by Lotta Smith
Dawson saw red, and the next thing he knew, he had strangled Ellie to death. He hanged her to stage a suicide, wiped the Mendelssohn CD, and three days later, he went back to her apartment with two colleagues to report the case to the police.
“After all that, the guy talking to her turned out to be a NYPD detective handling Ellie’s case with Adrian Micelli, the bitter ex-lover,” Detective Bacus told us. The other detective had come across Ellie near her apartment when he was off duty. He had a short chat with her and said take care and good-bye.
Except Dawson didn’t know about the off-duty detective, and if I were to believe Ellie’s words, her feelings toward Adam Dawson must have been her wicked little secret.
* * *
“A3 parking lot. The car needs to be left here. From here, you have to go on foot. Oooh… I didn’t expect to have my birthday party thrown in a graveyard.” Jackie pouted as I drove the Prius—yes, not the Ferrari; I convinced Rick that other visitors might not like listening to his favorite vehicle’s engine blasting while paying their respects to their departed loved ones—into the parking lot through a wrought iron gate.
Jackie, Rick, and I were visiting a memorial park in Greenwich where Jackie’s body rested—hopefully—in peace. It was her birthday.
“You told me a picnic at a pretty garden would be great when I asked you about your birthday party,” I reminded her. “Besides, this place is called a memorial park, not a graveyard.”
“Oh yeah.” She groaned. “I should have told you to avoid this memorial park. Oh my God, I’ve never imagined visiting my graveyard as a ghost. And guess what? It’s sooo embarrassing to visit my own cemetery with my friends!” Holding her head in both hands, Jackie blushed.
“Don’t be shy.” I chuckled. “You know, I should have visited my guardian angel’s grave at an earlier time. Anyway, I’m glad to have you lead our way to your headstone. Memorial parks tend to have way too many tombs to reach the destination without getting lost.”
“For your information, my tombstone is nothing fancy. I wanted to have ‘The Genie Who Kicked the World in the Ass’ engraved on it, but unfortunately, my folks couldn’t hear me and the saying on my headstone is ‘In Loving Memory of Jackson Frederick Orchard.’ Can it get any worse? I should have left a will.” Jackie went on grumbling, but I didn’t miss a suppressed smile appearing in the corner of her candy apple lips. Also, her signature necklace screaming “FESTIVE” seemed to be gleaming even brighter than usual.
“Is Jackie happy?” Rick asked me as I giggled, climbing out of the passenger’s side of the car.
“She’s mostly happy, except for her headstone not meeting her standard,” I said.
“Rick, my tombstone’s totally boring, but please don’t laugh,” Jackie pleaded, hovering over to him.
When I relayed her request to Rick, he chuckled. “No worries, Jackie. I’m not going to laugh. I promise.”
“Okay then. You can come after me,” Jackie said solemnly. “I don’t know if I can remember the whereabouts of my burial site. It’s been a while since I came here, you know.”
As we were walking inside the memorial park, a minivan screeched to a stop in the parking lot. When its back door opened, two little girls came out, jumping up and down like a couple of over-caffeinated monkeys.
“Uncle Rick!” Emma and Minty ran toward us, laughing and screaming with joy.
“Minty, Emma, slow down! You girls don’t want to fall!” Alicia screamed even louder from the driver’s side, only to make her daughters giggle without slowing down.
“Alicia!” Mom shushed her from the backseat with the window rolled down. “The girls will be fine. They have inherited your hyperactive tendency. Please do not scream in the cemetery. I don’t want to disturb the dead people.”
“The residents here won’t mind listening to little girls shrieking,” Nana chimed in as she hopped out of the passenger’s side. “They’re dead anyway. Besides, most of them old folks’ hearing are not that good in the first place.”
As the Meyer women kept on chattering, Dad came out from the backseat. “Hi, Mandy. How are you? Long time no see.” He peppered me with pleasantries.
When I said, “Hi Dad. I’m good. How are you?” he turned to Rick.
“Hi, Rick, long time no see. How’s your leg?”
“It’s healing nicely. Thank you,” Rick replied with a polite smile.
