Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

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

  Epilogue

  Updates

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Welcome to My Blog

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  Nine months ago, I reluctantly made my first blog post at the insistence of my best friend, Samantha. At the time I was suffering from a severe case of PDRD (post-divorce rage disorder). Sam said blogging would help me work through my bitter resentment. I thought strangling Chad was a better idea, but I agreed to try her idea first. And here I am, still at it.

  Maybe someday, when I’m in my twilight years, I’ll look back on my musings and chuckle at some of the things that I thought were so earth-shattering at the time.

  Only a select few have access to my blog. My folks, Grandma Ruby, Samantha, and you—my closest friends.

  Chapter One

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  WEDNESDAY • JANUARY 14

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  For over a week now, my upstairs, furry “tenants” have been throwing all night ragers—jumping, thumping, and no doubt humping. I’m running on empty and have the dark circles to prove it.

  My folks have complained for years about pesky squirrels getting into their attic, and I’ve always wondered what the big deal was. It’s not like they’re rats. But after several sleepless nights, I googled “squirrels in the attic” and learned that they’re rodents, and like rats, could do severe damage to your home.

  For example:

  A dear old granny in England died after squirrels gnawed through gas piping, causing her ancient stone cottage to explode.

  In Ireland, a family of four was crushed when their home collapsed after squirrels chewed through the attic timbers.

  There’s even a website dedicated to documenting the number of attacks on our power grid each year. In the site’s first year of collecting data, there were nearly two thousand “cyber squirrel” attacks impacting millions of people across the nation.

  “The number one threat experienced to date by the US electrical grid is squirrels.” — John C. Inglis, Former Deputy Director, National Security Agency

  I’m not making this stuff up.

  Yesterday

  Rodent Elimination: Phase One

  I hadn’t visited the gloomy, spooky space since the first time I looked at the house. But I couldn’t risk having my home cave in just because I was too chicken to go in the attic.

  After a trip to the hardware store to purchase ultrasonic pest repeller beepers guaranteed to drive away mice, cockroaches, rodents, spiders, ants, rats, and squirrels, I was ready to face the enemy.

  In the hallway, I stood on a stepstool and unlatched the door in the ceiling to release the antique retractable stairs. After they had clunked into place on the wood floor, I gazed up at the exposed rafters.

  “Really do not want to go up there.” I pulled in a deep breath. “I mean, what’s the rush? I can wait until my sister gets home, and we can do it together.”

  Mission aborted, I stooped to close the stairway when my cat zoomed in and tore up the stairs like her tail was on fire.

  “Tabitha! Stop! Get back down here!” Her catnip mouse lay nearby on the floor. I clambered halfway up the wobbly steps and swung the fuzzy toy over my head. “Look what Mommy’s got. Mmmm. Catnip. You know you want it, so come and get it.”

  Nothing.

  “Dammit.”

  I stepped back down, grabbed the bag of sonic beepers, and climbed into the attic. Weak sunlight filtered through the grimy octagonal windows revealing a large and even creepier space than I remembered.

  “Here kitty-kitty-kitty.”

  Something thumped in a dark corner, and Tabitha moaned mean and low.

  Oh God, she’s got a squirrel. Thoroughly pissed off now, I shouted, “Dammit, Tabitha. Leave the poor little animal alone.”

  Suddenly, she bolted past me and careened down the stairs, scaring the bejeebers out of me. I wasn’t feeling brave enough to hunt around the spooky attic for the squirrel, so I switched on the beepers and placed them around the floor, then scrambled down the steps and slammed the stairway into the ceiling.

  After getting my heebie-jeebies under control, I laughed at my silly behavior. I mean, come on, I’m a five-foot-nine, thirty-two-year-old woman, weighing in at one-hundred-thirty-six-ish pounds, and how big is a squirrel? A pound, maybe?

  Around midnight, my half-sister, Emily, opened my bedroom door. “You awake?”

  “No.”

  “There’s a weird sound coming from the attic.”

  I switched on the bedside lamp. “It’s the ultrasonic pest controllers I put up there to shoo the squirrels out. It’s supposed to be too high-pitched for human ears.”

  “And you’re saying you can’t hear it?”

  “Yeah, I can hear it. But if it works, it’s worth it.”

  Emily sat on the end of my bed. “Well, from the sounds of it, whatever is up there—and I seriously doubt that it’s squirrels—is enjoying it.”

  She was right. It sounded like they were having a gay old time, groovin’ to the beat of the beep.

  “Tomorrow I’m pulling out the big guns. Humane catch and release traps.”

  “So you’re going to catch rats and—”

  “Squirrels.”

  “Whatever.” She shook her head. “And release them where?”

  “In the woods, where they can frolic and live happy squirrel lives.”

