Anchored by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 3) Read online

  Praise for Catherine Finger’s

  Cleansed by Death

  “This skillfully crafted suspense story of a police chief tracking a serial killer will have you on the edge of your seat. Readers will root for Josie as she struggles to do the right thing, not only in her relationships but as she searches for answers about God. Catherine Finger has crafted a feisty heroine in Chief Josie Oliver as well as a cast of fascinating support characters. Looking forward to Catherine’s next book in the series.”

  —Patricia Bradley, award-winning author of

  Shadows of the Past

  “Move over Kinsey Malone, Josie is in the house! This police chief is not only a local leader but respected throughout her community of coworkers, friends and good neighbors. She manages to overcome personal challenges while still putting the bad guy behind bars and reconciling her relationship with ‘the magnificent being.’”

  —Elizabeth Martin Stearns, Waukegan Public Library

  “As a pastor, I rarely see characters in books or on screen who wrestle with God in a way that feels like what I see every day. Cleansed by Death is the rare exception, a world where spirituality is real but not easy, where the tragedies and triumphs of life work together to form a cohesive whole. I recommend it to anyone who has wrestled with God ... and loves a good mystery!”

  —Gary Ricci, Pastor of New Hope Christian Community Church in Round Lake Heights, IL

  “This Glock-toting, heel-wearing, justice-driven heroine in Cleansed by Death had me from the start. Unrelenting action and witty dialog kept me loving this ride-along until the very last page. A must-read.”

  —Joseph Sugarman,

  Chairman of Blublocker Sunglass Corporation

  Praise for Catherine Finger’s Award-Winning

  Shattered by Death

  “A modern day Ten Little Indians by Agatha Christie, Shattered by Death is a rollercoaster of twists and turns that will lead you to a heart-stopping end. Catherine Finger is proving to be an author to note as up and coming.”

  --Sandra Brannan, author of the Liv Bergen Suspense Series

  “Shattered by Death captivated me from page one! Finger weaves together a page-turning novel that follows Detective Josie’s path on a chilling murder mystery where Josie quickly becomes one of the main suspects that jeopardizes her path to adoptive motherhood. As a forensics expert and crime drama writer, I found Finger’s investigative details accurate and entertaining! Elegant, intriguing and suspenseful storytelling. Settle in with a cup of coffee and enjoy this ride!”

  –Jennifer Dornbush, screenwriter, speaker, forensics maven, and author: Forensic Speak: How to Write Realistic Crime Dramas

  “In Shattered by Death, Catherine Finger takes us on a page-turning tale that keeps us riveted from beginning to end. With a crisp, clean writing style, Finger has crafted characters that stay with us long after we’ve finished the book. I can’t wait for another release from this stellar author, who has just joined my favorite writers’ list.”

  —Kathi Macias, author of more than fifty books, including Golden Scrolls 2011 Novel of the Year, Red Ink.

  “Coming from a law-enforcement family, I especially enjoyed Shattered by Death. But anyone and everyone would love this intense, suspenseful novel that pulls you in from the very beginning and keeps you enthralled until the last word. I’m so glad this is part of a series. I’m hooked!”

  —Kathy Collard Miller, speaker and author of many books including Never Ever Be the Same

  Praise for Catherine Finger’s

  Anchored by Death

  “Catherine Finger has done it again. In this next installment of the Jo Oliver Thriller series, Anchored by Death, Finger paints a picture so vivid, so real, you won’t believe you’re not in the Midwest. The issues Jo Oliver must face are raw and real, but not too much for a great God to overcome. Hang onto your seat and enjoy the read!”

  —Toni Shiloh, author of Buying Love

  “Author Catherine Finger at her best. In book three of the Jo Oliver Thriller series, Police Chief Josie Oliver walks onto a golf course for some badly needed R&R and enters the twisted world of a serial killer. A murder investigation that forces her to confront her insecurities when she’s reunited with the man she loves. Anchored by Death has all the twists and turns you’ve come to expect from this superb writer.”

