Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3)

by Felice Stevens

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  DEATH COMES TO MAIN STREET

  (The Paul Monroe Mysteries 3)

  by

  Felice Stevens

  writing as

  A.P. Eisen

  Death Comes to Main Street

  September 2020

  Copyright (c) 2020 by Felice Stevens writing as A.P. Eisen

  Cover Art by REESE DANTE

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Edited by KEREN REED

  Copyediting and proofreading by: FLAT EARTH EDITING

  Additional proofreading by LYRICAL LINES

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from A.P. Eisen at https://www.apeisen.com.

  Published in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  In the sleepy town of Thornwood Park, something dark and ugly is brewing….

  Detective Paul Monroe is investigating a routine string of break-ins when the case takes an unexpected turn. Merchants are receiving threats, and things might be more sinister than he originally suspected. Paul’s been on the receiving end of those warnings as well, but he brushes them off, not bothering to mention them to his partner, Cliff until Cliff himself is threatened.

  In fact, Cliff discovers he’s been shut out of quite a few things and confronts Paul, who doesn’t understand the problem. The situation escalates quickly, leaving them at a crossroads, with Cliff conflicted and wondering if he’s an equal partner. Now Paul finds himself not only fighting for the people he’s sworn to protect, but for his relationship and the man who means everything to him.

  When an unthinkable tragedy occurs, it’s a race against time to catch a killer who thinks he’s untouchable and has committed the perfect crime.

  Only…nobody’s perfect.

  DEDICATION

  To my family.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my incredible editor, Keren Reed. Thanks also to Hope and Jess from Flat Earth Editing for their incredible eye for detail. Thank you to Dianne from Lyrical Lines for always catching that one last thing.

  And of course, thank you to the readers who keep reading. I’m grateful for each and every one of you.

  Chapter One

  I see you.

  Instinctively, Detective Paul Monroe of the Thornwood Park Police Department glanced over his shoulder at the front door before training his sharp gaze on the copse of trees behind the row of houses across the road. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he glanced down at the plain piece of paper with those three chilling words written in a haphazard script. It was the second time in the past month that he’d found a scrap of paper tucked under the windshield wipers of his car when he left for work in the morning.

  And, like the other time, he took a small glassine bag from the glove compartment of his car and slid the piece of paper inside, but he did so without much hope of finding any prints other than his own. On instinct, and because Cliff was still sleeping, he returned to the porch to check the locks on the front door. Finding them secure, he tramped up the driveway to the rear of the house to make sure the door from the deck to the kitchen was locked as well. Only then did he get into his car and drive to the station.

  “Morning, Julie,” he greeted the front-desk receptionist on duty.

  “Hi, Paul. How’s it going?”

  “Not too bad.”

  Except for a pesky stalker.

  “Lieutenant is on his way in, and he called to say he wanted to see you and Rob this morning.”

  He stifled a groan. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  She gave him a sympathetic smile and picked up the ringing phone. He walked away and caught a glimpse of Rob over the partitions. Hoping to catch his partner cheating on the diet Rob’s wife forced on him, Paul soft-footed it through the room until he stood behind their shared space. He grinned, seeing the remnants of a Danish on the wax paper on Rob’s desk and waited, listening to Rob fast-talk to his wife, Annabel.

  “Babe, I swear I’m being good. Would I lie to you?” He licked his fingers. “Yeah, grilled chicken and steamed broccoli is fine. Sounds great. Gotta run.”

  He disconnected the call and groaned. “That sounds fucking awful.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Paul said, laughing out loud as he swung into his seat. “And do I have to call Annabel to tell her you’re already cheating?”

  “You wouldn’t. Paulie, come on. We’re partners. You have to have my back. Besides”—Rob grinned—“it was a chocolate Danish. There are antioxidants in that.”

  “You are pathetic.” Paul showed the note to Rob. “I got another one.”

  The humor fled from Rob’s face as he read the three words. “Number two. First one said the same thing, right?”

  “Yeah.” Paul drank the coffee he’d brought with him, knowing it would be a three-cup morning, what with Kraft breathing down their necks about who knows what.

  “Any ideas?” Rob studied the note through the clear plastic bag. “You talk to any of your neighbors?”

  “No. I was thinking about all the people Cliff and I met when we went to that block party a few months ago, after I moved in. Most people were friendly, but there were definitely a few who weren’t happy about having a gay couple living in their midst.”

  Rob leveled a sharp-eyed gaze at him. “Oh, yeah? Assholes. You have any problems with them? Do you know their names?”

  Paul returned to that Sunday afternoon. “One was Wilbur Falk. He runs a tire-repair shop. Lives across the street from us with his son, who doesn’t do much aside from drink, get himself arrested for disorderly conduct frequently, and occasionally work at the local Super Fresh Market, stocking shelves and making deliveries.”

