Word Count: 80,100
Locksmith and security consultant Foley Munion’s life starts spinning out of control when her felon father breaks out of prison with a plan. But is the plan to protect Foley – or pull off one last heist?
Locksmith and security consultant Foley Munion’s life starts spinning out of control when her felon father breaks out of prison with a plan. But is the plan to protect Foley from being framed – or to pull off one last heist?
A bank heist brings the police and FBI calling. As the daughter of a safecracker and B&E man, she’s used to police scrutiny, but this time she’s their main suspect. Since Foley installed the bank’s security cameras three years earlier, they are convinced she’s in league with the robbers. To make matters worse, the current crime seems to mimic another bank robbery where Foley installed the cameras. During that crime, Foley’s business partner was taken hostage and her charred body later found in the desert. While the police try to link Foley to both crimes, she hunts for the real perpetrator.
The more Foley digs, the more she questions what she’s being told – by the police, FBI, and her father. An antique pearl ring may prove the body found in the desert wasn’t that of Foley’s business partner. When Foley can’t get the answers she needs from a local jeweler, she breaks into the shop, hoping she’s not becoming too much like her old man.
Her father continues to help her, but always seems to know more than he should about the crimes and their perpetrators. Worried he might be involved in the robberies, Foley follows her father – straight into the sights of a killer.
Complete at 80,000 words, Skeleton Key is a standalone mystery with series potential which will appeal to fans of Harlan Coben and Steve Hamilton.
Foley stared at the name painted on the shop window: Manley and Munion Lock and Key. God how she wished she could scrape off Allison’s name. But the way business was going, the point could be moot by the end of the month. Allison had made a mess of Foley’s life, but her death still brought in some customers.
Inside, the small lobby felt colder than the parking lot. Foley shivered and nudged up the thermostat. Metal shavings from the key grinder dotted the floor. Sweeping the place could wait. She lifted the walk-through section of the counter and entered the workshop.
Something felt wrong.
Her work area looked fine, the bins of wire and alarm system components sat undisturbed. Nothing was out of place. She hurried to the safe, crouched and spun the dial. The lock clicked. She yanked the handle. Heart racing, she pawed through the contents. Most important, her cash still lay bundled inside. Her chest loosened and breathing became simple again. Foley settled back onto her heels, staring into the safe’s dark interior.
Money untouched. Schematics secure. She leaned forward to sniff the locking mechanism. No tell-tale odor of oil or graphite. So why the heebie-jeebies? Foley stood and took a slow turn. Everything looked normal. But something was off. What? She closed her eyes and breathed deep.
Oh no. That smell. Soft, but with a slight edge. Partagas. Her dad’s favorite cigar.