by Elise Sax
Coal Miner’s
Slaughter
book four of the goodnight mysteries series
elise sax
Coal Miner’s Slaughter (Goodnight Mysteries– Book 4) is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Elise Sax
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1096037354
Published in the United States by 13 Lakes Publishing
Cover design: Elizabeth Mackey
Edited by: Novel Needs
Formatted by: Jesse Kimmel-Freeman
Printed in the United States of America
elisesax.com
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For Pepper, who keeps me on the right track…
Also by Elise Sax
Matchmaker Mysteries Series
Matchmaking Advice from Your Grandma Zelda
Road to Matchmaker
An Affair to Dismember
Citizen Pain
The Wizards of Saws
Field of Screams
From Fear to Eternity
West Side Gory
Scareplane
It Happened One Fright
The Big Kill
It’s a Wonderful Knife
Ship of Ghouls
Goodnight Mysteries Series
Die Noon
Doom with a View
Jurassic Dark
Coal Miner’s Slaughter
Wuthering Frights
Operation Billionaire Trilogy
How to Marry a Billionaire
How to Marry Another Billionaire
How to Marry the Last Billionaire on Earth
Five Wishes Series
Going Down
Man Candy
Hot Wired
Just Sacked
Wicked Ride
Five Wishes Series
Three More Wishes Series
Blown Away
Inn & Out
Quick Bang
Three More Wishes Series
Standalone Books
Forever Now
Bounty
Switched
Also by Elise Sax
Part I: Matilda Needs to Make her House Historical, and Jack Gets in Big Trouble, Mister
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Part II: Matilda Gets Nosy, and Inga had a Secret
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part III: “I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.” –Groucho Marx
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Part IV: Matilda Finds the Killer, and Jack Returns to Work
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Also by Elise Sax
About the Author
Part I: Matilda Needs to Make her House Historical, and Jack Gets in Big Trouble, Mister
Chicken Gang Terrorizes Town
By Jack Remington
A chicken gang may be terrorizing citizens of Goodnight. The ten chickens, owned by local Bruce Jenkins and housed in a coop in Mr. Jenkins’ front yard, have aggressed passersby and the mailman, according to several reports.
“It’s not just pecking. It’s like they’re organized. The fat one is the general. The rest do whatever she says. They were in formation when they attacked me. There was no escape. That fat one is like Napoleon. They could conquer Russia if they get out of that yard,” mail carrier Saul O’Hara said, while he was being treated for beak injuries at the free clinic.
Mr. Jenkins denies that his chickens are a gang or are any more aggressive than the average egg-layer.
“This is chicken racism,” Mr. Jenkins said. “They’re not a gang. They don’t attack in formation. Saul probably ate Adele’s rum cake at the diner, and it made him see things.”
Animal control has investigated the chickens but didn’t detect any gang-like activity. Nevertheless, reports continue of the chickens gathering in Colonial Army formation and attacks on neighbors.
“I’m not going to investigate a chicken gang,” Sheriff Goodnight insisted when contacted for a statement. “Giraffes were bad enough. I didn’t go to the academy to chase chickens.”
As for Goodnight Diner’s rum cake, owner Adele Dees denied that it’s an intoxicant. “Nobody has ever seen killer chickens after eating my cake. That’s all I’m going to say about that,” she said.
Chapter 1
I held the duffel bag up high, my arm outstretched above my head. “The natural assumption was that poor Mary Marie was murdered by the same dastardly serial killer that’s stalking our town,” I said, raising my voice so my audience could hear me.
My friends Nora, Adele, and Faye all nodded, and Faye gave me two thumbs up. They were here with me at the Goodnight Gas station, and so were Amos, Silas, Jack, and Tilly. They were all supportive as I finally shined the light on Mary Marie’s killer. All except for Tilly. She kept rolling her eyes as I spoke.
The group of suspects weren’t rolling their eyes, but their arms were crossed, and their mouths were set in scowls. They weren’t happy about being dragged to the gas station and accused of murder. But Vince, Jessica, and Sarah were all suspects. I couldn’t help that. They all looked guilty as hell, and it had been hard to dig the truth out of them.
My name’s Matilda Dare, and I’ve gotten in the habit of dealing with suspects and killers since I moved to Goodnight, New Mexico, after inheriting an old house, the local newspaper, and two dogs. I’ve also spoken to girls who were dead at the time, and I might have brought someone back to life since I got to town. It’s complicated. I’m in a sort of relationship with Boone Goodnight, who sort of lives with me, and I’m trying to divorce my husband, whose current address is San Quentin Prison for murder. That’s complicated, too.
“But the serial killer didn’t have anything to do with this murder,” I continued, gesturing with the duffel bag. “Mary wasn’t blond, and she showed no signs that she had been abducted and locked away somewhere. So, this wasn’t about a serial killer. This was about fraud. The killer used smoke and mirrors from the beginning. The first trick up the killer’s sleeve was the serial killer angle: Dump the girl by the river like two of the victims.
