Kill Her Twice

by G A Pickstock

  Kill Her Twice

  The Second Death of Kallita Prewitt

  G. A. Pickstock

  VGP Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 G. A. Pickstock

  Copyright © 2020 G.A. Pickstock Second Edition

  Die Again - The Second Death of Kallita Prewitt

  Formerly published under the title Killing Kallita Copyright © 2017 G.A. Pickstock First Edition 2017 ISBN 13 - 978-0-9958379-0-4 All rights reserved This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information browsing, storage, or retrieval system, without permission in writing by the author.

  Pickstock, G. A. Kill Her Twice - The Second Death of Kallita Prewitt. (River's Edge Mysteries Book 1)VGP Publishing. E-Book & Paperback 2cnd Edition.

  ISBN: 978-0-9958379-9-7 E-book Edition

  ISBN: 978-0-9958379-4-2 Paperback Edition

  Cover Design

  By

  VGP Publishing

  Artwork and Photography

  By

  Emily Pickstock

  For my Grandchildren

  You are my joy and inspiration.

  Emily

  James

  Josephine

  Hunter

  Jackson

  Mackenzie

  &

  Gabrielle

  I love you all.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to express my sincere appreciation to all those who have aided and supported me in the writing and production of

  Kill Her Twice

  First, I wish to thank all my Beta Readers:

  Without you I might never have finished this novel. Thank you all. A special thank you to Michelle Dunbar of Bolide Publishing for providing an exhaustive and complete report on my work.

  Michelle is a Developmental Editor at

  https://bolidepublishing.com

  Last but not least, a very special thank you to Christine Jarvis for her invaluable help in keeping me straight on punctuation and spelling. Christine is an award-winning author of several short stories and her latest novel,

  A Duty of the Living

  will be released soon.

  Thank You All

  Chapter 1

  She was background noise: the hiss on an old record, snow on a TV screen, the thrum of tires on a long drive, and when Kallita Prewitt died the first time, no one noticed. No one cared, not even the police. The noise was gone, and everything in the world was as it should be. She had vanished from the planet. Kallita’s second death would have a more devastating impact.

  * * *

  January 1992:

  Roy Prewitt’s chest hurt. The walls of his tiny office could not block out the shrill tones of his wife’s voice.

  “Kallita’s in a bad mood,” he said to no one in particular. But then why should today be different? She was always in a bad mood. She was unhappy, and buying the diner hadn’t helped. It had been a great opportunity and a good earner, but Kallita hated the place, and she hated the town, and it showed in her attitude.

  Eight years hadn’t changed her thinking. Instead, she became more miserable. Attractive enough in a tomboyish way, her long red hair, five-foot-five shapely figure, freckled-face and friendly smile, belied the narcissist behind the facade. To strangers, she seemed pleasant and friendly, but those who knew Kallita had a much different viewpoint. Her uncharitable spirit controlled every thought and action. Coldly calculating and manipulating, she brooked no interference that diminished her control over her plans and desires. Any attempt to sway her was cast aside, ignored and discarded like a used paper cup. The people in her life fared no better. Her first marriage ended badly—for her husband.

  Roy couldn’t think of a time in recent memory when Kallita had exhibited any pleasure in being here. Someone else had obviously entered her crosshairs. True to form, Kallita had fired a devastating salvo of expletives and insults, and now she was massaging salt into the wound. Her ability to humiliate was unparalleled. Roy should intervene, but he knew he wouldn’t. Instead, he ignored the tumult on the other side of the door. Letting his innards guide him, he turned his attention back to his paperwork, desperate to keep his breakfast and his bowels intact.

  * * *

  “You bitch!”

  Kallita’s laser-sharp eyes bored deep into the frightened woman’s mind. Mary had made an abrupt turn to leave the diner with a tray of take-out coffee. She hadn’t seen Kallita standing behind her, and the resulting collision caused one of the cups to fall, spewing its milky brown contents down the front of Kallita’s coat. The scalding coffee seeped through into her blouse. It took a few seconds for the heat from the offending fluid to register as Kallita recoiled from what she perceived as an outright attack. She flailed away at the wayward liquid, pulling her coat and the blouse away from her skin lifting it in an attempt to fan cool air over her chest.

  Her rage moved beyond Mary as she scanned the patrons in the diner, daring anyone to interfere. Each one, in turn, looked away as she stared them down. It was an accident, but Kallita wouldn’t see it that way. She knew she wasn’t liked. She had suffered the whispers and the rumours for years, seen the judgemental glances, and endured the laughing. She felt their loathing, and her feeling for them was mutual. Kallita hated Clarksville and everyone in it.

  “You clumsy bitch! You did this on purpose!” Her venom had the intended effect.

  “Oh my gosh!” Mary’s eyes locked onto the office door, hoping that Roy might appear and intervene. “I’m so sorry, Kallita. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “No, really, I’m terribly sorry, I was just running late, and I wasn’t paying attention to—”

  “Do you have any idea how much this coat and blouse costs?”

