The May Day Murders Sequel

by Scott Wittenburg

  “Love to, but I’m probably going to crash early. Didn’t get much sleep last night—spent most of the time barfing my guts out.”

  “A few too many Jacks last night?”

  “Wasn’t that. I think I have some kinda goddamn bug or something. Damn near didn’t come in today but decided to give it a shot and see if I’d feel any better. So far it ain’t happening.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Well, hang in there and get some rest, Rog. Talk to you later.”

  “Ciao.”

  As he hung up Sam was glad he hadn’t told Roger about the dream. All it would have done was make him appear even more paranoid about Stanley Jenkins.

  Another cup of coffee later he got dressed and headed out for a run. The temperature was near freezing and the grass was glazed with a thick coat of frost that glistened in the morning sunlight. Not long after cutting up the path he thought of Maisy and debated when to call her. It had only been two days since their incredible encounter and he didn’t want to appear overly anxious. Then a smile came to his face as he realized that such concerns were absurd. After all, they had already made love having only known each other for less than an hour—and he was worried about appearing too pushy?

  The prospect of seeing Maisy brought a glow inside as he maintained a decent pace along the hilltop. The woods were bustling with activity—squirrels busy cutting nuts high in the trees, birds in search of a morning meal. He stopped at the fallen tree where he’d met Maisy and sat down. Looking over to where he’d first laid eyes on her running around the bend, Sam made up his mind. There was no reason to act like he was still in high school and waste valuable time playing games. He had met a woman who was an absolute knockout, easy to talk to, and clearly interested in starting some kind of relationship. What more did he need?

  He pulled out his phone and checked the time. Eight forty-five. He punched in her number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Maisy, it’s Sam.”

  “Oh, hi! I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to call,” she said.

  “I would have called yesterday but it was—uh—a pretty weird day.”

  “What happened?”

  Sam started to tell her about spotting Jenkins but stopped himself. “Long story short, I quit the paper.”

  “Really? How come?”

  “Oh, I got into it with the managing editor and just decided to hell with it. Like I told you Monday, I’ve been less than thrilled with the direction things have been going there and I finally decided I’ve had enough.”

  “Wow, that’s sure a bold move. I mean, what will you do now?”

  “Write. Books. See how far I can go with that. I’ve got enough saved up to sustain me for a while so I’m going to give writing my full commitment. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do so now is as good a time as any to take the plunge.”

  “I think that’s wonderful, Sam. I read your first book and loved it. You are so talented!”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. So how have you been? Sold any houses?”

  She snickered. “Are you kidding? This is Smithtown, Ohio and if I had so much as a nibble I would have already been gushing about it.”

  “That bad, eh?”

  “Horrible. It’s been a buyer’s market here for decades and I often question why I ever got into this racket in the first place. But I must say I enjoy it, even if I’m not getting rich. And I’ve always got subbing to fall back on whenever things get tight.”

  “Subbing?”

  “Substitute teaching. I’ve been doing that off and on for a couple of years now. Mostly in the elementary schools. It’s actually sort of fun since I love kids so much.”

  “That’s really cool—you never mentioned that before.”

  “Well, subbing isn’t exactly a career—and besides, real estate sounds more legit and I wanted to impress you.”

  “You don’t need to try and impress me, Maisy. I would have still enjoyed your company if you told me you swept floors at the Dandy Diner. Which leads me to my next question: would you be interested in getting together sometime this week? Go out for dinner or something like that?”

  “I’d love to, Sam. Tell you what, I make some pretty decent lasagna and would love it if you’d come over this evening for dinner and a drink—to celebrate your new found freedom from the Observer. What do you think?”

  “Sounds awesome.”

  “Great, how does six o’clock sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Then it’s a date—I live at 1276 Park Boulevard—a couple of doors west of O’Neil Street.”

  “Got it. Should I bring anything?”

  “Just yourself.”

  “Great, see you at six,” Sam said.

  Elated at the prospect of seeing Maisy again, Sam jogged for a full forty minutes without stopping. When he returned home there was a package on the front porch that he realized was the outdoor security system he’d ordered online. He removed the contents and pored over the installation instructions before getting under way.

  The kit came with four tiny video cameras that could wirelessly transmit live images 24/7 to the included DVR/hard drive. He was put off however to learn that each camera had to be plugged into an outlet by way of a power cable that would need to run through the wall into the house. Neither he nor Roger had caught this little detail, having assumed that the term “wireless” also meant the cameras were self-powered.

  He went ahead and mounted the first camera in the corner of his porch and ran the power cord along the ceiling. He was able to drill a hole through the wall into his living room without too much damage and patched the hole with joint compound.

  Next he mounted two other cameras to cover the east and west sides of the house respectively and was able to run the power cords through window frames with little trouble. The fourth camera would cover the entire back yard including the patio, pool and where his yard skirted the woods.

