Mind-Bending Murder

by Leslie Langtry

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  MIND-BENDING MURDER

  a Merry Wrath Mystery

  by

  LESLIE LANGTRY

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  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2021 by Leslie Langtry

  Cover design by Janet Holmes

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Ever have one of those days when you wake up in a windowless room with one door and a dead guy five feet away? No? Maybe it was just me. And it was a first because, even during my career as a spy, that kind of thing never happened.

  Oh sure, you'd wake up in strange places sometimes, with four empty bottles of Ouzo and a small monkey going through your purse—or in a convent in Belize, dressed as a drag queen with a bag full of knock-off mini bibles. But this was totally new.

  Where was I? The simple room had just one door, a table with a box of Lucky Charms sitting on it, an ordinary folding chair next to it, and a small bookshelf against the opposite wall that had more than a dozen copies of a book titled Boats of the Midwest.

  I found myself lying on the hard concrete floor when I came to. The dead man lying near me was young, maybe in his midtwenties. He was wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a tucked in polo shirt. And he wasn't breathing. That probably had something to do with the dark red spot over his heart.

  At this point, I checked to see what I was wearing. In my experience, it's always a good idea to do this first since you don't want someone bursting through the door to find you naked—or worse, in a banana costume. That once happened to me after a girls' night out with CIA colleague Hilly in Montenegro.

  Oh good. I was wearing jeans too. And…huh? The same blue polo shirt as the dead guy. I plucked at the fabric and realized it wasn't mine. I crawled over to the guy to check his pulse in case I was wrong about the breathing thing. It's always a good idea to check this too since I once knew a guy named Vinnie the Lung who could hold his breath for ten minutes. He was a lot of fun at parties where there was a pool, fountain, or rain barrel.

  Was this guy stabbed to death? By who? Had I witnessed whatever happened? And why was I dressed in a shirt I didn't own?

  Looking around, I couldn't find my purse. I checked my back pocket in hopes of finding my cell phone, but it wasn't there. I started toward the door but changed my mind, thinking that I'd better see if this guy had a wallet or phone so that I could call the police.

  Touching him directly was out of the question, since technically, if it was foul play, I could be considered a suspect. What could I use? Taking off my shirt wouldn't work since anyone could come in here at any moment, and I'd probably get his DNA on my shirt, which was just as damning. The books on the shelf were hardcovers, which would be nearly impossible to manipulate for searching the body.

  I walked to the table and picked up the box of Lucky Charms. Unless it was the weapon used (which is unlikely—although what a way to go!), it would make sense to those who knew me if my fingerprints were on it since I ate them practically every day.

  Pulling out the bag, I poured the cereal into the box after stuffing one or two handfuls of the sugary goodness into my mouth. You might think that was a bad idea, but one of the most important rules of spy craft was to eat at every opportunity in case you don't get another chance. Of course, the most important rule was to avoid people with knives or guns who might want you dead.

  Using the bag as a makeshift mitten, I approached the body.

  He looked pretty young, which was sad. Very carefully, I lifted his right hip to look for the bulge (a wallet, of course) that should be there.

  It wasn't.

  I walked around to the other side and did the same thing. Nope. No wallet.

  Since I couldn't be caught tampering with the deceased, I poured the cereal back into the bag and, after a couple more handfuls, stuffed the bag back into the box. Then I started for the door.

  It flew open before I even touched the knob.

  "Hands in the air!" A police officer in all black tactical gear pointed a pistol at me, and I threw my arms up.

  Two more cops raced into the room, both toward the body.

  "It's him alright," one of the officers said into his walkie. He turned his attention to me. "And it's her too—just like they said."

  Well, that didn't seem good.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Mrs. Ferguson?" The officer walked over to me.

  I nodded. "That's right."

  He shared a look with the cop whose gun was still trained on me. Then he walked around behind me and pulled my arms back.

  "You have the right to remain silent…" he began.

  I didn't say a word because I had no idea what to say. Remaining silent seemed to be my best option. This would work out okay. My husband, Rex, was the detective in Who's There, Iowa. These men didn't look like his guys, but if they were County, it was okay because Sheriff Ed Carnack and I went way back.

  Metal pinched my wrists as I felt a rough nudge on my back, forcing me forward. I looked back as I was escorted out, to see the third officer talking into his radio. We walked outside into the darkness. Apparently, I was in some sort of shed behind a strip mall in…where was I?

  This wasn't Who's There. I was in a town I didn't recognize. I swallowed hard. Was I even in Iowa?

  "Merry." Sheriff Ed Carnack came around the side of the shed, and I let out a breath.

  "Oh yay!" The words slipped from my mouth. "Hey, Sheriff!"

