Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection
Page 27
A warm glow surged through me. I’d made a difference and it felt good. Maybe I could expand on this experience and become a force of good, like Wonder Woman or Mother Teresa. Selfless, caring, an advocate for all mankind.
Angela broke into my virtuous reverie. “Katy? Have you ever thought about joining the police force?”
Epilogue
DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG
~ 1996 ~
After Jake was found with Lindsay’s corpse in his lap, he never spoke another word. The horror of his actions had culminated in a complete disconnect from reality and a few days later, he committed suicide.
That left only Phil Hobart to stand trial for the rape, abduction, and murder of Lindsay Moore. The public outcry and the ensuing media circus made a fair trial in Santa Lucia County impossible, so it was relocated to Monterey County. As the trial unfolded, it became apparent Erik had been the catalyst behind the crimes and had ultimately caused Lindsay’s death. The fact that Phil had tried to revive her weighed heavily in his favor. In determining punishment, factors taken into consideration included his age, his lack of prior criminal record, a good academic record, being an Eagle Scout, and that he had been well-regarded by various community leaders. Therefore, he was sentenced to life in prison with a possibility of parole.
Hobart was sent to Folsom State Prison in Sacramento and released into the general population, where for the first year he lived a nightmare beyond anything he ever could have imagined.
~ Now ~
Two weeks after the parole hearing, I received a letter from the state of California Board of Prison Terms.
Dear Ms. McKenna:
Re: HOBART, Phillip Adam F-1067
This will acknowledge your petition concerning Phillip Hobart.
The Board of Prison Terms is required by statute to conduct parole consideration hearings for persons serving life sentences with the possibility of parole, and it must consider the comments of all persons concerned with the granting or denial of parole to a prisoner.
According to our records, on July 12, Phillip Adam Hobart was found unsuitable for parole and denied further consideration for five years. We are forwarding your petitions to Mr. Hobart’s file at the institution so that your petitions will be considered by the next Board panel who hears this case.
You may be assured that your petitions will be given appropriate consideration in future hearings.
Sincerely,
Edmund K. Greene
Chairman
Bio-dad Bert came through on his promise to take me to Carmel. Maybe it’s never too late to grow up. I now have thirty-five Facebook friends.
One more thing before I close. Samantha, along with my folks, Grandma Ruby, and a few other close friends, begged me to let them read my blog after I told them I’d written about everything that happened during my petition misadventures, so I decided to share it with those closest to me. They’ve all given their solemn promise not to be mad at me after they read it. I hope I don’t live to regret it.
I’m glad I listened to Sam when she suggested the idea of keeping a blog. She was right. It really is cathartic. Who knew? I think I’ll keep doing it.
<<<<>>>>
In 1996, Congress passed the Drug-Induced Rape Prevention and Punishment Act, as an amendment to the Controlled Substances Act. This amendment established federal penalties of up to twenty years imprisonment and fines for anyone convicted of committing a crime of violence, including rape, by administering a controlled substance without the victim’s knowledge or consent.
Afterword
DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG
Dear Reader,
Many years ago, I read a newspaper article about an upcoming parole hearing for a man who had raped, kidnapped and murdered a young girl in our community. Like Katy, I was incensed that someone could ever be eligible for parole after committing such heinous crimes—let alone after only fifteen years.
In the ensuing years, the girl’s mother had died and there were no other family members to speak for her at the parole hearing, so I decided I would speak for her. After researching the crime to ensure that there had been no miscarriage of justice, I started a petition and gathered thousands of signatures.
When it was time for the parole hearing, I wanted to attend, but the District Attorney told me it was too dangerous. He did not want this man to know my identity.
Years later, when I finally sat down to write a story loosely based on my experience, I knew that I wanted my protagonist to be fun and quirky because I plan to spend a lot of time with Katy in upcoming books.
But I had no idea that the criminals would turn out as they did—that’s one of the weird phenomenons of writing—characters tend to take on a life of their own, and the writer tags along. According to everyone I interviewed at the time I did my petition, the real criminal had no endearing or redeeming qualities what-so-ever.