  After all of the cameras were set up he hardwired the DVR to his Mac and completed all of the connections. When he saw the first image appear on the monitor he was impressed with the clarity. It was just like looking out a window. He spent the next half hour adjusting the angles of all four cameras until virtually all of his grounds were covered. The system was also capable of working at night by way of tiny LED lights that would automatically come on once dusk fell. He would even be able to monitor all of the camera activity on his iPhone or iPad through the Internet once the app was set up and configured.

  With his new security system in place, Sam decided to run a couple of errands and do some paperwork to fill out the rest of the day. By five-thirty he was famished and looking forward to Maisy’s lasagna. He drank a beer to take off the edge before leaving the house, wondering what the evening would bring.

  When he arrived at Maisy’s he pulled in behind the white Mazda parked in the driveway. He had no sooner stepped out of the Jeep when the front door swung open and Maisy came out to greet him.

  “I see you found me.” She smiled. She was wearing faded jeans, a navy blue sweater and black leather riding boots—her long blond hair falling on to her shoulders. She came over and pecked him on the cheek.

  “Yeah, only took me a few minutes to get here.”

  “You can actually see your house from here—look,” she said, pointing toward his hilltop home. Although he’d seen the house sitting high on the crest of the hill countless times through the years, Sam now felt oddly thrilled knowing that the landmark home was now his.

  “It does look impressive, doesn’t it? And to think I got such a good deal on it!”

  “One thing I’ve learned in the real estate business is that some houses are a perfect fit for some lucky folks. I think you are one of them.”

  “I hope so. I really love the place so far and my only concern is that driveway in the winter. That could be a problem.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. You’ll figure it out.” She smiled.

  Sam followed Maisy int
o the house and she led the way through a small, richly appointed living room to the kitchen.

  “I’ve got beer and white wine—what’s your pleasure?”

  “Beer, please.”

  She opened the fridge, took out a bottle and handed it to him.

  “Rolling Rock, right?”

  “You remembered, thanks.”

  She poured herself a glass of wine and peeked in the oven.

  “Smells wonderful,” Sam said.

  “Should be ready in about twenty minutes,” Maisy said, closing the oven door. “Let’s go into the family room.”

  Maisy led the way down a hall. The family room was large and comfortable with a fireplace, flat screen TV and state of the art stereo system playing a classic Van Morrison album. Eying a couple of framed photos on the mantle, Sam went over to examine them.

  “This your daughter?” he said, gesturing toward a shot of Maisy and a young girl of about eight playing in the snow.

  “That’s Emma, my little bundle of joy.”

  “Cute kid.”

  “And that’s her senior picture.”

  “She sure looks a lot like you,” Sam observed. “You say she’s in college now?”

  “Yes, she’s a freshman at Xavier.”

  “Nice school. My best friend went there.”

  “I sure do miss Emma,” Maisy said as she went over to the sofa and sat down. “It gets lonely around here. And so quiet! I actually miss her music blaring from her bedroom.”

  “I know what you mean. Amy and her family are living in Columbus and don’t come to visit as often I’d like them to. Gotta say, being an empty nester isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Especially when you’re a single parent.”

  “I’ll bet you miss your wife. I know how much you loved her.”

  “How do you know that?” Sam asked curiously.

  “It was so obvious, Sam. While the Stanley Jenkins trial was going on, I was reading every article written covering it. I remember one story included a photo of you and Ann coming out from the courthouse, hand in hand. Anybody could see that you two were in love just by that photo.”

  “I keep forgetting all of the press from the case. It’s ironic that during the trial I was in absolutely no mood to read the paper. I felt that enough of our life had been sucked up by Stanley Jenkins and I wanted to put him and that trial behind me whenever I could. The last thing I wanted at the end of the day was a rehash of what was happening in the press.”

  “I don’t blame you. I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between the Jenkins case and the storyline in your first book. Did you find that writing was somehow cathartic?”

  Sam chuckled. “It’s certainly no secret that Murder in Foxburg was a takeoff of Jenkins and his murderous rampage and yes, I found writing it very therapeutic. Using Jenkins’ warped yet brilliant character as a basis of the story’s villain made me feel a little better about all that had gone down—like now for a change someone else was in control—not Jenkins. By using Jenkins as a character and basically exploiting him to publish that book I felt some small sense of vindication.

  “Not only had Jenkins nearly murdered Ann, Marsha Bradley had been her best friend. I wanted to do something to immortalize her in some way. Murder in Foxburg enabled me to inform the public of Jenkins’ horrific crimes in the book’s preface. How he had robbed a wonderful woman of her life, leaving her young son without a mother and her husband totally devastated. The book was also a grim reminder that looks can be deceiving and that people as apparently inane and nerdy as Stanley Jenkins should never be underestimated. That behind those innocuous exteriors of loner-types like Jenkins, pure evil can be lurking.”

  Maisy took a sip of wine. “Amen to that. I could say that about my ex-husband, although at least he’s not a murderer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Brad was a total control freak. And abusive. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before our marriage but somehow I missed it. It sure didn’t take long afterwards to hit me square in the eyes though—literally.”

  “He beat up on you?”

  Her eyes conveyed the pain. “Big time.”

  “Jesus, I’m so sorry to hear that. How long did you put up with it?”