  He looked at me seriously, then asked the officer to uncuff me. Once released, I rubbed my wrists.

  "I knew you'd think this was all just a big misunderstanding," I gushed. "I have no idea what happened! I don't know that guy or this place. And hey, this shirt isn't mine."

  The sheriff held up a hand to silence me. "I'm sorry, Merry. I really am."

  I blinked in disbelief. "Sorry? What for?"

  The big man sighed heavily. "I'm sorry to tell you that you are under arrest for the murder of Tyson Pancratz."

  I stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Who's Tyson Pancratz?"

  "The man you just murdered," the officer who'd taken the cuffs off
snapped.

  "I don't care for your tone," I said. "I'm innocent until proven guilty, right?"

  The officer shook his head and went back inside the shed.

  "Where are we?" I asked Ed. "And did you get new deputies, because I've never seen these guys before."

  He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "We're in Bladdersly. And those men are part of the Bladdersly Police Department. They aren't mine."

  Bladdersly. That stinking, fetid hellhole ten miles away from Who's There. Bladdersly was my town's rival in every way, including the annual football game where the Raging Bladders battled the Whorish (an unfortunate mashup of Who's and Irish) in an attempt at some form of athleticism. People from Who's There didn't like people from Bladdersly, and the feeling was mutual.

  The medical examiner's van pulled up, and I felt my prospects brighten. Dr. Soo Jin Body was a good friend and had been a bridesmaid in my wedding. She'd be on my side.

  "Hi, Merry!" the gorgeous Korean American called out with a little wave. Dr. Body breezed past me and made her way into the shed.

  "I'll bet Soo Jin doesn't think I murdered Tyson Pancratz," I pointed out.

  Sheriff Carnack sighed again. "For what it's worth, I don't either. But the facts are pretty compelling. You're going to need an attorney."

  "What facts? I never met that guy! I've never been here and don't even know how I got here! And, like I said before, this isn't my shirt!"

  My name is Merry Wrath, and I'm a retired CIA agent. Born and raised as Fionnaghuala Merrygold Czrygy, I'd been a spy for eight years before I was "accidentally" outed by the US vice president as a way to get back at my powerful senator father, Mike Czrygy.

  To add injury to insult, I discovered the betrayal while in a bar in remote Chechnya. Wolf Blitzer of CNN showed my photo, and I barely escaped alive. After some lukewarm apologies and a whopping settlement, I changed my name to Merry Wrath and moved back to my hometown of Who's There, Iowa. My best friend, Kelly Albers, insisted we start a Girl Scout troop, and I eventually married the town detective, changing my name again to Ferguson.

  I have the unfortunate reputation of having people drop dead around me…a lot. So it wasn't too weird to find one in my immediate vicinity. But this was different. I always knew where I'd been and what I'd been doing. This time, I didn't.

  "I'm not going to use the cuffs on you," Ed said. "But I do need to take you in."

  My eyes were on the doorway of the shed. "You said I'm under arrest. Which means you think you have solid evidence that I did this."

  "Let's discuss it back at HQ. I'll make sure Rex is there."

  Then it occurred to me. "Why are you here? I mean, I'm not complaining. But those officers aren't your deputies. Where's the local chief of police?"

  He shifted his feet. "Bryce is on a fishing trip. I told him I'd keep an eye on things. You're lucky it's me and not him. He doesn't like you."

  That seemed like bad news. "While I'm never surprised that someone from this swamp of a town dislikes me," I reasoned, "I don't know the man. How can he hate me if he doesn't know me?"

  Ed rubbed his chin. "Forget about that for now. At least you're in my custody. Now, please, get in the car."

  I did as he asked and stared out the window at the activity. What exactly happened here? And what did I have to do with any of it? I looked around the parking lot, but my silver minivan wasn't here. Neither was my purse or cell. What was happening?

  It was at least an hour before we walked into the sheriff's station in Who's There. Rex ran to meet me and crushed me in his embrace. I relaxed against my husband. He'd sort this all out.

  "When I woke up in the middle of the night and found you gone, I just thought you'd gone to see Mr. Fancy Pants," he said, referring to the king vulture at the local zoo. I'd adopted him, but that wasn't the reason for my clandestine, late-night visits to the bird. What can I say? He's a great listener.

  I melted. "You believe me, right? I didn't kill Tyson Pancratz, whoever he is."

  Rex pulled away and searched my face. "Do you really have to ask?"

  "Sorry. Of course you don't think that. Did you say I left in the middle of the night?"

  "I was asleep. I assumed you snuck out, but I don't know when."

  That was disappointing. "I guess you won't be my alibi then, huh?"

  "I can't honestly say when you left," he hedged.