“Grandad, I was going to ask Uncle Rick that question!” Emma eyeballed my Dad.
“Me, too!” Minty did the same.
“Oh, sorry, love. You ladies can go and ask him again,” Dad suggested.
“Sounds good.” Emma gave him a thumbs-up, prompting him to display a goofy grin.
“Uncle Rick, how’s your leg?” The girls scurried toward us and threw the question at Rick.
“My leg’s doing great. Now it doesn’t hurt that badly. Thanks for asking.” Rick beamed, bending down and letting them air-kiss him on the cheeks. When he straightened, he put his booted leg on the ground and lifted the crutches for a moment. “On a good day, I feel like ditching these crutches, but Auntie Mandy made me carry them.”
“So that you don’t trip on uneven surfaces and reinjure yourself,” I pointed out, making him cringe.
Emma and Minty patted my hand. “Auntie Mandy, you’re doing a great job looking after Uncle Rick. I’m so proud of you!”
“Um… thanks?” I said, sounding more like a question than a statement while Rick choked with laughter.
“So, can we go?” Mom said, stepping onto the upslope footpath winding between the graveyard with well-manicured lawns and flowerbeds. No funeral was being held, but more than a dozen people were gathered on the hill—perhaps for an anniversary memorial or something. Birds were chirping, and the Meyers were a noisy family.
As we walked, chattering nonstop, one of the people on the hillside called out, “Hi there, Rick, Mandy!”
“Jamie!” I exclaimed as she waved at us, carrying a large basket, surrounded by a dozen of people, presumably her staff at the sports bar. I wasn’t expecting her to appear in this parking lot. I thought about telling Jamie about Jackie’s birthday party, but I stopped short after remembering that Jamie didn’t know living Jackie.
“Hey, Jamie.” Rick waved at her. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem.” Jamie waved back. “Lunch time on Wednesdays is slow anyway.”
“I said I’d take care of the catering,” Rick said, turning to me.
“How nice, thank you!” I patted his arm as we approached Jamie. “Jackie, the lady over there is Jamie, and…”
When I turned to Jackie, she was hovering around Jamie, shrieking. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Ohmigawd!”
“Jackie, what’s wrong?” Startled, I asked.
“Nothing!” Jackie came back to me and tried to hug me, but her arms went through me. “Everything’s perfect! Look at them. Mom, Dad, and all of my closest friends are here! Ohmigod! I’ve never had such a fabulous birthday since… since… dying!”
“So, how’s our birthday girl doing?” Jamie asked when we reached the hillside where she and the others were waiting.
“She’s ecstatic,” Brian, one of the guests, said in favor of me.
“Jamie, thank you for inviting all of Jackie’s loved ones!” I exclaimed.
“It’s okay. Everything’s included in my service.” Jamie winked. Then she announced, “Meet Mandy, the person who first proposed this super fabulous birthday party for Jackie!”
Everyone applauded.
A well-dressed lady in her sixties hugged me. “Mandy, I’m Susan, Jackie’s mother. Thank you for this wonderful opportunity for my wonderful son and daughter.” As she air-kissed me, Jackie was choking with emotions.
Jackie’s friends—guys, women, and drag queens—shook my hands, hugged me, and thanked me, and I told them Jackie was there, bouncing with joy, thanking each of the attendants. Brian was busy relaying the birthday girl’s message to each person. Everyone oohed
and ahhed as Brian told them Jackie’s words. He didn’t forget to promote himself as an exorcist as well.
“Rick, did you arrange Jackie’s guests?” I turned to Rick, who responded with a lopsided grin.
“Of course, I needed a little help from Jamie, but I’m the one who paid for that,” he bragged.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea how much I appreciate your kindness!” Jackie kissed Rick on his ear, inciting him to shiver a little, so I clung to him.
“You know, Rick, Jackie appreciates your kind gesture so much, and this is from her.” I tiptoed and stretched myself to kiss his cheek. My eyes widened as Rick turned his face so that my lips landed on his mouth instead.
Mom gasped, but she flashed me a thumbs-up for a flicker of a second. Dad smiled, mouthing, “Atta girl!” and winking. Nana said, “Mandy, I’d be jealous of you if I were fifty years younger.”