  “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but nearly fifteen years.”

  “Why so long? I mean, I understand that abused women struggle with breaking away from their abuser but I don’t see how anybody could stay with someone like that for so long. What about your daughter? Did he abuse her too?”

  She shook her head. “No, and if he had ever laid a hand on her I would have left much sooner, I can assure you of that. Emma was his little princess and he was actually very good to her—spoiled her rotten in fact. No, Brad took out all of his anger and frustration on me exclusively.”

  “When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “That would have been a couple of weeks ago. He was in town and drunk as usual. Called to see if I’d take him back like he always does and of course I told him there isn’t enough rice in China to get me to go back to him. That didn’t set too well with him, as usual, and he threatened to kill me if he ever finds out I’m seeing another man. I just laughed and told him to get a life and hung up on him.”

  Sam was taken aback. “Aren’t you afraid he might get violent? I mean, that’s pretty gutsy if not downright foolish to antagonize somebody you already know is capable of causing you bodily harm. Aren’t you just asking for trouble?”

  “Brad is nothing but a weak coward nowadays. I started calling his bluff years ago and realized it’s my best defense. He has no self-confidence since he discovered the bottle and became a raging alcoholic. The man can barely stand on his own two feet most of the time. His life has become one great big binge.”

  “You said he had been in town—where does he live?”

  “In some little Hamlet near Dayton with his sister. She has basically become his caretaker. The man’s hopeless, I tell you.”

  “How does Emma take all of this? It must be hard to accept that her father is that far gone.”

  “She’s basically in denial. Doesn’t want to talk about it. I know that deep down inside she’s hurting badly, but she never shows it.”

  “Wow, that’s sad,” is all Sam could say.

  “It is. Well, enough about my miserable ex—I think that lasagna is about ready to be served.”

  “Sounds good.”

  As they ate, Sam couldn’t help but think of Maisy Fleming and what her life must have been like living with a man who constantly abused her. She had never really given a reason for staying with him so long but from what he could glean it may have been for financial security and the fact that Emma had been opposed to her parents splitting up. So Maisy had basically resigned herself to become a human punching bag just to keep her family together and her daughter happy. Such a huge sacrifice at such a huge cost.

  The more time he spent with Maisy the more he became aware of an underlying lack of self-esteem. Here was an abused woman who had lost much of her pride and dignity after years of abuse. Yet she hid it well, and had she not revealed her abusive past Sam may have overlooked the telltale signs of abuse altogether. Maisy Fleming was an enigma—a smart, beautiful woman who had everything going for her, or so it appeared on the surface. But her true self was hiding behind a paper thin veneer of strength and self-confidence. A huge façade.

  Which made him want her all the more.

  Sam helped her wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen. As he was getting himself another beer he heard whining sounds coming from up on the second floor.

  “What’s that?” he said.

  “That’s Chester?”

  “Who the hell is Chester?”

  “My dog. I wasn’t sure how you felt about dogs so I shut him up in my bedroom. He probably needs to go out,” she replied.

  “I love dogs—let Chester join the party!”

  She smiled brightly. “Okay!”

  Sam followed Ma
isy up the stairs and stood by as she opened her bedroom door. Out ran a frisky white dog that looked as though it could be a Bichon Frise/Poodle mix. Chester’s tail was wagging furiously as he sprang up on to Sam’s legs.

  “Hello, Chester! You’re sure a cute one!” he said, petting the dog’s head.

  “Sorry about that. I’ve tried to teach him not to jump on people but as you can see it hasn’t quite sunk in.”

  “No problem. He sure is a friendly critter. How old is he?”

  “Three. He’s a rescue dog.”

  “Why don’t we take him for a walk?” Sam suggested.

  “Okay, he’ll love that. Walk, Chester?”

  The dog barked his consent and tore downstairs.

  Maisy attached Chester’s leash and they headed out the door. It was very chilly out and there was a full moon rising in the eastern sky. Sam recalled the last time he’d taken a dog for a walk, which had been before his divorce from Ann years ago. Buster had been the family pet they had bought for Amy when she was in grade school. When their beloved cocker spaniel died, they had all agreed to never own a pet again—they had taken it so hard. Now Sam realized that he wouldn’t mind owning a dog again.

  “This is nice,” Maisy said. “I haven’t taken Chester for a walk at night in a long time and I’ve forgotten how much he enjoys it.”

  “He does seem content,” Sam said, watching how the dog kept his nose to the ground sniffing while his tail wagged relentlessly.

  “It’s been even longer since I’ve taken a walk with a man I care for.”

  “That’s a nice thing to say,” was all Sam could come up with.

  “I hope I haven’t made you feel uncomfortable saying that. It’s just that sometimes I say things without thinking beforehand.”

  Sam laughed. “Join the club. And I assure you it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, Maisy. Quite the contrary.”

  Maisy suddenly stopped, gazed into his eyes and threw her arms around him. They kissed long and hard, Chester pulling on the leash impatiently.

  “That was nice, too,” Maisy said, withdrawing.