MOSTLY MURDER: Till Death: a mystery anthology Read online

  She bent down and picked up a large set of keys. They were David’s keys. That stupid K-State keychain, with the faded lettering, staring her right in the face.

  As Mary moved silently up the stairs and peered into the small mudroom, a stream of passionate shouts and cursing echoed through the house. Two pairs of shoes had been discarded just inside the door; neither pair was David’s. She crossed the small mudroom, inching up to the door, and peered into the kitchen. What she saw turned her legs to Jello.

  In the middle of the kitchen, David sat in a chair, his head hanging limply to one side. His clothes were tattered and dirty, his hands and feet bound to the chair by thick rope. Blood covered his face. His dark hair was matted to his skull, mostly damp from sweat or blood or both. Mary suddenly forgot about the two people in the front room and dashed to her husband.

  “David?” she whispered.

  David looked up at her, his face a mask of confusion and horror. “Mary, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I…” Mary trailed off, running her fingers over the rope binding his wrist to the chair. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “I can explain later—but you have to get out of here. They’ll kill us both if they find you here.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Later,” David hissed, eyes blazing. He gave the doorway a furtive glance, then lowered his voice even more.

  “Mary, listen to me. The gun in my truck, you need to get it.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Grab that knife, there,” he nodded to the counter. “Cut my hands free, then go and get it.”

  Mary hesitated. “But…”

  “Mary, they’ll be in here any minute!”

  Stunned, Mary grabbed the knife and went to work. As she sawed, the sounds from the other room seemed to be rising in intensity and frequency. David was right, they didn’t have much time.

  It seemed to take forever to cut through the thick rope, but finally it fell away and David pulled his first arm free, wiggling his fingers, trying to get the blood flowing again.

  “Good, here,” he took the knife from her. “I’ll do the other one. Now, go and get the gun. Hurry.”

  “David, what the hell is going on?”

  Her husband shook his head. “No time! Go.”

  Mary frowned. “David, what—”

  “Later! Just get the gun. I may need it.”

  Mary stared at him for moment, unsure despite his insistence. She glanced over her shoulder toward the front room, then back to her husband.

  He must have read the conflict on her face. “It’s okay, Mary. It’s going to be okay.”

  Twelve

  The door creaked loudly as Mary pulled it open and climbed into the cab. She winced and looked back toward the house.

  David’s .38 special, the one his father had given him, was secured in a small holster fastened to the seat’s frame. She pulled it free and carefully inspected the small pistol.

  She’d never actually fired the gun—she hadn’t ever wanted to—but David had gone over the basics with her. A glance at the cylinder told her the gun was loaded. She knew that much. Did she need to do anything else to make sure it was ready? A shiver ran threw her at the thought of him actually using it. David’s instructions came back to her.

  “This one doesn’t have a safety. Just keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”

  Gun in hand, Mary hopped down from the cab and ran back to the house. She jumped the steps to the mudroom. David might already be free now from the ropes, so they could—

  Mary froze in her tracks.

  A large man, his muscular back covered with tattoos, stood over David, wearing only his boxers. He looked over his shoulder at her as her feet slapped down on the wood floor. His hair was cut short, beard neatly trimmed, his eyes like deep pits of hate.

  He straightened. “Now, where’d this puta come from?”

  David leaned to the side. He was still tied by one arm. “Mary, run! Get—”

  A wet smack echoed through the kitchen as the man backhanded David, cutting him off.

  “David!” Mary leveled the pistol at the tattooed man, straining to hold it steady. “Get away from him!”

  The man laughed. “Yo, Mira! Check this out!” He pointed at the pistol. “What you got there, missy?”

  She gritted her teeth, struggling to pull the hammer back. “Get back! I’ll shoot!”

  The man laughed again. “You gonna shoot me with that little thing? No, no, no, I don’t think so.”

  Behind him David let out a weak groan, fresh blood streamed out of his nose. “Get away,” he said, his voice weak.

  The woman appeared in the doorway, wearing an oversized t-shirt. “Alejandro, what are you talk—oh, shit.” Her eyes went wide at the sight of Mary.

  “Who is this puta?” Alejandro asked.

  “It’s his wife.”

  “Aww, now this is special,” Alejandro said. “Don’t think I’ve ever killed a married couple before. Excelente!”

  “Shut up, Alejandro,” Mira said, stepping into the kitchen. “Now, you go ahead and put that gun down, lady. Wouldn’t want it to accidentally go—”

  The woman lunged.

  A thunderous crack echoed through the small kitchen and the woman spun backward, letting out a blood-curdling scream. She bounced off the kitchen door and fell back through the doorway.

  The pistol bucked, sending Mary stumbling backwards, ears ringing. The man let out a wordless scream of fury and charged. Dazed, and only slightly aware of what she was doing, she tried to bring the pistol around.

  It roared again.

  This time Mary was prepared for the recoil and didn’t stumble. The man howled in pain but didn’t stop coming. He plowed into her, driving a shoulder into her chest, knocking the wind out of her. They landed hard, together, pain shooting through her spine. Stars danced in her vision as her head smacked against the floor.