I am happy to say that he is still in prison all these years later.
Respectfully yours,
Pam
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DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
The Murder Blog Mysteries #2
Copyright© 2015 by Pamela Frost Dennis
All rights reserved
ISBN-13: 978-1517078430
ISBN-10: 1517078431
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of the book without permission of the author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property.
Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: 2015
pamelafrostdennis.com
For permission requests:
pamelafrostdennis@hotmail.com
Better Dead Than Wed Contents
Welcome to my blog
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
&nbs
p; Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Epilogue
Afterword
Welcome to my blog
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
My name is Katy McKenna. I’m pushing thirty-two, happily divorced, and self-employed as a graphic artist.
I call my blog The Murder Blog Mysteries—not because I’m a crime-solving supersleuth like Miss Marple, Stephanie Plum, or Kinsey Millhone. Not even close.
The truth is, I have a bad habit of sticking my nose into other people’s business, and it tends to get me in a lot of trouble. The deadly kind of trouble.
Most days my life is pretty ho-hum. And that’s the way I like it. Get up, do my thing, maybe blog about it in the evening. Then watch a little TV and crawl into bed. I wouldn’t mind adding some romance into the mix, but otherwise, life is good.
And then there are those other days…
Chapter One
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
THURSDAY • JUNE 6
Posted by Katy McKenna
After nearly getting myself killed while solving a cold case a couple months ago, Police Chief Angela Yaeger asked me if I’d ever considered a career in law enforcement. Nope. I’m a graphic artist. Make that an out-of-work graphic artist, because my broken elbow was collateral damage in solving that old case.
While my elbow has been healing, I’ve had time to weigh my career options. I love being a freelance graphic artist, but there are some drawbacks, like: If I’m sick—no paycheck. Injured—no paycheck. No client—no paycheck. Vacation—who can afford a vacation? Benefits—what are those?
Fortunately, I made a tidy profit selling the grandiose house that Chad, my “was-band,” had to have, or I’d be back in my old bedroom at my folks’ house watching cat videos and blogging about my boring life. Oh wait, I am blogging about my boring life, and I love watching cat videos. Who doesn’t?
Back to the law enforcement idea. My stepdad is a retired cop with a good medical plan, a nice pension, and a monthly disability check for taking a bullet in the knee. I don’t want to be shot in the knee, but Pop told me that in over twenty-five years with the Santa Lucia Police Department, he didn’t draw his gun until his last day on the job. So the odds would be in my favor. Of course, your first day on a cop job has the potential to be your last day. But a steady paycheck and a medical plan paid by someone other than yours truly sure would be nice.
Yesterday I called the chief and told her I was seriously thinking about what she’d said, and she suggested I go on a ride-along to get a realistic feel for the job; so today, I went to the station to sign up. I was sitting in the police department lobby with a clipboarded waiver on my lap, pen in hand, ready to sign. Then I read it.
I acknowledge that the work and activities of the Santa Lucia Police Department are inherently dangerous and involve possible risks of injury, death, and damage or loss to person or property. I further understand such risks may arise from, but are not limited to, civil disturbances; explosions or shootings; assaults and/or battery; vehicular collisions; and the effects of wind, rain, fire, and gas. I freely and voluntarily assume all possible inherent risks, whether or not they are listed herein.
That gave me pause. I’d pictured something a little different. Like going for donuts, helping little old ladies cross the street, getting a cat out of a tree, lecturing a truant kid, throwing the town drunk in the hoosegow. In other words, a ride-along with Sheriff Andy in Mayberry.
I stepped to the counter and slid the clipboard under the office clerk’s nose. “Exactly how often do people get killed in ride-alongs?” I tapped the waiver. “This says there could be explosions and riots, terrorist attacks, car crashes, and possible death.”
“Well…” She glanced at the form through red, half-rimmed specs. “Ms. McKenna.”