  The colour drained from Mary’s face. “I’m sorry. I will absolutely replace it.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?” Kallita sneered, scanning her from head to toe as she wiped at the brown stain on her coat. “This is alpaca. You’re looking at three grand, at least. I doubt you’ve ever had three grand all at once. I know what you do for a living, remember. You’re lucky to make your mortgage payment on that shithole you live in. This blouse is worth more than you make in an entire month. And that useless husband of yours hasn’t got any money.”

  “Surely, it can be cleaned. I’m sorry—” Mary’s sobs filled the restaurant as she searched the faces of the patrons looking for some sign of support, some compassion. Still, all she encountered were the fearful eyes of the diners as they turned away, embarrassed for her, but unwilling to intercede on her behalf. She was truly alone, sobbing to an audience of deaf ears.

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it and cleaning or not, now you’ve made me late for my appointment. You’ll pay all right! I’ll see to that. Believe it!”

  “I-I’m—”

  “Get out of my way before you do any more damage!” Kallita pushed past Mary and out the front doors of the diner.

  Glancing back through the window of her husband’s restaurant, Kallita watched as Roy emerged from his hiding place to console Mary. Eight years of this backwater town. Fishing tournaments and harvest festivals, what does anyone see in this place? Him with his greasy spoon diner! Business opportunity. Ha! As if.

  * * *

  Mary could not pay for all this, not with money anyway, but pay she would. Not only had Mary destroyed her blouse, cleaning the alpaca wouldn’t be cheap. On top of that, the delay for
ced Kallita to reschedule a meeting with a potential new client. She only had one bookkeeping client to see that morning and now she had to postpone it. Rescheduling Barry Blackmore wouldn’t be easy, but there was no way Kallita was about to pitch herself to this client in her current state. Luckily, she had other clients to see that day, so it wouldn’t be a total loss. Still, she was hopeful that Tracy, her secretary, could get Blackmore to accept a postponement until 8:00AM the following morning. As for Mary, well, she had other plans for her. All that took was a phone call and some creative math. Happy that her afternoon had progressed better than her morning, she snickered to herself as she considered the day Mary must be having by now.

  Satisfaction quickly faded to contempt as she pulled into the parking lot for the B & D Accounting office. It was clear from the empty parking lot that the rest of her fellow accountants had all gone home for the day. It was typical. The slackers in the office always left at quitting time, leaving half-done tasks for the next day.

  Despite her disdain for Clarksville, Kallita was good at her job. It was the only reason she still had one, in this town, at least. Willing to work all hours, she habitually left the domestic chores on Roy’s shoulders. After their son was born—she took great satisfaction that she’d been the first in her family to bear a son—Kallita made no bones about the fact that she expected Roy to raise the children. She had no time for mothering. She had a career and Clarksville notwithstanding, she was not going to become “Suzie Homemaker” for anyone. Not even her kids. Roy had better figure out a way to make it happen, or there’d be hell to pay.

  She checked her watch: 6:25 PM. Kallita parked her car directly in front of the office door and turned off the ignition. Snatching her briefcase, she fumbled with her keys. Searching for the correct one, she dropped them into the icy slush at her feet.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Kallita reached down and grabbed the keys once again, wiped the ice and dirt from them and unlocked the door.

  Tucked away in the back reaches of the building, Kallita’s office, little more than a squirrel hole, separated her from the eyes of the public and hid her from the rest of the staff. She didn’t mind the solitude, and since she rarely spent time there, it made little difference to her where they placed her. Kallita was brilliant with numbers. She could make a spreadsheet sing, and she knew how to make numbers tell any story she wanted. This, combined with an unparalleled work ethic, gave her an advantage over the other accountants in the office. Consequently, she spent most of her time on the road working in the offices of her clients. She preferred it to slaving in a dingy office.

  A stack of thick file folders piled high surrounded her computer monitor. Heather hadn’t seen fit to put them away where they belonged. With a deep sigh, she retrieved two more thick folders from her briefcase and added them to the already teetering stack. Exhausted by the stress of the day, she eyed the mountain of work that awaited her and decided to take a page from her co-workers’ book. Time to call it a day, she thought.

  A yellow sticky note stuck to the receiver of her desk phone caught her eye. Kallita snatched the paper to read the details.

  Kallita, Important!

  Clarksville River Bridge on the boardwalk - 8:00PM. Don’t be late.

  “Dammit Heather, you couldn’t call me with this?” She bitched to herself. Her initial thought was that Heather had mistakenly rescheduled her meeting for 8:00PM instead of 8:00AM the following day. Barry Blackmore was the largest builder in the area. Securing him for the accounting firm would surely land Kallita the promotion she had been after for the past two years. Kallita checked her watch again. Her shoulders sagged, she blew out a heavy sigh, “I guess I’d better get going.” She composed herself and headed for the door.

  * * *

  Spanning one hundred and thirty feet of the Clarksville River, the River Bridge was an unlikely place for a meeting with a man of Barry Blackmore’s status. Kallita despised these small-town people, but she was smart enough to realize that they buttered her bread. She used that mindset when meeting with potential clients. She would take them to lunch, or perhaps talk business in a more casual setting over a few drinks. Barry Blackmore rated the best she could offer, yet here she was pulling into an ice-covered parking lot at the Clarksville River, in the middle of January. What could Blackmore be thinking?