  Today

  Rodent Elimination: Phase Two

  This morning, I went online and learned that most animals don’t fare well when released in a new area. The humane society says that 97% won’t survive. The frightened critters suddenly find themselves dumped in unfamiliar terrain, and it’s too traumatic. Makes sense.

  So I researched other ideas to humanely evacuate my pests and came up with peppermint oil. Supposedly, rodents hate it, but it won’t hurt them, and my house will smell minty fresh.

  Feeling bolder than yesterday, I climbed into the attic with a bag of peppermint soaked cotton balls and glanced around, thinking, If this was finished it would make a nice office or guest room.

  A past owner must have had the same thought. The wall facing the back yard had three plywood planks, roughly four by six, nailed to the studs, the last one ending halfway between studs. I wondered why they hadn’t finished the entire wall.

  I tucked a few cotton balls behind the wall and something sharp gashed the palm of my hand. Curious about what cut me, I peeked in. Lodged behind the plywood was a rectangular wood chest about the size of a knee-high boot box. Its rusty handle faced me, and I tried to pull it towards me, but the box was wedged in tight. I gave it a hard jerk, and the handle snapped off, propelling me backward onto my rump. The heavy padlocked chest tumbled after, landing on my bony shins.

  You know the agony of ramming your bare toes into a table leg? Well, this hurt lik
e that times ten. The room turned bright white, and I knew I’d better lie down before I passed out.

  Finally, I was able to sit up and tip the box to the floor. That move took me back to Ground Zero pain, and back down I went to wait out the accompanying nausea. When my head cleared, I rolled to a fetal position and considered lying there until my sister, Emily, got home from her shift at the Burger Hut.

  Why didn’t I bring my damned cellphone with me?

  My yellow lab yelped frantically at the foot of the steps. Then the stairs thudded against the downstairs floor.

  “No, no. Stay off the stairs, Daisy. Mommy’s all right.” No, I’m not. My legs might be broken.

  I struggled to a sitting position again, biting my lip to squelch the shrieks of agony that would have distressed Daisy. The wooden chest was within reach, so I jiggled the corroded padlock, hoping it would pop open, but it didn’t.

  Standing was not an option, so I slithered my butt a couple feet across the rough wood floor, then reached back to drag the heavy box with me. One mighty tug and I wrenched my lower back.

  I left the mystery box behind and worked my way to the steps wondering how I was going to get down without breaking my neck. I wound up jostling down on my rear end, one creaky rung at a time. By the time I hit bottom, I was in tears, and Daisy liberally applied first-aid kisses to my face.

  Too bad she couldn’t carry me to the couch, get some frozen peas for my shins, a heating pad for my back, several ibuprofens, and a glass of wine.

  Chapter Two

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  THURSDAY • JANUARY 15

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Before my baby sister moved back to Santa Lucia, she'd been living in San Diego and working two jobs to pay the rent. Emily told our folks she wanted to come home and work a part-time job while she wrote a paranormal mystery series (she really is). She failed to mention that the main reason she wanted to come home was because she'd just broken up with her girlfriend. She also neglected to tell her family she's gay.

  Mom was going through a trying time, so I offered up my guest room. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly. After the initial period of adjustment, it’s been fun getting to know my sister. The nine-year age difference had always been a barrier between us, but now that we’re all grown-up, more or less, the years no longer matter so much.

  Last night, when Emily got home from her part-time job at the Burger Hut, she found me sprawled on the couch, shins smothered under thawed-out bags of veggies. Doctor Daisy sat on the floor by me, keeping a watchful eye on my vital signs.

  “Good grief, Katy. What happened?”

  “A heavy wooden treasure chest fell on me and almost broke my legs.”

  She shook her head with a hint of a smirk. “Sounds reasonable. For you, that is.”

  “I’m not kidding. Anyway, I took some leftover Vicodin from when I got shot in the leg, but it barely touched the pain.”

  She removed the dripping bags of peas and corn from my shins and took a good look. “Wow. That’s gotta hurt.”

  “You could say that.”

  “I’ll stash these bags back in the freezer for your next crazy escapade.”

  “You sound like Mom.”

  “That’s because living with you is rapidly aging me.” Emily laughed. “Oh, my God. I do sound like Mom.” She scooped up Tabitha, who’d been weaving between her legs. “These guys must be starving. I’ll feed them, then you can tell me all about your treasure chest.”

  “With the agony I’m in, it damned well better be a treasure chest.”

  After Emily fed the pets, she set a fresh batch of frozen veggies on my shins and then flopped in the armchair across from the couch. “So...a treasure chest. Really?” She pulled the elastic band out of her long goth-black hair and scratched her scalp.

  “Yup.” I sat up, pointing at the ceiling. “In the attic.”