“But those girls were dumped in the river to never be found again. They weren’t stuffed into a duffel bag,” I continued, still gesturing with the duffel bag. “So, I thought, who would be the most adept at smoke and mirrors?”
I pointed dramatically at Sarah. “Of course, the most obvious culprit is Sarah. Right, Sarah? As a magician, you have a natural talent for deception.”
“That’s true. I forgot she’s a magician,” Nora said. “You’re so clever, Matilda.”
“I’m a magician at kids’ birthday parties,” Sarah said. “I’m not exactly David Copperfield.”
“That’s true,” Adele said. “I hired her for two parties. She can’t even pull a rabbit out of her hat.”
Sarah nodded. “See? I’m not very good.”
“But you were jealous of Mary,” I said in an accusatory tone. “She had gotten new breasts and was getting a lot of attention.”
“I wasn’t jealous, but she was a flirty bitch,” Sarah said.
“But boobs are not much of a motive,�
�� I continued.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Amos muttered.
“And then there’s the importance of the duffel bag,” I said and turned around slowly to give everyone a good view of the duffel bag. “It’s an army duffel bag.”
I stared at Vince. “You were in the army, right, Vince?”
All heads turned toward Vince. “He was?” Faye asked. “I thought he ran the recycling center up north.”
“And he was a grunt in Vietnam,” I said, holding up the army duffel bag.
“Holy cow, they sure made duffel bags good back then,” Tilly said. “Nowadays, nothing lasts. I bought a blouse six months ago, and the fabric has worn so thin that the only place I could wear it is if I danced the pole.”
Amos covered his eyes with his large hand. “Please don’t dance the pole,” he muttered.
“It’s not my duffel bag,” Vince insisted.
“Liar!” I shouted, pointing at him.
“As God is my witness, that’s not my duffel bag,” he said. His face was dripping sweat, and he had two wet patches under his arms. “I haven’t kept any of my Vietnam stuff.”
“I know,” I said, softly.
“What?” Jack asked.
“He didn’t keep any of his Vietnam stuff. He left it in the trunk of a 1976 blue Chevy Nova.”
“What’s a Chevy Nova?” Jack asked.
“It was sort of a car,” Amos said.
“That’s true,” Vince told me, obviously impressed. “How did you know I left my gear in that car?”
I lowered the duffel bag by my side. “Simple deductive reasoning. There was blue-tinged rust in the bag, a rusty blue that was exclusive to the Chevy Nova and the Ford Pinto. The only color that was shared by two competing car companies. Vince owned a Nova.”
“You’re like the guy from CSI,” Adele said, impressed. “How do you know about rust?”
“I told her about him driving a Nova,” Tilly said, proudly. “I remember Vince cruising down the Plaza in that car. He thought he was so cool. I called the cops on him more than once.”
“Anyway,” I continued. “That brings us to the reason why we’re meeting at Jessica’s gas station.”
“This is good,” Nora said. “I wish I had cheese popcorn. Matilda’s killer reveals would go good with cheese popcorn.”
Jessica and I locked eyes, and she took a step backward. “You use spare parts from the dump, right?” I asked her.
She didn’t answer. Her eyes darted from side to side, as if she was looking for an escape. “You found the duffel bag in the middle of the night, but the security guy at the dump thought he smelled burnt wood the next morning,” I said. I was rounding on my big ta-da, where I was going to point the finger at the killer. I had done it three other times since I moved to Goodnight, and it was pretty much my favorite thing to do. Except for sex. I still liked sex better…although it had been so long since I had had sex, I might have remembered it wrong.
“That’s your Sizzle perfume,” I continued, trying not to think of sex. “It has hints of burnt embers in the scent, and you’re the only one in town who wears it.”
Everyone gasped, including Tilly.
I pointed at Jessica. “You killed Mary. You choked her to death with your strong mechanic hands. You stuffed her in a duffel bag. You tried to frame Vince.”
“Why?” Adele asked. “Why did she do it?”
“I thought they were friends,” Nora said. “Thick as thieves.”
I nodded. “Exactly. Thick as thieves. They were stealing credit card numbers from customers, and Jessica got greedy.”
Jessica bolted, but she didn’t get far. Amos ran her down and tackled her to the ground. His cowboy hat went flying, and Vince brought it to him.
“You’re amazing,” Faye told me after Jessica was arrested.
“You’re exactly like Jessica Fletcher, but you have nicer clothes,” Nora agreed.
“She was okay,” Tilly said. “She wouldn’t have figured it out if I hadn’t told her about the Nova.”
“She’s awesome,” Adele said. “Better than Jessica Fletcher. She’s the queen of murder. A real killer diva. The Sheriff’s Department should pay you.”
That sounded good. Advertising revenue was up at the Goodnight Gazette, but I was still making less than minimum wage when all was said and done.
With Jessica in handcuffs, Faye drove Tilly, Jack, and me back to the Gazette office. Tilly and I rode up front with Faye, while Jack rode in the truck bed. When we arrived at the office, which was housed in the home I had recently inherited along with the paper and two dogs, Faye rushed back to her place to be with her husband Norton, who was still recovering from a knife wound.