  Kallita looked around the lot and spied a single vehicle parked in the darkest corner. She pulled up next to a Toyota pickup truck. It wasn’t the car she expected, but on second thought, she remembered that this was Clarksville. A community comprising factory workers and farmers; a place where millionaires wore ripped jeans to a wedding. To see one of the wealthiest men in town driving a five-year-old pickup truck was not out of line. She pulled alongside the truck and shifted her car into park, turned off the engine and stepped outside.

  The January air slashed at her cheeks and fingers with an unforgiving ferocity. Much like everything else in her life, Kallita loathed the winter months, and she despised the cold. Usually, she would hibernate all winter, going outside only to get to her vehicle. There wasn’t much snow, but in the words of her grandfather, it had been colder than a witch’s tit. Ice had formed where puddles once stood, and the temperature dipped lower with each passing day. Kallita wanted to get this meeting over with so she could get home quickly and get warm. Peering into the cab of the truck, she saw that it was empty.

  Where is he? She wondered as she fumbled through her purse for a cigarette. She sparked her lighter and took a long single drag. Kallita looked around and saw nothing but ice and a light dusting of snow in the park. She made her way across the frozen ground to the river and the boardwalk. It ran the length of the waterway from the park east toward the waterfall at the old mill. It was common for people to walk up and down the path, no matter the weather. Tonight, however, the deserted park was unusually cold and foreboding. She looked eastward to the bridge. Perhaps Barry had made his way there. The slippery ground made walking difficult, and Kallita wished she’d worn different boots. Her high heels made it difficult to walk on the icy ground, and she struggled to keep herself upright as she approached the boardwalk.

  Once on the boardwalk, the icy patches were fewer and smaller. The river was freezing over. Wisps of snow and frost swirled across the surface as gusts of wind bounced around the tree-lined basin that was Confederation Park. Checking to her left and then to her right, she couldn’t see any sign of Barry. The only light came from the streetlights above the bridge, casting an eerie orange glow that made the area beneath it even darker. Cloud cover foretelling of the possibility of a snowstorm shrouded whatever moonlight there might be. How can I see anyone in this light? Kallita would have to contend with the dark.

  Screw this! She turned to head back toward her car. Something under the bridge caught her eye. She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn she’d seen something move under there. Voices in her head screamed for her to leave, but she kept walking, magnetically drawn toward the mysterious figure. Without a guardrail, the danger of falling into the river increased with each step. Relying on the support of a signpost and a park bench, she finally made it to a clear patch.

  Stepping into the darkened alcove, Kallita could see that the figure was no figment of her imagination. It was there, and it was moving. A few more steps and she realized that the object that had piqued her interest was actually a person, swaying back and forth under the bridge.

  “Barry, is that you?”

  The shadow didn’t respond. Kallita strained to identify the figure lurking in the shadows. A flash of a face, pale in the dim light, drew her closer. She felt a flicker of recognition. She approached the blackness of the alcove. Venturing deeper into the shadows, she saw someone in a camouflage parka, standing against the incline of the bridge supports. Closer now, she realized. She’d been played for a fool.

  “What are you doing here?” Tossing her cigarette butt into the snow, she refused to back away. “I’m not in the mood for any of you
r bullshit tonight. What’s this all about?” Waiting for a response, she fumbled through her purse for another smoke.

  “Well, are you gonna ans—wait! What are you do—you’re n—” Kallita’s eyes widened, her speech cut off as the stabbing pain of the needle in her neck kept her from finishing her tirade. She fell to ground unable to move, paralyzed. Frozen in fear. Her breathing becoming more difficult. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t make her lungs work. Panic! Nothing was working. Her arms, her legs, her head—she couldn’t move. Fighting for breath, all she could do was watch as her attacker stood waiting—for her to what—die?

  The realization came as her breath slipped from her lungs. She lay motionless in the snow on a dark and freezing January night. Her purse lay beside her; the contents were strewn about on the frozen ground. Terrified, she watched her attacker scoop up her belongings, barely looking at her. Screaming inside, her eyes cried for mercy. Kallita saw no compassion in the face of her attacker as she was being pushed ever closer to the edge of the walkway. Then, she was weightless. Falling into a void of frozen darkness. A sudden impact, but no jolt of awakening. Instead, a sense of surrender overcame her as the thin film of winter gave way releasing her into a kaleidoscope of orange and silver light as shards of ice stabbed at her unprotected skin. Within seconds the river swallowed her, taking her ever deeper into its inky black abyss.

  Chapter 2

  Gardening gave Emily James peace. Plant a small seed, and magic happens: the seed, in time, transforms into a stunning creation of colour and fragrance. The process fascinated her. Tending the flowerbeds was therapy, a refuge where she could relax and chase away the cares of everyday life. Her stress ebbed away until she no longer pondered the events of the day. The demanding bosses, the unwanted attention from Tom, the catty co-workers who talked about her behind her back and the monotonous stream of calls from disgruntled cellphone customers, all fell into oblivion, at least for the next twelve hours.