  “Mary!” She heard David shout from the chair. His voice, filled with horror and frustration, was a growl.

  Alejandro was on her, his half-naked body pinning her to the floor. Mary tried to push him off but he was far too strong. Sweaty, meaty hands wrapped around her neck and began to squeeze.

  “Usted puta de mierda!” he shouted, but his words seemed far away, distant.

  Fire erupted inside her as he clamped down on her windpipe, cutting off her air. She opened her mouth, desperately trying to suck in air, but none came. She slapped at his arms, kicked her feet against the floor, trying for any kind of leverage.

  He’s going to kill me!

  Blackness crept into her vision. Her hands clawed at her attacker, fingernails digging into his skin. It made no difference; his hands were like a vice, squeezing the life out of her.

  She could feel consciousness begin to fade. The rage contorting Alejandro’s face became her entire world. Teeth stained yellow, nostrils flaring, eyes that seemed to blaze with hatred and malice.

  David, Mary thought, as her arms dropped to the floor. I love…

  In the distance, somewhere in another world, a sharp crack echoed around her.

  The vice-like fingers around her neck went slack and she gasped as air rushed into her oxygen-starved lungs. She arched off the floor then rolled to her side, frantically inhaling the wonderful air. Her throat burned, but she didn’t care, every breath was a blessing. Everything around her was a blur. Black and purple flashes danced in her vision. In the distance, she thought she heard David’s voice, but couldn’t make out the words. After the thug was finished with her, David would be next.

  She felt hands grabbing her again and terror washed over her, knowing the tattooed beast was coming back. Frantically, she pushed away, kicking and slapping blindly. He was coming for her, his hands were going to wrap around her neck again and this time they weren’t going to let go. He was going to kill her. She backed into a wall and looked frantically for an escape route. The man was on her again. She tur
ned away from him, not wanting to look at his face. She couldn’t look at those eyes again. Eyes of pure evil.

  Hands shook her.

  “Mary! Stop.”

  David’s voice. David was talking to her.

  “It’s okay, it’s me!”

  She forced herself to look up. Deep blue eyes, the eyes she’d fallen in love with, met hers. She looked down and saw he was holding the revolver. She must have dropped it during the struggle.

  “Oh, David!” Mary cried, wrapping her arms around his neck. She shook against him, confusion, fear, relief, all gushing out of her like water from dam. “David! Oh, god!”

  “It’s okay, I’m here.”

  Mary sobbed into her husband’s chest, glad to be alive, glad they were both alive. After what seemed like an eternity, she leaned back and wiped the tears from her face. David’s lip was split in two places and the purple bruise forming around his eye looked horrible.

  “Your face.”

  David shook his head. “I’ll live.”

  Mary looked past him to the motionless heaps on the floor. Her would-be killer lay face down, a pool of blood slowly forming under him. The woman lay just beyond him, unmoving.

  “Are they…?”

  David looked over his shoulder and nodded. “I think so. I hope so.” His voice was grim. He turned back to look at Mary. “Are you okay?”

  Mary touched her neck. The skin was tender to the touch and every breath ached. A headache was growing behind her eyes and a handful of spots still played across her vision—but she was alive.

  Thirteen

  “David,” she said, frowning. “So what the hell was all this? Who are—were—these people?”

  “What are you even doing out here, Mary? How did you find me?”

  “No.” Mary shook her head. “You first. You need to tell me what the hell is going on. Who was that woman? I saw you at the diner, saw you with her. Why did they beat you half to death and tie you to a chair in the middle of nowhere?”

  “I made deliveries for her. Product.”

  It took a few seconds for Mary to process what he was saying. “Product? You mean… drugs?”

  “I just delivered stuff for them. They told me where to pick it up and where to drop it off. Simple.”

  “Simple! David, we just killed two people! There is nothing simple about that. How could you let yourself get caught up with this?”

  David shook his head. “I never meant to. I was only supposed to do one long haul and that was it. But, damn, the money was hard to resist. Hector from work got me the job, gave me Mira’s number when Dan shit-canned me. I figured it would be an easy way to pay off everything after… after the surgery.”

  Mary touched her neck. She could still feel Alejandro’s fingers wrapped tightly around her.

  “You got fired. And you didn’t tell me.” The familiar pain arced down her back as David helped her stand up. The two of them walked slowly toward the back door, moving away from the horror in the kitchen.

  “I was embarrassed.” He shook his head.

  “Oh, David.” She took his hand, and gently felt the rope burns around his wrist. “So what happened today that made everything blow up?”

  “I tried to tell them that I was done driving for them—I wanted out. Obviously, it’s not that easy to walk away from a job like this.”

  Mary shivered, thinking about how close they had come to being killed. She turned to her husband, pushing the hair off his forehead, still matted with blood.

  “David, I drove out here to find you because I was determined to catch you in the act. Of screwing your little blonde friend—or so I thought. And because I got your letter about the new car...”