  When I concluded my story, she still looked skeptical. “Get the flashlight and go see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  “I believe you, but I will anyway.” She went to the hallway and hollered, “How do you get up there? Do you have a ladder?”

  “Use the stepstool to unlatch the door in the ceiling. Be careful not to let the stairs bang your head because I can’t save you.”

  The stairway creaked down and struck the floor.

  “Wow. This is so cool,” Emily shouted as she climbed.

  I wanted to watch, but when I tried to swing my legs to the floor, I thought better of it. “Emily! I need more Vicodin.”

  “In a sec. Okay, I’m at the top, and I see the box. Let me see if I can lift it.”

  “No! It’s too heavy. We’ll figure something out tomorrow.” Emily is a petite little thing, and I was worried she’d hurt her back.

  “Whoa. You’re right. Darn it. I wanna find out what’s inside.” Then she shrieked. “There’s a rat!” Another spine-chilling scream. “Three rats! I’m outta here!”

  Emily squealed her way down the steps, then slammed the stairway into the ceiling so hard the house rattled a 4.0 on the Richter scale. Wish I’d gotten a video of her hopping around and shaking her head like she had rats in her hair. It would have gone viral on YouTube, for sure.

  Emily woke me at eight this morning. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” She handed me a steamy cup of French roast, perfectly doctored with sugar and a healthy dollop of half and half.

  I sipped the tasty brew, giving thanks to the gods for inventing coffee. “What’re you doing up so early?”

  Usually Em sleeps past nine, then grabs a coffee and holes up in her bedroom to work on her book until it’s time to go to her job. Her mystery takes place in a medieval fairy forest full of evil trolls and goblins. I’m proud of her for sticking to it. It can’t be easy writing a book.

  “Aren’t you dying to see what’s in the box?” she said. “I know I am.”

  “Oh my God! The treasure chest!” I flipped back the blankets, disturbing Miss Daisy. She rolled onto her back stretching her long legs with a big yawn, then smacked her lips and collapsed back to sleep.

  “Eeew.” Emily eyeballed my legs with a grimace.

  Eeew was right. The blossoming bruises and lumps could win a spot in the Guinness book of world records.

  “Maybe you need to see a doctor,” she said. “Those bruises are the worst I’ve ever seen. You might have cracked something, you know.”

  “I was able to walk to the bathroom last night—”

  “Yeah. Barely. Remember I had to help you.”

  “Anyway, I’m probably fine.” I chugged my coffee, then stood, testing my limbs. Yes, it hurt big time, but I was pretty sure nothing was broken.

  “I definitely could use three or four ibuprofens, though. I can’t take any more Vicodin. It was making me nauseated. Then we need to figure out how to get that box down.”

  After debating several treasure chest extraction schemes, we settled on one of my ideas: a rope tied several times around the box with another long rope attached. Then slide the box down the stairs with Emily controlling its descent from the attic. Trouble is, I didn’t have any rope, so we used extension cords.

  “Okay, ease it down nice and slow,” I said.

  “I’m trying.” She grunted with the exertion. “This thing weighs a friggin’ ton. Probably full of gold bars, don’t ya think?”

  “Probably more like lead bricks.” I reached for the box. “I got it, but don’t let go yet.” I guided the box to a comforter protecting the floor. “Okay, you can let go now.”

  Emily clambered down the rickety stairs, and then we stood contemplating the mysterious wooden chest.

  “This is so Nancy Drew,” she said.

  “You’re right. Did you read Mom’s books?”

  “The whole collection. Some more than once.”

  “I had a huge crush on Ned Nickerson,” I said. “Did you know that most of the books were Grandma Ruby’s from her childhood?”

  “I did. It made them even more spe
cial. Did you have a favorite?”

  “I liked them all,” I said. “But a few of my absolute favorites were The Secret at Shadow Ranch—probably because I wanted a horse. The Bungalow Mystery, and The Secret in the Old Attic. Wow, I’m amazed I can remember the titles after all these years. What was yours?”

  Emily glanced up the attic steps. “My favorite was The Hidden Staircase. Kind of ironic, considering I had no idea about your hidden staircase.” She patted the mystery box. “You know, this could be a new Nancy Drew mystery.”

  “You’re right. The Secret of the Old Box.”

  She crouched and rattled the rusty padlock. “We need to pick it.”

  And I needed to get off my feet. Emily dragged the blanket and box into the kitchen, and together we hoisted it onto the table. Then I collapsed on a chair, feeling lightheaded.

  “It shouldn’t be too hard to spring the lock, since it’s so corroded,” said Emily. “Got any ideas, Nancy?”

  “Give me a minute. I feel like I’m going to be sick.” I rested my forehead on my folded arms on the table.