  —William Nikkel, Amazon bestselling author of the

  Jack Ferrell Adventure series

  “In Catherine Finger’s latest installment in the Jo Oliver Thriller series, a string of murders in Wisconsin involving victims from Illinois at first suggests some sort of “redneck rivalry,” but to readers’ delight, ends up being so much more. Faithful, funny, and fearless, Josie tackles the mess that is her personal life with the same no nonsense approach she brings to her work as Police Chief. She bakes a flourless chocolate cake in the morning, tracks a murderer in the afternoon, and mends a broken relationship in the evening. All in a day’s work for Finger’s straight-shooting heroine.”

  --Kelly Oliver, Award-winning author of

  The Jessica James Mysteries

  “A great 5-star read. So good, I read it in two sittings.”

  --Randy Tramp, voracious reader,

  frequent blogger, avid book reviewer

  “An awesome thriller! Finger kept me guessing ’til the end. Loved the characters—they seem so real.”

  --Wilani Wahi, book lover, prolific reviewer

  Dedication Page

  To my beloved Wisconsin—

  and the women and men who love her as much as I do.

  Acknowledgments

  Just as the power of community is a central theme running through the Jo Oliver Thriller series, Anchored by Death celebrates the beauty of friendships old and new. I am graced with a strong circle of friends and dear family members who inspire me daily. Each and every one of them enriches my life and empowers my writing—thank you.

  The writing process is a lonely journey. I am grateful for my partners old and new. The amazing Erynn Newman loves Josie almost as much as I do and improves my work with her thoughtful feedback and edits. Many thanks to my new friend and publishing partner, Deb Haggerty of Elk Lake Publishing, for believing in my work, loving my writing, and sharing her joy of living.

  Faithful readers old and new—thank you for continually asking for the next story! I so enjoy getting to know you. Please continue reaching out and sharing your thoughts, ideas and reactions with me. Thank you for joining me on this wild ride of writing and storytelling.

  “It’s how you live that really counts.”

  —Katharine Hepburn

  Prologue

  The feline in front of me grinned, stretching once-manicured claws one by one, green eyes boring into mine as if they held the key to life itself—or to the padded cuffs tethering her ankles and wrists to the table. “How’s Nick? Been asking about me I suppose.”

  I tightened my lips, keeping an angry puff of air from escaping. “What do you want, Kira?”

  She gave a slight shake of her head, sending a small shiver over dull brown hair. “Never one to beat around the bush.”

  I waited.

  “Don’t you just want to know why, Chiefy?” Her eyes narrowed into slits. Like a snake.

  Why had the former police psychologist gone on a murder spree that nearly included my mother and me? No answer could really satisfy that question.

  “Well, why not? Why the heck not? Haven’t you ever had your fill of idiots and miscreants?” Her voice was half snarl, half seductr
ess’s whisper.

  I blinked at her. Where is she going now?

  “You think I enjoyed listening to them prattling on and on about perceived indignities and self-aggrandizement? You have no idea how torturous it can be. Can you even imagine being stuck in a room with one of them, alone, for fifty impossibly long minutes?” She shuddered.

  “That was your job.” I felt myself being pulled into the vortex of her crazy-making worldview. “That was what you did.”

  “Until Nick came along.” She stretched her neck toward me, clearly still hungry for the man I loved. “And everything changed.” Images of the two of them together flashed through my mind. “He inspired me to greatness in one arena, and I transferred it to greatness in another.”

  Darkness crept up around me, tugging me down toward the swirling mouth of a rabbit hole full of self-hatred and regret. Paralysis gripped me, stole my voice.

  “I watched him walk away from you when you pushed him away.” She laughed. “Your stupidity made it all the easier—”

  “For me to gut you like the animal you are.” That terrible night came back to me in a rush. Nick’s Leatherman clenched in my fist, my luring her close enough for me to deliver the blow that would stop her. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself stabbing her, the hypodermic needle she held clattering to the hospital floor. “Not quite the happy ending you were hoping for though, was it, Kira?”

