For Heaven's Sake

By Anne Carter

Wishes come true in Heaven, New York,

but not without a deadly price....

Something devilish is brewing in the rural community of Heaven, New York and Sheriff Logan Nolan will need a much bigger shovel to rid her folksy town of its

• Language: English
• Publisher: SUNFLOWER EXPRESS PUBLISHING
• Release date: Apr 22, 2025
• ISBN: 9798349241826

Book preview

For Heaven’s Sake

Anne Carter

Copyright © 2025 Anne Carter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.

SUNFLOWER EXPRESS PUBLISHING—Venice, FL

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-218-64778-0

eBook ISBN: 979-8-349-24182-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2025906149

Title: For Heaven’s Sake

Author: Anne Carter

Digital distribution | 2025

Paperback | 2025

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real.

Published in the United States by New Book Authors Publishing

Dedication

For my parents, Len and Virginia.

Thanks for the memories.

Contents

For Heaven’s Sake

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

A Sampling from the St. Andrews ‘Helping Hands’ Cookbook

The Gardner brother’s chocolate fudge

About the Author

Prologue

I

wake up in Hell. No fire and brimstone or Red Devils with pitchforks but, Hell, never-the-less. My entire body aches. I touch my forehead and wince as I feel a lump the size of a golf ball.

The pounding in my head won’t stop, and blood runs down my face.I’m finding it hard to move and breathe.

This may be because I’m locked inside a coffin. The little satin pillow under my head and what’s been going on in my life are clues to this predicament. But my mind is fuzzy about what events have brought me to this terrifying moment.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the dread that I could have done more to prevent this outcome. I can’t imagine my life ending this way. I still have so many things to accomplish.

I’m only twenty-nine years old. Truth be told, almost thirty. I’ve been concerned about hitting the big 3-0, but I’ll stop complaining if I can get out of this mess. I won’t grumble about my family anymore and I’ll listen better, communicate more. I tend to make rash decisions and venture off on my own.

If only I had decided all of this before I found myself here, today. I need a plan before my air runs out. Kicking and screaming hasn’t done me any good. My chest hurts when I inhale and exhale. Does that mean I don’t have enough air left?

I attempt to take in another breath and feel as if my lungs might burst. Little sparkles of silver spangle cloud my vision. Fatigue oozes from every pore as a sickening sensation of my life ending plunges me downward. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open.

The thin whisper of a feathery voice brushes past my ear. My Grandma Nolan.

Time is precious, she murmurs as the utterance quickly wafts away.

Please, Lord, I need more time, I beg.

My entire body spasms. I take a final frenzied gasp for air. My eyes shut tight as total darkness engulfs me. My time is up.

Chapter One

M

y name is Logan Nolan, I’m the acting sheriff of Heaven, New York. Heaven is a rural town on the Adirondack Highway about six miles south of the Canadian Border. Population, give or take-about three thousand. I’m a small-town girl who had great aspirations for herself. I’ve been at this job for nearly five years. My father, Sheriff Daniel Nolan, swore-me in from his hospital bed after being shot during the town’s worst mass shooting in fifty years.

I was born and raised in this quiet little village nestled alongside the Salmon River. I have two brothers, Cole, and Porter Nolan. My mother is a big fan of that composer’s melodious music. She wanted a daughter. When her sons, who were a year apart in age, were both in grade school, my parents gave it a last-ditch effort. Mother said if I’d been another boy, she was closing-up shop. By all accounts, I was a beautiful baby girl and my brothers thought I was a great new play toy. They were five and six when I was born and taught me every bad habit they’d learned to date. I could spit a good two feet by the time I was three and hurl rocks with the accuracy of a shot putter. My vocabulary included every word that made an adult cringe. I used them all on a constant basis. I learned to shoot every gun in my father’s collection by the time I was six years of age. My father was proud, my brothers delighted, and my mother horrified.

All of this, added to my father’s profession, led me to my career choice. I entered the New York City Police Academy after my four-year college program in Criminal Justice. I applied myself and worked diligently to achieve my target-driven goal. Days before graduation, I received the news of my father’s devastating injury. One unexpected afternoon phone call. The inciting incident that changed my known world and sent the balance of forces in my life reeling. My longed-for dream shattered, I packed up, buried my emotions deep inside, and returned to a mundane lackluster lifestyle that I’d yearned to leave behind.

Coming home to Heaven after living in New York City for many years was traumatic. However, family to me was most important, and I was needed. I was the perfect choice to take over for my father. Not that I could ever fill his shoes. Dad’s a legend in this area. Both of my parents are descendants of the original settlers of Heaven, New York.