  "I know. And I don't want to put you into that position. I was just hoping you knew more, because I don't remember anything."

  I turned to the sheriff. "What did that officer mean—'just like they said'?"

  Ed Carnack took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "The call went to the Bladdersly police station. All I know is that there was a caller who said that you had murdered Pancratz. They didn't give a name, just an address."

  "Male or female?" I pressed.

  "I haven't heard the recording, so I don't know. They only called me because Bryce Vanderzee is out of town and had told his staff to call me if anything happened. Apparently, he doesn't like them working without supervision."

  Great. Idiot cops. "So why am I here instead of in a jail cell there?"

  Don't get me wrong. I was extremely happy that I was here.

  "I might have insisted." He gave me a wan smile. "And they didn't want to do the paperwork."

  That was all it came down to? Paperwork? That's what they were afraid of? I needed to remember that to exploit it later.

  "Can Rex post bail?" I asked.

  "When it's set, yes. It might be 24 hours or more."

  Damn. "I have to spend the night here?"

  "Yes. We have to wait and see what the judge says."

  "I'm sure it's nothing," Rex said. "An anonymous tip is circumstantial. You can't base an indictment on that."

  "Yes," Carnack agreed. "But finding Merry at the crime scene, with the body, isn't. I'm hoping this will clear up soon, but right now, it looks bad."

  "I think he was stabbed in the heart. Is that what killed him?" I asked.

  The sheriff shook his head. "Now, Merry, you know we can't release that information until Soo Jin is finished with her examination."

  I looked at my watch. "When will that be?"

  Both men looked at each other.

  "Okay." I held up my hands. "I know the deal. I'm a suspect and can't investigate."

  Oh, I was soooo investigating once I got out. It certainly wasn't the first time I'd been accused of murder, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Wait…that sounded bad. Let's just stick with the first part.

  Ed set his hat on his desk. "You're not a suspect. You're the suspect."

  The room went quiet. We stared at each other but said nothing. It was a classic Chechen Standoff. You probably think I mean Mexican Standoff, but that wouldn't be right because none of the three of us were pointing any weapons at each other.

  A Chechen Standoff is when three people are looking at each other but don't know what to say. Yeah, the standards are pretty low there.

  "Ed," Rex said, his eyes not leaving mine. "We need to get EMTs in here to examine Merry. She was found unconscious, correct?"

  "I called them on the way here. They should be here any moment."

  "I'm fine," I said. "I'm just not sure what happened. Was I conked on the head or chloroformed?" My fingers searched my head. "I don't have any pain. And I don't have that chloroform aftertaste. It must've been something else."

  "Like what?" Rex wondered.

  "I don't know. In the CIA, we had some top secret methods. There's that nerve pinch in the neck…"

  Ed seemed surprised. "Like in Star Trek?"

  I nodded. "Yes. Did you know that one of the writers was ex-CIA? The Vulcan thingy came from real experience."

  I had never been able to manage it myself. I was told it took a knack, and I didn't have it. Basically, you pinch the right spot, and it temporarily cuts off blood flow. And if you have someone with weird physiology, it won't work. In fact, it may not
work on someone with normal physiology either. You just had to have the knack.

  There was a woman at the Agency who could pull it off every time. Her name was Roberta, and she could do it to anyone and do it so quickly that it was her only job. She was a specialist who specialized in knocking folks out by pinching them. And she was a rock star. If you needed her, they would fly her out on a private company jet. She walked up behind whoever, pinched, and by the time they hit the floor, she was gone. Roberta the Reaper, we called her. Except that she didn't actually kill anyone.

  Rex looked at my neck. "I don't see any bruising. Or any marks at all. Are you sure you weren't chloroformed?"

  "No chance. I'd know." And I should too. I'd been chloroformed a few times since I'd gotten out of the CIA. I chalked it up to being a tad rusty, but the fact was, I'd only been a field agent less than ten years. That's about the point where you become a seasoned professional. I was good but not necessarily perfect.

  The door swung open, and two EMTs walked in. Carnack nodded at me, and they went to work shining a light in my eyes, asking me to tell them how many fingers they were holding up…the usual stuff. After two or three minutes, they announced that nothing was wrong with me and left.

  "That was quick." Rex watched them go.

  "Shouldn't they have done a blood test or something?" I asked.

  "I'll call your doctor in the morning," Rex said. "I think we need a second opinion."

  "Okay." Carnack moved toward me. "Visiting hours are over. And since it's so late, we can have our interview later."

  I shrugged. "I don't have much to say since I remember nothing, except going to bed at home and waking up with a dead guy." Which reminded me… "Honey, can you bring me a shirt from home? This one isn't mine."