  Her eyes glittered. “Happy enough. Unlike yours.”

  I looked away.

  “Where’s Nick now?” Kira leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “Have you brought that precious little girl home yet? Attempted murder put a little cramp in the paperwork filings?”

  I stood up and slapped the table, aware of the purse by my feet and the crumpled letter inside, the gut-punching notice I’d found in the mailbox not two hours ago. Pending an investigation … your application to adopt has been put on hold.

  “What do you know about that?”

  She withdrew, grinning. “Idiots and miscreants. Which one are you?”

  I sucked in a lungful of the fetid air and let it out, scrolling through the numbers one to ten in my mind, angry with myself for being baited into talking about my daughter with this monster.

  “Enjoy your vacation, Chief.” Her steely tone couldn’t mask the sliver of desperation in her eyes.

  I looked up at the camera over her head and gave two sharp nods. Come and get me.

  It was time to go home.

  Chapter One

  Samantha’s hair shimmered with the blues and reds that sparked off the screen. Her feet were lodged against mine as we stood together in the classic shooter stance before my mother’s small television. A better woman would have spent our last day together in church—maybe followed by a Sunday-school picnic. After all, at the end of this glorious weekend together, my daughter and I would be apart for a week. But hearing Sammie’s laughter, watching her face light up as we faced a horde of zombies together convinced me I’d made the right choice.

  “On your left!” my aging mom warned from her wheelchair beside the sofa.

  Samantha’s little shoulders shook and turned with her as she mowed down one group of zombies after another. A monster was hiding behind a rock on the far edge of the screen. I knelt beside my daughter, wireless remote in hand, and shot it right between the eyes the minute it peered over at her little blonde warrior avatar.

  “Good one, Mama!” Sammie’s voice was honey over buttered chocolate-chip pancakes.

  Zombies froze in place before us as I set the controller down, wrapped my arms around her and kissed her head. “I love you, little warrior of mine.”

  “If we ever have a zombie invasion, I know who to call,” my mother said in her thready but cheerful voice.

  Sammie bolted to my mother’s side, ignoring her wheelchair and scrambling up onto her lap. “I drew some pictures for you.”

  “Pictures of a zombie apocalypse?”

  Samantha giggled. “No! Of us playing games!” My mother kissed my daughter-to-be, looked up at me and winked. “So where are they?”

  My mother always knew exactly what to say. Where did she get that stuff? Will I know the right things to say to Samantha when I’m on my own?

  “Mama! Where’s Grandma’s art?” Sam glared the question at me.

  “I’ll go get it.” Sometimes obedience was the only answer.

  “Yes, do. We girls need a little time alone together, don’t we, Samantha?” My mother dismissed me with another wink and a smile.

  I walked out into the corridor of my mother’s independent-living community. The fresh-paint, fresh-plaster smell was almost overwhelming. The transformation of this place from a burned-out shell into a beautiful new wing was nothing short of a miracle. Kira’s long, vengeful arm had nearly destroyed everything, everyone I cared most about. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I leaned into the freshly papered wall for support.

  Much as I tried to pretend, I really wasn’t okay. My own scars were fading, the bad girl was behind bars, and the damaging effects of her terror were lessening every day. Still, I wasn’t anywhere near ready for full-time motherhood. But, the fact that the chance might be taken away brought out the fighter in me.

  I fetched the pictures from the car and returned to the room to find Samantha and Mom seated at her table, happily chatting, engrossed in a game of cribbage. Or something like cribbage. I squeezed their shoulders as Mom admired Sammie’s art, then I posted the masterpieces on the fridge before sitting down to soak in the scene.

  An hour later, I broke the news it was time to take Samantha back to her foster family. Hopefully, for one of the last times.