I always thought I’d be a New York City Police Officer working my way towards detective by the time I hit thirty. However, when I think about how close we were to losing my father, I’ve accepted that this is where I belong even if it wasn’t my aspired life preference.

When I first returned home, I stayed with my parents. After two very long months, I decided that I unequivocally needed my own living space. My brothers and half the men in town worked together to bring my great grandfathers’ hunting cabin into the Twenty First Century. I had running water, heat, and all new appliances. I hadn’t turned on the stove yet, but it had an excellent overhead nightlight. My true delight was my oversized bathtub with its three pulsating spa jets and overhead chrome shower head. I’m always in need of an extra-long soak after our customary family Sunday dinner get-together.

****

Three Months Before Coffin Confinement

Pass the pork chops, Grandma O’Dell said, as she lobbed a double helping of garlic mashed potatoes onto her dinner plate. Any new men in your life? You know you’re not getting any younger, Logan. She snickered and added applesauce to the already crowded dish. I saw a fetching cowpoke hanging around the market yesterday. Scruffy on the outside but he had one outstanding butt.

Mother sighed rather elaborately, grabbed her wine glass, and downed it in one gulp. My father rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and continued eating. Grandma Nolan handed me the glazed terracotta serving bowl that contained fresh garden greens and crispy bacon bits. Laughter lurked in her soft grey-blue eyes as she winked. We ate together most days, and the topic of conversation tended to center around my child-bearing years. I tried to remain silent, but couldn’t help myself. I leaned forward and shook my head decisively.

Not to worry, I said. I’m sure someone special will come along in the very near future.

I gave a sideways glance around the table. My brothers eyed each other as silence ensued throughout the room. I was positive the interviews for a suitable spouse would commence as of tomorrow.

Don’t get me wrong. I was not against marriage. I could feel stirrings down below when a cute guy came into the office. Sadly, most of the time he was a felon. Jail was not the place to meet men. The past five years I had managed to carve out a reasonable lifestyle for myself.

Unfortunately, romance hadn’t been part of that chiseled agenda. However, it did include going home to my two housemates. Elvis, my cocker spaniel, truly believed he was a hound dog. He co-existed with my Maine Coon Cat Peaches. She was a rather large twenty-pound ball of orange-ginger fur that I rescued from a family of area moonshiners. It took a while for her to detox, but now she was a sweetheart—when she wanted to be. Elvis thought she was another dog, and they had formed a mutual agreement. He let her do anything she wanted.

Both pets loved riding with me on patrol, but weren’t thrilled about being strapped into a harness. It was a necessary trade-off as I almost lost them recently during a high-speed chase out on Country Road. That overzealous Perkins’ brat was on a tirade knocking down mailboxes with his motorized scooter. I tossed his sorry hide in a cell until his mother came to get him. I didn’t think he’d make it to his sixteenth birthday that day. For the most part, bar fights, petty crimes, and the occasional husband and wife spats were the things the sheriff of Heaven handled.

Just last week the Howards got into a huge fight. Tom was our area veterinarian. He and his wife, Beverly, had three kids and other assorted wildlife. Given that we didn’t have an equine vet, Tom assisted when a horse went into labor. He’d helped bring two new foals into the world while keeping up his own busy practice during the week. Beverly had it tough chasing after her three kids, all under the age of six. I’d rather deal with the animals. Anyway, I was called to bring peace to the household by the oldest child. He and his siblings were getting hungry.

Tom, you need an assistant at work, I said.

A pained look overtook his pleasant round face as he wrestled with the truth. I can’t afford it right now, Logan, he finally said.

I’ve got an idea, I replied and looked toward Beverly who appeared to be asleep on her feet. Stephen Wallace is home from college for the summer. He’s studying to be a vet at Cornell University over in Ithaca. I’m sure he’d love to get some hands-on experience.

Tom’s face lit up and he nodded several times. Beverly’s eyes sprung open as the children began tugging on her arm; reminding their mother of their lack of nourishment. In a stern voice, I instructed the boisterous trio to tidy up the house. They looked at me wide eyed and laughed. All got extremely busy when I mentioned no cleaning—no eating!

****

My father was on the phone when I returned to the office. A grin of sheer amusement flashed unleashing his prominent dimples. He eyed me up and down.

Gotta go, he said, abruptly ending the call. He struggled to curtail his surfacing emotions losing out to a snort of spontaneous hearty laughter. He asked, Who won the war?

My eyebrows drew together. His wide grin quickly vanished.