“Mommy, Auntie Mandy is kissing Uncle Rick!” Minty announced.
“No, Minty, sweetie, it’s more accurate to say Uncle Rick kissed Auntie Mandy,” Alicia corrected.
Rick had the decency to pull his lips off mine before I ran out of breath and my legs turned wobbly. “Who wants to eat the birthday cake?” he said.
EPILOGUE
Under the midnight moon, Aurora Westwood was slouched at her writing desk. She was tired and wasted.
Lately, she wasn’t quite herself.
So she’d conned a dead woman into killing the evil woman Amanda Meyer. Things seemed to be going well when she handed a little portion of her power to Ellie Hochman. Her soul was tainted with sadness topped with jealousy. With a little help from Aurora’s power, Ellie’s dark force had become strong enough to cause major mayhem… enough to kill Amanda.
Except Rick Rowling interfered with Aurora’s plan.
Aurora couldn’t and didn’t want to understand why such a handsome, powerful, and sexy alpha male like him bothered to save Amanda—a not-so-smart, not-so-pretty, and definitely not rich woman—going so far as to sacrifice his own well-being.
“Good night! How are you?” The damned spider popped up on the desk. “Ouch!” he shrieked, because Aurora spanked him without saying a word.
“You little bastard!” she shrieked, banging the Chihuahua-sized spider again and again. “Why did you drag me into that mess with Ellie Hochman! That worthless woman almost gave my name to Amanda the evil bitch!”
“Come on… oh, pleeeeeze!” The spider groaned. “Your plan was going well. Ellie almost succeeded in crushing Amanda. If it weren’t for the guy standing there as an obstacle block, she’d have been dead.”
“So what?” Aurora shot back, inciting the fuzzy spider to wiggle his ugly legs.
“I mean… you’re tired,” the spider mumbled.
“I know. Thanks to you.” Aurora punched the spider again, that time stronger than ever.
“Ooooohhhh….” With a lingering moan, the spider disappeared.
Aurora sighed, then took out a mirror from the desk drawer and looked at her reflection. She was beautiful. She looked young… no way she should lose against Amanda in any kind of duels.
She could get rid of Amanda any time she liked.
When the cat chased the mouse, the beauty of it wasn’t in the killing. It was in the hunting, the stalking, and playing…
For that matter, Amanda Meyer made the perfect prey.
Aurora smiled.
She was going to take some time off from Amanda. She needed a vacation from herself.
All she needed was some time to cool her head.
About the author
Hi! My name is Lotta Smith. I’m the author of Paranormal in Manhattan Mysteries and Kelly Kinki Mysteries. I love everything comedy, from novels, TVs, to movies. In my teenage days, I was addicted to mysteries that involves amateur sleuth duo of a hot male professor and a quirky female student—with a light touch of romance sprinkled on top. So I went to medical school, partly because I wanted to see real dead bodies, and mostly because I was determined to meet sexy professors (specializing forensic pathology, perhaps) and go a-sleuthin’.
I got to see dead bodies and learn about the danger of petting zoos (sometimes, kids have their lips bitten off by…say, a pony!) but unfortunately, sexy professors were absolutely nonexistent. Recently, I realized that I’m a hopeless unromantic.
I’m hard at work writing new books.
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Books by Lotta Smith
Paranormal in Manhattan Mysteries:
Book 1: Wicked for Hire: http://amzn.to/25IHH6X
Sometimes, the opportunity of a lifetime busts your door instead of gently knocking at it...
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Medical student Amanda Meyer thought she had her life all planned out until people started dying the moment they touched her. Being cleared of any wrongdoing didn't stop the medical school from expelling her, and it didn't rid her of the unfortunate nickname Grim Reaper.
Luckily, having a rep as the harbinger of death isn't a total resume killer. Rick Rowling, Special Agent for the FBI's Paranormal Cases Division recruits her to work for the Bureau. But the sexy, brilliant, outrageous loose cannon proves to be just as untouchable as the mysterious creature or creatures that may be responsible for the seemingly unsolvable murder that becomes their first case together.