  “Sounds like a real prize,” Rob said dryly. “Anyone else?”

  “The others are the Jansens—Eric and Irene—a couple with a baby, and pretty new to the neighborhood. They moved in a few months before I did, and Cliff said he was hoping to make friends, since they’re around our age and enjoy theater and sports, stuff we like. They were friendly to him before I came, but once I moved in, they
shut him down. Walked right past us at the block party, not even acknowledging Cliff or saying hello.” Cliff had been hurt by the obvious snub, but Paul knew assholes existed everywhere, often disguised in pretty packages hiding the ugly underneath.

  “Why are people so dumb?” Rob’s lips tightened. “You think it’s one of them?”

  He lifted a hand. “Who knows? I’d be more inclined to think it’s Wilbur. I know I’m profiling, but he has that angry, discontented look about him, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, like he’s walking around with his balls in a vise.”

  “You got it,” Paul said with a slight smile, but he was worried. “Of course, I could be wrong, and it could be someone else entirely.”

  “True, but it’s a start.”

  Rob crumpled up the paper bag that held his breakfast and tossed it into the trash. He stood, holding his mug. “Want another?”

  “Yeah. Gonna need it. I’m about to start running through the notes on those break-ins on Main Street.”

  Rob filled his mug and poured a cup for Paul. “Here you go. How many do we have now, three?”

  Paul nodded as he read through the file. “Uh-huh. Game On, the electronics store, Today’s Man, and Twenty-Four Karat, the jewelry store.” He grimaced and continued scanning his notes. “Same MO. They wear dark masks and gloves, disguising skin color, and baggy clothes so we can’t distinguish build. Two suspects sweep through the stores, grabbing what they can. In the last one, the jewelry store, they smashed through the display cabinets and took over ten thousand dollars’ worth of items.”

  “Yeah, that was their last and biggest haul. Probably using the other stores earlier in the week as a tester for the big one in the jewelry store.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Paul pushed his chair away from the desk. “And the Curry Spot reported receiving a threat last night, so we’ll need to stop by and talk to them. We should tell Kraft they need to increase foot patrols there at night and have the patrol cars make a sweep every half hour instead of hourly. Did we get anything yet from the outside cameras? What car they might’ve used?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Guess we should also pay a visit to the pawnshop over on Market Street later, once we receive the inventory of stolen jewelry. See if they’ve gotten anything in.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Paul’s phone rang. “That’s Kraft. Yes, sir?” he answered, unconsciously sitting up straighter.

  “Can you and Rob come to my office, now?”

  A bit surprised the lieutenant asked and didn’t order, Paul waved to Rob. “Yes, sir. We’ll be right there.” Rob rolled his eyes and unhooked his suit jacket off the back of his chair—Kraft insisted they present themselves in their full-dress attire whenever they came to his office.

  They crossed to the opposite side of the precinct from where they sat, and Marcia, Kraft’s secretary, greeted them.

  “Good morning, Paul, Rob, how’s the family?”

  Rob’s wife and three daughters had stopped by a few weeks ago, and the little girls had charmed everyone, including Kraft, who’d taken out his wallet and shown pictures of his grandson to everyone.

  “Everyone’s good, thanks,” Rob replied. “And you?”

  “Great. Paul, you okay?”

  “Never better, thanks.” Over the past few weeks he’d debated coming out fully at work. At the moment, even though he and Cliff had been together for a year and a half, no one but Rob knew. Cliff deserved better.

  “Okay, the boss is ready for you.”

  “You know what this is about?” Rob asked before they went inside.

  “Not a clue.”

  Kraft sat behind his large wooden desk. Framed photographs with pictures of himself and the mayor and governor as well as his family took up most of the space around the computer monitor. Paul couldn’t imagine what he and Rob had been called in to discuss, but he respectfully remained quiet; he wasn’t going to speak first.

  “Sit down, you two.”

  Rob darted a glance at him, and they each took a seat in the chairs in front of Kraft’s desk. The last time they’d been called in was when they were suspended for their actions in solving the Ulrich murder the previous year, and Paul mentally ticked through the cases he and Rob had worked on lately, trying to come up with a reason why Kraft would want to speak with them.

  “First of all, any update on the Main Street break-ins?” Kraft directed his question to Paul.

  “We were about to go through the jewelry inventory, then head over to Oz’s Pawnshop to check things out there.”

  “Good, good.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop. “I have some troubling news. It’s not official yet, but it looks like Remy Ellison is going to win his appeal. I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  “You’re shitting me,” Paul blurted out.