Sorry, Logan. He lowered his eyes to his lap. When I didn’t reply he looked up. It’s just that … well, you always provide me with so much material to work with.

He rolled from behind his desk to the office countertop where a fresh pot of coffee brewed.

Really, Dad, I said, shaking my head.

He swiveled and pointed a finger toward me.

Have you gotten a good look at yourself? He threw back his head, looked up, and crossed himself.

Ha-Ha, I said, giving a quick toss of my long-tousled hair. You’re a real comedian.

I exhaled a deep exasperated breath and stomped out of the room. The fur babies followed me.

Oh Jeez, I muttered out loud.

My reflection in the door mirror was indeed worthy of vigorous fits of billowing laughter. I smiled, despite myself, and quickly changed my clothes. I combed something white and gooey out of my hair and sprayed myself down with disinfectant.

Dad shot me a thumbs-up gesture when I returned. He lifted his head and sniffed the air, then grinned broadly. You clean up nice, Logan, but honestly, Lysol isn’t your signature scent.

I shot him a look to kill without answering. He wheeled back to the counter, his gleeful expression replaced with a frown and poured me a cup of the strong black brew.

Peace offering, he said, handing me the hot beverage. The phone rang and he answered it. Both of his bushy eyebrows lifted in utmost surprise. He said, glancing toward me, We’ll get right on it.

He hung up and sat silent for a moment shaking his head. Then, a small sly smile overtook his lips. I sat up straight and pretended to look interested.

What’s up? I attempted to be serious, but couldn’t control myself. I gave a bark of laughter and held up my hand. I asked, sarcastically, Another cat up a tree? No, wait—let me guess. The barber pole is missing. Nope, I saw it this morning on the drive into town.

I moved forward in my chair and let out a loud snort.

I know—I know, I said, wiggling back and forth like a nervous two-year-old. Someone stole Mrs. Morgan’s bloomers off her clothes line again.

My father started to respond, thought for a second then cleared his throat. His deep husky voice brimmed with a combination of surprise and displeasure. You know how you’ve been griping about life being dull and boring?

I nodded and rubbed my finger around the rim of my coffee mug. I curtailed my amusement, sat back, and squared my shoulders.

I certainly do wish that life could be more meaningful and once in a while … I exhaled, slowly and met his gaze, well, more exciting.

Dad wheeled over and hugged me until I groaned. I looked into his deep engaging eyes that showed the sensitivity of a scholar and waited for his words of wisdom. He coughed ever so slightly, then pursed his lips.

Always remember … He wagged a finger in the air. Wise men say—

Be careful what you wish for. I gave thought to his words and smirked. Come on, Dad, I replied, sounding righteous.

His eyes lit up from within like my overanxious cat when the chubby field mouse she was chasing escaped into its hidey hole. I stiffened and sat back realizing that he was dead serious. My father got this way occasionally. Probably, because I was rather opinionated. Mother said I was bull-headed and downright annoying. I figured, we all had to be good at something.

Excitement isn’t always beneficial, Dad continued in a calm, sing-song voice. At times, things have a way of turning out very different from what we wish for …

His voice trailed away as he met my inquiring gaze. The outcome from that desired emotion can often come back and bite you in the derrière when least expected.

Chapter Two

T

he call was from the Gardner Brothers, who owned our town’s funeral home, Heavenly Gates. In my wildest imagination, I’d never have considered a more unlikely scenario.

Coffins are missing! You can’t be serious. It’s got to be a prank. A cold chill crept up my spine. We are talking about empty coffins?

My father shrugged his shoulders. Michael said that two of his best sellers, the Heavenly Comfort models with the extra red velvet lining have vanished.

A comfortable coffin, I thought. A gentle laugh tickled at the back of my throat. Who would you get to write the review?

The Gardner Family had owned and operated the Heavenly Gates Funeral Home for the past five generations. Tyrone Gardner established the business during a lawless time when gunfights were a daily event. He and his wife Muriel provided the community with a quality funeral and Michael and Philip Gardner continued many of their great-great grandfathers traditions. They served apple pie at all their viewings, made fresh daily, at our family diner. The O’Dell’s, my mother’s family, owned the Heavenly Diner in town. Mother managed the business, and both of my nearly eighty-year-old grandmothers worked at the comfy family-style establishment. Most days the first thing my mother did when she arrived home was to pour herself a stiff drink. At the moment, considering I needed to expedite a search for missing coffins, I wouldn’t have refused something stronger in my own cup.

I’ll head over to the Gardners’ and get a description of the missing… I giggled and searched for the correct words. You know—kidnapped coffers.