Instead of treating patients, Amanda's life becomes a test of her patience and a wild ride into the wicked paranormal world where her new boss runs the show. Together they face a ghoulish force that could destroy the entire city and a grueling family dinner that could leave Amanda contemplating harakiri.
It's a battle of life and debt [student debt, that is] and saving the world has never been so funny.
Prologue
966 Park Avenue Tower
11:48 AM, November 10…
With a weird moan, her whole body shivering, she collapses onto the sofa.
I think she’s lucky that she’s already sitting on the sofa as she crumples. If she was standing, she might have cracked her head on the marble floor like Humpty Dumpty—which won’t be pretty.
She’s lying there, totally motionless. One elbow’s stiffly bent at a right angle, as if she’s turned into stone as the result of looking Medusa in the eye.
I gasp—fearing she’s dead.
Rick Rowling, the head of the FBI’s New York Paranormal Division and my boss for the past two days, approaches and touches her neck. Looking totally blasé, he confirms that she’s still alive.
I let out a sigh of relief.
On the other hand, Rowling announces that we leave the place because “It’s boring.”
My eyes widen with a total disbelief.
Of course, I disagree with him, but he brushes off my objection, stating that he doesn’t care about all the crap of making arrests, prosecuting, and taking cases to trial. Again, he says that it’s just a minor issue and he’s way too busy for that. “You know what? I have better things to do,” Rowling declares, turning on his heels to leave the condo.
“Excuse me, Rick,” I call to his back.
“What?” he asks, without turning around.
“We can’t just leave,” I say. Then it suddenly occurs to me that offending my boss isn’t in my best interest, so I add, “I’m afraid.”
“Why not?” He cocks his head. “Mandy, don’t be such a killjoy. The NYPD can work on the boring stuff, such as deciphering the social pathology of crimes and so on, because they have time to kill. On the other hand, I have no time to waste.”
“Okay, so we don’t need to decipher the social pathology of crimes, but we do need to figure out the whereabouts of the human-eating monster, don’t we?” I point out.
I’m not joking or exaggerating.
I’m talking about a practically imperishable ghoul which could eat up the entire population
of New York State, if not the whole world.
* * *
At precisely 2:13 in the morning, John Sangenis was standing in front of a shabby five-story apartment in Washington Heights. Fortunately, he didn’t live there. He was just visiting Ivan Flynn, the insufferable asshole.
Usually, he had better things to do than visiting his worst enemy before the crack of dawn, such as sleeping like a log. Or making love with Ruth, which was even better than sleeping on his own. Ruth MacMahon was his girlfriend, who was unbelievably beautiful, dazzling, and had a truly big heart. Also, it didn’t hurt that she was rich. What was more wonderful about her was she appreciated John’s talent as an actor. It was a rare trait to come across in society, and it was why she happily provided him both moral and financial support.
If there were any shortcomings about her, it was that she was two-timing him with Ivan.
He thought about her taste in men, or lack thereof, and shrugged.
John wasn’t the sharpest knife in the kitchen, so he didn’t realize describing Ruth’s taste in men as horrible was the same as admitting that he was a total loser.
A cold, wet late-autumn breeze was blowing from the East River. A sprinkle of rain hit him in the face. The metal stairs were slippery, occasionally letting out squeaks and squawks, as if the steel structure itself were threatening to fall into pieces any minute, which made John nervous. The building’s elevator hadn’t functioned since God knows when, so he had no choice but to climb up the damned stairs. Getting smashed with the lousy staircase like a piece of garbage wasn’t high on his to-do list, so he ran up the stairs.
As an actor, he went to the gym to do occasional workouts and training, but that didn’t mean he was a big fan of vigorous exercise. On normal days, he would have shied away from walking up the rusty metal stairs of a sad-looking apartment. Actually, he wouldn’t have set a foot in this neighborhood unless he was starring in a gangster movie or TV show, hopefully as the lead role. After all, it wasn’t the area where any of the characters of Sex and the City lived. It almost felt comical that this neighborhood was still included in Manhattan.