  “But, Mama!” As she came to me, I saw the softness in her eyes melt away, revealing the fear that still simmered just under the surface. “Let me go home with you. Please. I only want to stay with you!”

  I pulled her into my body, wishing I could shield her, warm her heart, whisk away the memories of her own lost parents, the ever-present fear of losing me too. Lord God, please replace her fear with Your love. I glanced at my mom, who smiled at me as she put away the game. I hadn’t told her about the adoption letter.

  “You will be with me forever, Samantha, very soon. But for a little while yet, we need to let you stay with your current family. They love you very much, and they need time to say good-bye to you.”

  “Is it because you have to go?”

  “Boss’s orders.” Therapist’s orders, actually, for some R and R away from the pull of my job with the Haversport Police Department. He wasn’t ready to clear me for full-time work just yet. “I’ll be back in next weekend. You’ll be so busy with school and your friends, the time will fly!” I loosened my grip and made kissing noises. “It’s time for a kiss attack!” I tickled her and loudly and kissed her head, her face, her arms, anything within kissing distance as she shrieked and danced and laughed.

  Her laughter soothed my spirit. Anything to pull her away from the dangers of the past and back into my arms, back into her present and toward our beautiful future together. “Darling girl—”

  “Don’t you mean warrior daughter?”

  “Darling warrior daughter of mine.” More kisses, more squeals. “I love you so much. And you have so many people in your life who love you as much as I do.”

  “But you already are my forever mama, aren’t you?” Hope gleamed where sorrow had been a few seconds ago.

  I knelt before her, willing my own tears away. Anything to wipe it all away. “Yes. I. Am. Your. Forever. Mama. Now. And I love you. I love you. I love you. I lov—”

  “Ew! I got it. I got it, Mama! Now sto-op!” Her little girl shrug and eye roll nearly threw me over the edge into laughter, but I held it in. “Mama, can I ask you something?” Blue eyes shimmered up at me.

  “Of course, baby.”

  “I’m not a baby!” />
  “Of course not, baby.” I winked at her.

  “Mama, where’s Nick? Isn’t he my forever Nick too?”

  Ice-cold water hit my veins. Nick. Again? Mom caught my eye and shook her head. How long could I protect Samantha from his absence? It wasn’t for me to say when he’d come back. If he ever came back.

  “Sammie, Nick is off on a mission. He loves you—he loves us both, but he’s off on a mission.” That ought to satisfy her. For now.

  She sighed and nodded.

  “Besides, in just a few days, I will come right back to you and scoop you back up into my arms.”

  She smiled. “And that’s where I’m staying, Mama. Forever in your arms.” She threw her long limbs around my neck.

  I choked back tears, wanting her to hear and feel only warmth and happiness for the rest of today. “Yes, baby. Forever in my arms.”

  Chapter Two

  The wind swept through the pine trees drooping over the glossy fairway. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, my lucky seven iron anchoring my right side. The scent of pine needles mixed with damp earth freshened my soul, and I opened my eyes to hunt for my little white foe. I’d already scoured the tall grass hugging the right of the fairway, giving a wide berth to the roped-off area that snaked between two large maple trees in the middle of the fairway.

  Indian burial mounds were scattered throughout the Baraboo region of Wisconsin, and those of us from around these parts had been raised to respect the living and the dead—of all races, colors, and creeds. I really didn’t like to enter the sacred ground, but I also didn’t like the idea of leaving another white ball lying around on top of the ancient dead. Seemed disrespectful. Especially since this ball had my initials engraved on it.

  Still sentimental. I ducked under the woven yellow rope and gingerly stepped onto the edge of the mound. The ground had yet to thaw completely so I wouldn’t have to worry about leaving footprints behind. The mound sloped gently upward to a height of maybe four feet in the middle, flowing back down into the shape of a thunderbird, covering about two hundred square feet. There were three separate burial mounds on this hole alone, five all told on the course. Each one symbolized an important Native American deity.