  “Thank god you did.”

  She nodded. “I know. The car—”

  “The car was a gift for you. It was supposed to be a surprise for our anniversary, but—”

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t want us to have secrets any more, David. I trust you. And I need to know that you trust me.”

  “Hey,” David said, his voice calm. “You saved my life. I trust you.”

  “And you saved mine.” A sob caught in Mary’s throat. “I’m sorry… about—”

  “Shh. I said I forgive you, and I do.” David touched her back, where the scars still throbbed. “No more secrets. We’re in this for the long haul.”

  She felt herself smiling through tears. “We are.”

  He took her hand. “And it’s going to be okay.”

  Q&A with Josh Hayes

  That was quite the ride! What inspired this story? Any personal experiences with doing “long hauls” yourself?

  The only experience I have with “long hauls” is when I was in the military. I guarded nuclear missiles and our sites were located off the installation. My work week consisted of staying out at one of those sites for four days at a time, which got more than a little tiresome.

  The story came to me after a week of brainstorming, and I thought it would be interesting to explore the mind of a person who had already cheated. Going through those kinds of experiences, how would they interpret them?

  You write science fiction as well as mysteries. Why those genres, and how are they different for you?

  I love science fiction and fantasy! I love being transported to other worlds and experiencing something that is totally different from everyday life here on Earth. Usually, mystery appears as an element in my sci-fi, and aside from one other short story, “The Long Haul” was real attempt at contemporary fiction.

  My favorite thing about the genres is the “I didn’t see that coming” moment. Seven and The Usual Suspects are my go-to movies whenever I need inspiration. I love the twists (and double twists) that leave you speechless and amazed.

  The most difficult part about writing a mystery is knowing what the mystery is and knowing where to draw the line between too much information and not enough.

  What are you working on now?

  Right now, I’m finishing up another short story for a themed science fiction anthology and going through final revisions on the third book in my Second Star series, Shadows of Neverland. It’s been tricky getting all my characters to do what I need them to do.

  Also, I’ve almost finished the pre-writing for a military sci-fi mystery about a detective investigating a failed mission in an effort to discover what went wrong. It’s unique in that the majority of the book will be presented in third person limited, but as he’s interviewing the survivors, the point of view will shift to first person, from the point of view of the person being interviewed. The catch is that some of the survivors are lying.

  Please tell readers where they can catch up with you or find out about other books you have available.

  You can find me on Facebook (Josh Hayes) and Twitter (@joshhayeswriter) and I have a webpage: www.joshhayeswriter.com. I also have a podcast with fellow author Scott Moon, where we interview authors, review books and talk about the craft of writing: www.keystrokemedium.com.

  All Secrets Lead to Lies

  by Anne Kelleher

  I

  The red light on the answering machine blinked a silent reproach through the glass door as Margie Dowling turned the key. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell on the names in gold block letters: Dowling, Dowling & Dowd.

  There was only one Dowling now, and Dowd was long gone.

  She pushed the door open, thinking of the last time she’d been here, almost seven weeks ago, when their investigative agency had been humming with activity. Lights were on, phones were ringing. There were open files on Rosemary the receptionist’s desk, clients waiting in the reception area. She was in her office, combing through internet records; Larry was in his, arguing with the police about a dognapping.

  Then the phone rang one last time, and their world changed forever. Larry called her into his office, closed the door, and put the doctor on speakerphone. They held hands and listened.

  Cancer, the doctor said. No doubt. Pancreatic cance
r. No doubt.

  Larry was dead in three weeks.

  Margie turned on the Tiffany dragonfly lamp atop Rosemary’s desk. Larry had been so proud when they scored it at a tag sale. She blinked back tears. Larry was everywhere she looked– from the prize-winning orchids to the jewel-toned walls and Berber rugs. Photographs with members of local law enforcement, journalists, and celebrities smiled back at her from every angle. Even the new blinds bore Larry’s stamp.

  She couldn’t let the memories stop her. There were cases to close or refer out, bills to pay, and a business to sell. The change from happy wife to sudden widow left her reeling. She needed to focus on something—anything—to help her get through each day. Getting the business ready to sell would do just that. She hoped.

  She opened the blinds. Murky light from the dismal afternoon flooded the space. To her surprise, the plants looked well-watered. The mail, delivered through a slot in the front door when the office was closed, was neatly stacked on Rosemary’s desk.

  Someone had been in the office, she realized. Could it be the cleaning service, she wondered, although that wouldn’t explain who had picked up today’s mail. She’d told the service not to come after it was clear that Larry wouldn’t recover.

  And it wasn’t Rosemary, because Rosemary had left on an overdue vacation the week after the funeral, and still hadn’t returned.

  From down the hall that led to the offices came the distinct flush of the washroom toilet.

  Margie froze. Someone was here. She pulled her small pistol from her purse and carefully unlocked the safety. “Hello?” she called tentatively. “Hello?”

  The washroom door creaked open, and from the shadows at the end of the hall a bulky figure emerged.