skip by surprise, and he looked at Jesse. Did his partner get yelled at every day because of his chronic tardiness? Skip pondered on that thought. After several minutes, he broke the silence again. Jesse, may I drive?

No.

Why not?

You’re not ready to go behind the wheel.

I’m not ready to do anything; am I? Withdrawing his notebook from his shirt pocket, Skip started doodling on the paper. He found that it helped him to relax when he was frustrated. He glanced out the side window.

A shiny-black Lincoln Town Car careened from a side street, clipped the front fender of the police cruiser, and swerved recklessly around them before racing off.

Hey! Jesse flipped on the car’s lights and sirens, while Skip radioed dispatch.

The cruiser pursued the vehicle down a two-lane road. Two blocks into the chase, a semi tractor trailer swung wide, blocking the entire street as the driver maneuvered his truck into position to back into a parking lot. The fleeing suspect had nowhere to go.

With squealing brakes, the Lincoln spun 180 degrees to face the police car. Two men flung their doors wide and leaped from the vehicle, bolting in opposite directions. Jesse slammed on his brakes and the police car slid into the front grill of the Lincoln. Skip bounded from the car.

Shaughnessy, come back here. Let him go. Let him go!

Skip chased the middle-aged driver between buildings through an alleyway.

Skip!

Good grief. Why doesn’t he chase the other guy, instead of me?

Let him go, Shaughnessy!

Not on your life.

Reaching a six-foot concrete wall, the suspect leaped up, hoisted himself onto it, and swung himself over. Skip prepared to follow him. A vicious dog bark alerted him to be ready. A split-second later, the suspect flew back over the wall, fists swinging as he nearly landed in Skip’s arms.

Skip grabbed the man’s right arm and twisted it into a joint lock behind his back, kicked his feet out from under him, and dropped him to the ground face first. He slapped on handcuffs just as Jesse arrived.

Didn’t you hear me calling you?

Lifting the suspect to his feet, Skip led the handcuffed man back to the patrol car. I heard you.

You ignored me.

Did you get the other guy?

No.

Why not?

Don’t question me. I don’t answer to you.

Skip seated his prisoner in the backseat of the car and softly shut the door. You’re absolutely correct, Jesse; as always. He strolled to the front passenger door of the Lincoln. Why didn’t you want me to chase that crook? If you had run after the other guy, like you should have, we probably would have caught them both. Reaching into the glove box, Skip popped open the trunk.

Jesse yanked him out of the car. You listen to me. I told you to let him go. Your safety is my first priority. Now, go wait in the car while I search this vehicle.

Jesse…

Do it! Jesse pointed at the police car.

Expelling a frustrated sigh, Skip glared at his partner and dropped into the passenger seat of the patrol car, scooping up his pen and notebook, which he’d tossed onto the seat before giving chase.

Jesse infuriated him, always treating him like a civilian ride-along, who needed protection and had no business being directly involved in police work. He’d graduated number one in his police academy class. He could out-shoot and out-run anyone in the department. He knew policy and procedure, so why wouldn’t they allow him any practical experience?

Skip studied his partner. Jesse opened the trunk of the car, and his mouth dropped open. Skip shook his head in dismay. He knew the trunk’s contents without looking. After all, they’d just arrested the biggest heroin dealer in Wyoming. What did Jesse expect to find in the trunk?

Isn’t it time you let go of this anger and bitterness and come back to Me?

Skip recognized the voice of God. He promptly shoved the thought from his mind. He was still mad at God for taking his dad, and he wasn’t ready to forgive. In fact, it was his anger that had driven him to join the police department.

Jesse radioed dispatch. A few minutes later, Detective Rick Johnson and Sergeant Kevin McAllister arrived on the scene.

Skip stayed put, watching and waiting, hoping they’d invite him to join them, wanting to feel like part of the department. He wanted to be trained. With nothing else to do, he resumed drawing on his notepad. His sharp hearing picked up Puckett’s mumbling in the cage behind him.

Of all the dumb luck. A semi pulled out in front of me. Then to be caught by a kid – a rookie.

Skip rested his elbow on the window ledge and propped his head on his hand.

I’d imagine this is my last day on the job anyway. Captain Kramer’s looking for a reason to can me, and this is it. Jesse will tell him that I disobeyed orders. I’ll get fired, and he’ll get credit for arresting Puckett and turning this haul of drugs and drug money. I suppose it doesn’t really matter.

The car door slammed, and Skip jumped. One glance around told him they were leaving, while Rick and Kevin took care of the evidence and waited for the tow truck to haul the Lincoln to the impound yard.

Are you done? asked Skip.

Yeah. We have a prisoner to book, so Rick and Kevin are going to finish up here.

Chapter 3

Making Enemies

Jesse had never let Skip book a prisoner. But then, he’d never allowed his young partner to arrest anyone. Wanting to hear the details of Puckett’s criminal background, Jesse left Skip to book the prisoner and joined Rick and Kevin the moment they entered the station,

Sitting at a small, round table in the break room, Rick counted the bundle of bills for the inventory on the funds recovered