“Katy.”
“Well, Katy. I don’t see anything here about terrorist attacks—”
“These days you never know.”
“True, but this form is merely a formality to protect the department from potential lawsuits. I can assure you we’ve never lost a ride-along passenger in all the time I’ve worked here.”
That was reassuring. “How long is that?”
“Almost four months now.”
Not so reassuring.
The waiver included an area where you checked off a box indicating which days and shifts you preferred. I preferred Monday, eight a.m. to noon. I figured more crimes were committed on the weekends and criminals liked to sleep in on Mondays. Better safe than sorry, I always say.
Chapter Two
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
TUESDAY • JUNE 11
Posted by Katy McKenna
Yesterday I arrived at the police station at 7:45 a.m., latte in hand, and dressed according to the ride-along guidelines. Nice pants, cute pink top, a cardigan to ward off the chilly overcast day, and semi-practical shoes.
After checking in at the lobby counter, I took a seat on a bench. A few minutes later, Chief Yaeger greeted me. “Katy. So good to see you.” We exchanged a hug, then sat.
“Wow. You look fabulous,” I said. “I love your hair that way.”
Angela had let her hair go totally gray since I last saw her, and her new close-cropped hairstyle looked stunning against her warm, ebony skin tone.
She patted her hair. “I got tired of fighting the inevitable. I’d let it start to go gray, then I’d hate it and color it again. I finally got it all cut off and I’m loving it. Should’ve done it a long time ago.” She paused, giving me a concerned look. “You okay?” she asked. “You look a little tense.”
“The waiver I signed the other day kind of unnerved me. You know, car crashes, shootings, explosions.”
She chuckled. “You know, we wouldn’t have the ride-along program if there were a big risk of endangering our civilians.” The woman’s motherly smile calmed me.
“Yeah, I know. Just too many cop shows, I guess.”
She patted my knee and stood. “Come on. Let’s go meet your partner.”
I followed her down the hall and out a door to the squad-car parking area. Shifts were coming in and departing. A brawny Latino officer leaned against his car, gazing in my direction. The thought of spending the next four hours cruising the town with that police-calendar stud gave me goosies.
“Is that him?” I said, feeling a mixture of hopeful dread.
“No.” She snickered. “Talk about danger. That bad boy would eat you alive, girl.”
And that would be a bad thing? Since my divorce, Grandma Ruby has been pushing me to get a rebound man. In other words, my sweet old granny thinks I need to get laid.
“There’s your ride.” Angela ushered me toward the squad car parked at the end of the lot. “Just to warn you, Katy. Your partner may seem a little rough around the edges, but he’s very good at his job and you’ll learn a lot, so try not to prejudge him.”
A ruddy-faced man who barely met the minimum height requirement and was pushing the maximum weight limit ambled toward us. He stopped a moment to hoist up his pants and cock his hat at a jaunty angle.
“Sergeant Crowley,” said the chief. “This is Katy McKenna. Your ride-along partner.”
“Howdy, ma’am.” Crowley tipped his hat. “Bob Crowley at
at your service. I hear tell you’re thinkin’ about a career in law enforcement.” He rehoisted his pants.
Was this a joke? It had to be. It were as if he had stepped out of one of those old Smokey and the Bandit movies that my dad loves. I glanced longingly back at stud-cop, but he was too busy flexing his perfect triceps to notice.
“Sergeant Crowley does all our ride-alongs. He’s our top field-training officer,” Angela said. “Katy is the daughter of Kurt Melby.”
“Ya don’t say. Good man and a fine officer. Darn shame about his knee.”
“Katy’s responsible for closing the case on Belinda Moore’s
murder.”
�
�Chip off the old block, huh? Your daddy must be mighty proud.”
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Angela turned to me, giving me a look obviously meant to remind me not to prejudge the sergeant, and told me to come see her after my ride.
“Well, little lady,” said Crowley, “before we roll, let me give you a quick tour of my office.”