  “No way in hell,” Rob said and gave Paul a look of utter shock and dismay.

  “I wish I were. That bastard deserves to rot in hell for what he did to the Sweeten girl. But unfortunately, they were able to prove jury misconduct—not one, but two jurors were shown to have had contact with their families during the trial. And it gets worse.”

  “What the hell could be worse than that?” Paul asked. “Don’t tell me they’re dropping the case?” Problem was, it was built on a foundation of mostly circumstantial evidence except for one sneaker print and a few strands of hair which Ellison tried to explain away. Paul and Rob didn’t believe him and neither did the jury, but now it all went down the drain.

  “No, no, they’ll retry him, but in the meantime, it seems he’s found a girlfriend with enough money to pay his bond.”

  A cold chill settled over Paul. “You mean he’s going to walk?”

  “He’s got the means now to post bail. You know there are people who love the jailbirds, and he found himself a sugar mama. Some woman named Annie Elliot. I’m sure you two will check up on her.”

  “I don’t fucking believe this.”

  “Says he’s found God now and is a man of peace and love.”

  “Yeah, he’s a damn Gandhi, all right.”

  “All this is to say that we’re going to have to gear up for a new trial eventually. Reinterview everyone, check and recheck, and when you think you’re finished, check again.”

  “Will do, Lieutenant. We won’t let him get away with killing that girl. She would’ve been going to her senior prom this year. I can’t forget what he did to her.” Emotional now, Rob wiped his eyes.

  There were things one didn’t forget. Ever. Your first kiss. The first “I love you.” And for Paul “Bulldog” Monroe, it was also his first murder investigation involving a child. Ginny Sweeten was only sixteen when she was killed, and seeing her young, broken body lying in the grass changed him forever.

  “We’ll get on it right away.”

  “I know you will.”

  They remained silent on the way back to their desks, and both he and Rob sat staring off into space for a few minutes.

  “That dirty, slimy bastard.” Rob clutched the edge of his desk.

  “I know.” Paul put his arm around his partner. “We’re going to make sure he goes away for good.”

  It wasn’t only the viciousness of the assault and killing, but the way Ellison carried himself through the trial. His smug face and overall nonchalance were proof enough that he thought his good looks would get him through life, and it now appeared to have worked for him. Somehow, he’d attracted a woman with the means to post a million-dollar bond.

  Who the hell was this Annie Elliot?

  Paul rolled his chair over to his desk and booted up his computer, then searched for the woman who’d bailed Ellison out. He whistled low.

  “Now I see the attraction. Rob, look.”

  Rob pushed his chair over to peer at Paul’s computer screen and read out loud from the press release that included Wilson Elliot’s obituary. “ ‘His daughter, Annie Elliot, 56, of Park Crescent Estates, inherits her family’s re
al-estate holdings, estimated at over thirty million dollars. Ms. Elliot attended Mountain View Community College with a degree in accounting. Her 2002 marriage to Earl Pfizer ended in divorce in 2004.’ ”

  “So it could be she’s a lonely person, taken in by the younger, handsome, and charismatic Ellison.” Paul scribbled some notes on his pad.

  “Either that, or she truly believes in his innocence and wants to help him, out of the goodness of her heart. And I’m sure the fact that he uses his looks to plead his innocence helped him.” Rob scrolled down. “No pictures that I can see, but we’ll take a deeper look.”

  “Okay, you want to put in a request for the Sweeten file?”

  “Sure.”

  Rob called the records room, and Paul listened to his good-natured schmoozing with the harried clerk. When Rob disconnected the call, he gave Paul a thumbs-up.

  “Got them to move the request to the top of the pile. Hopefully we’ll have it by the end of the day or tomorrow at the latest.”

  “It’s that Gormley charm. You’ve got them eating out of your hand.”

  “Yep, yep. It’s a gift, what can I say?” Rob cackled.

  “Here you go, Mr. America.” Paul hit the Print button. “The complete inventory of stolen jewelry. Let’s go over to Oz’s and see if he’s got anything from here.” Paul held up the sheets.

  “Ready when you are.”

  They grabbed a set of keys to one of the sedans and strolled out into the morning sunshine. White clouds streaked the sky, and a warm breeze drifted past his face. He drew in a deep breath, enjoying the balmy temperature and the smell of freshly cut grass, a welcome break from the over-air-conditioned office.

  Paul took the driver’s seat just as his phone rang. “Huh. It’s Cliff. He usually doesn’t call when I’m at work. He texts.”

  “Maybe he misses you and wants to hear your voice.” Rob fluttered his eyelashes.

  “Shut up, you idiot.” Paul took the call. “Hi,” he said with a smile. “I was—”