I couldn’t help myself and did an excellent impression of my father’s recent reaction to my disheveled appearance. Dad crossed his arms over his chest and chose his words with care.

Think about it, he said, shifting in his chair. The boys were left the job of running the business and upholding their family’s traditions at such any early age. He blinked as his expression turned dark. Everything is a serious matter to them. For a brief moment his eyes held mine captive. You, more than most, should understand.

I felt my face grow hot. I gave a chipped nod and closed the door behind me.

Michael and Philip would always be ‘the boys’ to my father. Even though both were close to forty now. The night of their Senior Prom they got a little tipsy and went skinny dipping in the school’s pool. They took off everything but their shoes and socks and sank to the bottom. Members of the swim team rescued them, but a fight ensued when their rental shoes remained at the bottom of the pool. No one wanted to dive back down to retrieve the lost footwear. My father got a long pole and fished out the drowning loafers.

He continued to keep a watchful eye on the pair especially after their parents’ early demise.

Neither Michael or Philip married after their folks were killed in a calamitous car crash. The brothers grew up learning the funeral trade at an early age. Their take-over came long before either could have imagined. They did an outstanding job keeping up the business and honoring their family’s legacy.

Grandma O’Dell said they still threw a wiz-bang of a funeral. They were named best area business and the framed article hung in every viewing room at the parlor. Grandma Nolan said that was good advertising. I wondered why a funeral home needed to advertise.

Elvis and Peaches were napping, but I decided to take them along on the interview. It was one of their favorite stops. The brothers had a small menagerie living with them over the business. They also did Pet Funerals. They didn’t charge Mrs. King a penny when her beloved parrot died. Squeaker was fifty years old when he choked on a saltine cracker. The first aid squad did their best to revive the poor bird. There were more mourners at the Parrots funeral than when Mr. King died. Mrs. King said that Squeaker was much nicer than her husband.

****

The Gardners were sitting in their office having tea and cookies when I knocked.

Michael tapped his brother on the shoulder. Look who’s here.

Philip stood and pulled a chair out for me. Thanks for coming over so quickly, he said, pouring me a cup of steaming oolong tea.

It’s just terrible, Phillip whined. Two of our most expensive cherrywood models have vanished into thin air and both have that exquisite imported plush red velvet padding.

When it was my time, I wanted to be cremated. The thought of being put into a box for all of eternity gave me the creeps. Even if it did have a comfortable velvet layering.

I’m sorry for your loss, I replied. I pinched my arm to suppress the chuckle that threatened to bubble to the surface. Do you have any idea when the coffins went missing?

Michael’s face paled as he wrung his hands. We keep our most expensive models in an air-cooled storage unit at the back of the house. It isn’t locked. He shook his head and dabbed at his eyes with a monogramed white handkerchief. Who in their right mind steals a person’s burial chamber?

Since no corpse was mentioned, I assumed that the discussed transportation to the afterlife was empty. I took out my notebook to record any additional information.

Exactly how big are these coffins? I asked, taking a bite out of a lemon shortbread cookie.

Excited, Philip jumped from his chair with the grace of an Olympic athlete and opened the bottom drawer of a metal file cabinet.

We can do better than a verbal description, he said, looking extremely confident. He grinned and handed me several 8x10 glossy photos of the missing items.

I looked up, startled. A hefty reward was being offered for any information leading to their return—no questions asked.

I’d seen posters for lost pets tacked up on poles around town. This definitely would be a first for Heaven. Normally, I would have scoffed but caught myself in time.

I’ll make sure the proper authorities have a copy, I said, with a purposeful smile.

The brothers looked at one another and then back at me.

Thanks, Logan, they answered in unison. They reached down and stroked Elvis and Peaches who lingered at my side, anxiously awaiting falling cookie crumbs.

Such good babies, Philip said.

Noting their piercing expressions, he opened a polished gold cremation urn and handed each a chewy pet treat. Michael stood and walked into the kitchen. He returned with a large white sack and handed it to me. A look of pride floated over his angular boyish face.

Fresh from the cooling rack, he said, joyfully.

I unfolded the bag’s top and breathed in the sweet aroma of the homemade specialty fudge that they also served at their nightly viewings. Grandma O’Dell attended many of the Gardners’ wakes to partake in the free velvety smooth delicacy.

Yum, I said, taking a bite out of one of the creamy chocolate squares. A bell in the outside foyer sounded.

Our ten o’clock appointment is here, Philip announced gleefully. He stood and brushed at the lapel of his classic navy-blue blazer.

We shook hands as Michael gathered up several of the