Page 1 of Every Deadly Suspicion

PROLOGUE

DECEMBER 1990

“Joe, I’m pregnant.”

Those three words had set Joe Keyes’s world spinning. The prospect of becoming a father changed his perspective on life. He and Paula had been married for two years and never talked about having kids. When she told him four days ago that she was pregnant, he’d fainted, cutting his head open when he fell.

Later at the hospital, while the doctor stitched him up, Joe felt as if the world had shifted, and he was leaning over the precipice of an abyss. If he pulled himself upright, he’d be the husband and father Paula needed. If he didn’t, if he went back to cooking meth, he’d fall straight down into the abyss. And the abyss was bottomless.

“You can’t go to jail again, Joe. What will I do with a baby if that happens?”Paula had pleaded with him.

She was right. He shoved his hands in his pockets.“I do not want to go to jail again.”

It was a cold December in California, and Joe could see his breath as he hurried along the path. Around him loomed snow-covered pines, branches drooping under the weight of new powder.The place he and Paula rented sat at the edge of the forest, and his favorite shortcut wove through the trees. He was on his way home to give Paula some news. It was the classic good news/bad news. He had a plan, and once he explained, she’d have to see that it made sense.

Since Paula had told him about the baby, Joe did a lot of thinking. As he adjusted to the idea, he liked it. At first, Joe hoped for a boy. He’d be able to teach a boy to be a good man. He’d certainly make sure his son got past the sixth grade. Yes, Joe would raise a good, strong boy who people would respect.

His stomach churned with butterflies when he considered the second option. What on earth could he teach a little girl? He considered a daughter. She’d be pretty, like Paula, with long, soft chestnut hair and warm green eyes the color of priceless emeralds. Eyes that would make a fella’s heart stop.

I’ll protect her, I’ll provide for her, and I’ll keep her safe. She’ll grow up smart and strong, and she’ll be a daddy’s girl.He smiled at the thought. He didn’t care if it was a boy or a girl. He just wanted to be a good dad, not like the man who’d raised him. That guy had been drunk all the time and rarely home. No, Joe would not be like his dad.

He arrived at home and hurried into the warmth, through the kitchen and into the living room. Paula sat on the couch with a book, bundled up in a blanket.

“I’ve got news.” He sat on the coffee table in front of her.

“You got a job?” Her eyes sparkled with hope.

He tilted his head. “Good news and bad news. Yes, I got a job.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“It won’t start full-time until spring. Ben Hodges hired me to do landscaping. It’s only odd jobs right now, like clearing driveways and stuff.”

“What will we do until then?” Her gaze darkened.

He held up both hands. “I’ve got a plan. Hear me out. I’ve still got the trailer. No one knows about it, not even Blake and Sophia.” He threw his partners into the mix because sometimes Paula complained to him that they got too big a cut when Joe did all the work. “I’ll cook one last batch of rocks. If it’s just us, and I don’t have to split anything with them, I should make enough money to tide us over.”

Surprisingly, Paula didn’t object right away. He could tell she seriously considered the idea, tapping on the book in her lap with a fingernail while she thought. “Promise you’ll quit for good?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Two days later, Joe finished his last batch. He figured in his head that the amount of meth he’d made should net him about twenty grand. He broke it up into small rocks to fill individual packets: quarters, eight balls, and teeners. The quarter was the smallest and cheapest, weighing in at a quarter ounce; the eight ball the biggest at 3.5 grams. He weighed each bit and packed everything into separate little baggies. Once finished, he filled his backpack with the product.

Stretching, looking around his favorite kitchen, he admitted it felt good to be done. He shuffled around the empty battery-acid container and ignored the putrid pile of residue that accumulated during the cooking process. He’d let it all pile up inside instead of packing some of it outside.

The trailer was toast when he finished today. It was all going to burn.

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to clear his thoughts.It was late afternoon; he’d been busy here all day inhaling noxious fumes. Cooking meth did nothing to help a man think straight. Stopping now would be a good thing. When his child was born, Joe wanted a clear head and a clean slate. He slung the backpack over his shoulders and stepped toward the door.

Movement outside the sliver of a window next to the front door caught his eye and he froze. Craning his neck, he peered through the slit.

There it was again.

Stiffening, his heart rate spiked and his pulse pounded. No one else should know about this place. Not even Blake and Sophia.

He never had trusted them with his cooking spot. Blake had a big mouth, and he hung out with untrustworthy dweebs. Joe tiptoed to the bigger window, peeled back a bit of the foil that blacked out the light, and eyeballed what he could of the outside terrain. On the far right, he saw a blue hood and car door. A Jeep. Only a four-by-four would get up here. Chase Buckley drove a blue Jeep.

Joe had been betrayed.

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