Dead in Her Tracks

Copyright © 2015 Millie Moore.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-1118-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1119-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1117-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015914368

WestBow Press rev. date: 09/16/2015

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

DEDICATIONS

With love and appreciation this book is dedicated:

To my husband, Michael Cleveland, who continues to do whatever it takes to support my dream. Thank you for making me feel so completely loved and appreciated. I love you handsome. You’re my favorite.

To my son, Christopher Cleveland, I love your bright disposition, and the sound of your laughter. I love you, cub.

To my son, Thomas Sinclair, you have my heart. I love your fun personality and your savvy business sense. I am so proud of you, Tommy. I am so proud of the wonderful husband and father you are. I am so proud of the man you’ve become. I hope you know how much I love you.

To my daughter-in-law Jacquelyn Sinclair, you are the rock in my son’s life. I will always be grateful for your positive influence and your loving support of him. I love your wonderful personality. You’re beautiful Jackie, inside and out. I love you.

To my grandson, Hayden Sinclair, you are a gift from God. I love you doodlebug, and I love your sweet dimples.

To my parents, Gary and Betty Woodard, I am always so grateful for your love and support. I appreciate your encouragement. You are a constant inspiration to my writing. I love you both.

To my siblings, my nieces and nephews, the greats, the cousins and the in-laws, far too many to mention by name. I appreciate and cherish every memory. I love you all.

To my Half Moon Bay, California family, Tony and Alice Dias, Alcidia Dias, Oliver Dias and Argilda Oliveira, I am so grateful for your constant love and support for the last twenty-six years. I love and miss you all.

To Diego Johnson, you are like a son to me. I am so grateful to have you in my life. I appreciate your superior computer skills and your science mind. Most of all, I love the way your eyes get big when I try to make you laugh. I love you my precious friend.

To my beautiful friend, Dorothy Taylor, I can’t begin to tell you how much your friendship, love and support has meant to me. You are an inspiration and a God send. Thank you for making life’s bumps easier. I love you, Miss Dorothy.

To my fabulous four gal pals, Randi Callahan, Judy Karp, Pauline Isabelle and Gina Leeser, I love you ladies. You are family to me.

To all my airline cronies, thank you for years of laughter! You’ve given me the best gift – great memories.

To all my San Lorenzo High School buddies, thank you for the inspiration and loving encouragement. Most of all, thank you for your friendship. Go Rebels!

To a very special Greenville, South Carolina book club. Ladies, thank you for inviting me in. I remembered the hunter.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

With deep gratitude for sharing your talent:

To my proof readers, Betty Woodard, Wanda Delgado, Randi Callahan, Catreena Speech, Cheri Weidman and Edith Madison, I thank you ladies for the time you spent so generously.

To Matae Bartee, of mataebartee.com, thank you for sharing your website and marketing skills. I appreciate your constant support and your sincere interest in my success.

To Shirley McAlister, my editor, thank you for your help, enthusiasm and friendship. I am so grateful to know you precious lady.

PROLOGUE

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep on the uncomfortable, hotel bed. He couldn’t get her out of his head. She was a beauty, the epitome of a blonde bombshell. She had been flirting with him for weeks, and she’d made her intent very clear. He thought about his wife for only a second. He wouldn’t do anything to risk his marriage; after all, that would cost him too much. No, this was just a little innocent fun. A one-night stand was relatively harmless, he convinced himself. Everybody did it. After all, this was a new era, and adultery was a word of the past. He got out of bed and headed for the bathroom to freshen up. He was going to find Belinda and finally take her up on her offer.

It isn’t the original scandal that gets people in the most trouble – it’s the attempted cover-up.

Tom Petri

CHAPTER 1

As she pushed herself to do another lap on the high school’s running track, she could feel the good burn in the muscles of her legs. That burn told her she was getting results. She could smell the stench of sweat on her skin; it soaked through her spandex shorts and tank top. Her long, dark auburn ponytail bounced from side to side as she made her way around the quarter-mile track. It was getting dark, and she didn’t like being out this late alone. The tall pine trees that surrounded the back half of Hayden High School’s running track were absolutely beautiful during the day, but at dusk they were casting creepy shadows. The wind caused them to move gently back and forth, and watching them gave her an eerie feeling. One more lap, she thought, and then I’ll quit before it gets too dark.

She searched for an upbeat song on her iPod, selected Gloria Estefan’s Conga—an old favorite—and touched play. At the sound of Gloria’s voice she felt an instant lift in energy. She turned the volume up, drowned herself in the music, and picked up the pace.

She passed the bleachers erected for tomorrow night’s graduation ceremony. Not that many years ago she’d cheered and danced in front of those very same bleachers every Friday night as her high school football team played to win. The memory made her smile. Half-dressed and freezing in the cheerleading uniform I was so proud to wear, she remembered.

With the bleachers behind her and her mind clear of memories, she rounded the corner to the shadowed side of the track. The trees continued to blow in the wind and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Stop it! She mentally scolded herself. You’re being ridiculous! She picked up the pace. In an effort to keep her mind free from spooky thoughts, she sang along with Gloria as she ran past the trees. She refused to look in their direction.

Nearing the end of the track and clear of all taunting shadows, she slowed to a fast walk to cool down. She felt her muscles begin to relax. She swiped at the sweat on her forehead and took a long draw from the water bottle she was carrying. Her mind at ease, she pondered a hot shower, and perhaps a half hour, well, maybe an hour, of design work.

Work-a-holic she confessed in a voice she couldn’t hear over the headphones. She promised herself she’d be in bed by nine. She knew her boss was counting on her to be in early tomorrow and to be sharp. She reached for the iPod’s volume button; the loud music, once a motivating anthem, was no longer welcome.

The blow to the back of her head knocked her to the track’s soft red dirt surface in one shot. Unsteady and confused, she tried to get to her feet, but her head was spinning. What happened? She wondered as she reached up and touched the fresh wound that wet her hair with blood. She desperately tried to focus. She hadn’t seen anyone, hadn’t heard anyone. Not with the music playing so loud in her headphones. She felt her body go weak and limp, and she sank back to the ground. She lay on her side, her body too heavy to move, her eyes straining to stay open. She could see the trees in the distance fading in and out of focus as if to torment