“That was cool,” Jack told me before we walked into the office. He was the paper’s fifteen-year-old paperboy and journalist wunderkind. “I don’t know who Jessica Fletcher is, but you’re the LeBron of detectives. You can solve any murder.”
I wished he was right. There was a serial killer terrorizing our town, and I wasn’t any closer to figuring out who he was. I knew there were abducted girls counting on me to save them, and I was failing miserably. I would say it kept me up at night, but I never slept, anyway.
“May I write the story, Matilda?” Jack asked. “It’s a humdinger. I think I could put a good spin on it.”
“Sure, but only because you used the word humdinger.”
Tilly pushed past us. “Are you two done? I have to write my Advice Annie column.”
I pulled my cardigan sweater tightly around me. We were having unseasonably cold weather, as if winter had decided to come two months early. I exhaled, watching the breath escape from my mouth. I realized at that moment that my altitude sickness had completely gone. I had finally adapted to Goodnight’s high altitude.
Jack and I walked into the Gazette office. Silas, the head reporter, was sitting at his desk in his suit and stained tie. As far as I could tell, he only had one suit, which he wore every day. He also had the habit of taking a bath in my bathroom every evening. I had definitely seen more of Silas than I wanted to, but there was never anything inappropriate about it. Weird, yes. Inappropriate, no. In fact, I wasn't sure that Silas had any sexual angle to him at all. As far as I could tell, his sexual orientation was a lot like his religion: Journalism and nothing but journalism.
Klee, the managing editor, sat at her desk looking past her long straight nose at her monitor. She was beautifully dressed, as usual, in a handwoven sweater. A long scarf was wrapped around her neck, and her straight black hair ran down her back in one, thick luxurious wave.
I was still trying to get Klee on my side, trying to get her to like me and win her over, but it was an uphill battle. Rightfully, Klee didn't respect my journalistic skills. I was a mess and hadn't really figured out how to write an article or report on a story yet, no matter how much Silas tried to teach me. That was probably why Klee resented me as her new boss and the new owner of the Gazette.
Even though she didn't like me, I was happy that Klee was in charge of running the paper. I wouldn't have had any idea how to do it, but Klee did it effortlessly, despite the fact that she complained about it all the time.
Tilly sat at her desk and went to work on the Advice Annie column. Tilly had more or less moved in with me after she invited herself to take over my living room couch. According to her, it was my fault she had to leave her apartment and move in with me. She blamed me for spilling the beans about her not being the oldest person in town, which brought down the ire of her elders onto her head. It turned out that she was only ninety years old, which was a few years shy of being our oldest citizen. She was angry at me at first, but now she seemed more than happy to be living rent-free and having a new job as the person who told the citizens of Goodnight how to live their lives.
“Did Silas give you your new assignment?” Klee asked me.
“No,” I said. “Is it about the re-paving of the Goodnight Grocery parking lot?”
“No. The most prom
inent people in Goodnight piece,” she said. There was a definite duh in her tone.
“I'm doing that?” I asked. My voice came out in a squeak. The Gazette was going to do a week’s worth of articles on the most prominent people in Goodnight. It was another of Klee’s strategies to bring in more advertising. According to Klee, rich people liked to be complimented, and the most prominent people articles would go a long way to make them want to advertise. Also, she was sure the series would sell more papers because readers would want to find out who the Gazette considered to be the most prominent citizens.
Klee shook her head. “No, of course not. Jack and Silas are going to do the writing. I just need you to do a little research.”
I sighed a big sigh of relief. I could handle research. It was the writing that gave me hives. Klee handed me a piece of paper with notes on it. “Start with Jeb,” she said. “Oldest man in Goodnight, which makes him prominent.”
We all turned our heads in unison in Tilly’s direction. Jeb was her number one nemesis. He was still holding a grudge against her for lying about her age and taking away his claim to fame as the oldest Goodnight citizen, which came with unlimited free pancakes.
Tilly looked up from her monitor. “What?” She demanded. “I'm over it. I don't need to be a hundred years old to get respect. I'm Advice Annie. I tell people what to do. Right now, I'm giving very important hints on what to do about this woman's hemorrhoids. She’s got a handful of bleeding grapes sticking out of her keister. She’d be in a doozy of a pickle without me.”
“What’s a keister?” Jack asked Silas.
“It’s Tilly’s mouth,” Silas said.
Jack scratched his head. “The woman has bleeding grapes sticking out of Tilly’s mouth?”
I turned back toward Klee. “Jeb doesn't like me,” I told her. “He doesn't like that I'm housing Tilly.”
“Work it out with him,” Klee said, obviously losing her patience. “Give him a fruit basket.”
“Jeb can't eat fruit,” Tilly said, taking a break from giving hemorrhoid advice. “Even if his ancient teeth could chew it, his ancient intestines couldn't digest it.”
