by J B Hawker
The
First Ladies Club
Series
The First Ladies Club
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Epilogue
A Body in the Belfry
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
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
A Corpse in the Chapel
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
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
Epilogue
Shadows of Hope
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
Chapter FIVE
Chapter SIX
Chapter SEVEN
Chapter EIGHT
Chapter NINE
Chapter TEN
Chapter ELEVEN
Chapter TWELVE
Chapter THIRTEEN
Chapter FOURTEEN
Chapter FIFTEEN
Chapter SIXTEEN
Chapter SEVENTEEN
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Chapter NINETEEN
Chapter TWENTY
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
The
First Ladies
Club
J.B. Hawker
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 J.B Hawker
All rights reserved.
ISBN-10:1502951150
ISBN-13:978-1502951151
Dedicated to the spiritual sisterhood
of
pastors’ wives everywhere
Prologue
An aged gray van wound along the two-lane highway meandering through thick stands of evergreen forest on the west side of the Northern California Coastal Range, the road’s curves occasionally breaking through the trees onto breathtaking vistas of the Pacific Ocean below.
These impressive views were unseen by the half-dozen passengers in the windowless back of the van. Hardened criminals - the worst of the worst - on their way to an extended stay at Pelican Bay, California’s notorious super-max prison, these men cared little for the scenery.
Chains clank when the shackled men shifted uncomfortably.
A few of the prisoners managed to carry on desultory conversations with their bench mates, but most preferred to remain silent, only muttering occasional curses in complaint about the hard seats or the guard’s driving.
Heavily muscled and tattooed, Carver Schramm was the most silent of the prisoners. No one shared his bare metal seat.
Schramm was headed for a long stretch in solitary confinement as the result of his bad behavior in the San Francisco County Jail while awaiting sentencing for a murder conviction.
His shackles weren’t connected with those of the other men, but, instead, anchored him on either side to stout iron staples welded into the van’s frame. His feet were similarly restrained.
Even his fellow inmates recognized this man was a character best avoided. No one has ventured to speak a word to him since being loaded into the prison shuttle.
Schramm wasn’t bothered by any lack of conversation. He has done time in solitary before, more than once, and is comfortable with his own thoughts, thoughts that would make those around him decidedly uncomfortable, if they were aware of them.
His inner voice raged about only two things: revenge and escape.
Inside Carver’s mind images swirled without structure. Unfocused fury prevented his thoughts from coalescing into coherent patterns or plans. His desire to strike out at anyone and everyone grew with each mile as the van rolled along the asphalt highway.
Seeming outwardly calm, on the inside he was like a newly captured predator gnawing on the bars of its cage and taking a swipe at anyone who approached.
Pelican Bay was built for just such human aberrations as Carver Schramm.
No one has ever escaped from the maximum-security portion of this prison, although a few have managed to break away from the lower level security of the outer ring of the complex reserved for non-violent offenders.
The van took a hairpin turn too fast, throwing the passengers against one another and initiating a round of obscene catcalls.
Carver’s spirits lifted at the thought of the van crashing and giving him an opportunity to get away. He never considered the possibility of being killed in the resulting wreck. Like most sociopaths, Schramm thought of himself as invulnerable.
As it happened, the van and its malignant cargo made it to the prison without mishap.
When the convicts’ chains were unclasped from the van, they shuffled out and were escorted into the processing center for body searches, showers and prison uniforms, before being taken to their cell assignments.
Carver Schramm felt his desperation rising as each step brought him closer to the clang of his solitary cell door.
He knew from past prison experiences he could never endure the years ahead in the jungle atmosphere among the prisoners or the constant prying eyes and bullying of the guards.
He was
determined to escape, somehow.
One of the prison staff, who was holding a tablet computer containing the prisoners’ cell assignments, directed the guards escorting the new arrivals.
Carver began to follow the others, but his guard was stopped and directed to take him down a different corridor.
Schramm supposed this must be a short-cut to the solitary confinement he was promised, so he was surprised to find himself being led out into the minimum-security courtyard.
“What’s this? A taunting glimpse of how the other guys live before being plunged into Hell?” he muttered under his breath.
He was incredulous when the guard handed him a packet of “house rules” and thrust him into what looked like a cheap motel room, already occupied by a small middle-aged man.
“Here’s your new roomie, Halverson. Show him the ropes and keep him out of trouble,” the guard instructed before shutting the solid security door with a slam.
Rather than the bars he’d expected, Schramm saw a small wire-mesh reinforced window in the door.
William Halverson, who had been sitting at a desk reading, observed his new roommate with some alarm.
Carver’s dark shoulder-length hair, framing a face and neck covered with tattoos, was an unusual sight on this side of the prison.
When Halverson stood to attempt to shake Schramm’s hand, the newcomer towered head and shoulders above him.
“William Halverson here, uh…welcome,” he said, looking up.
Carver sneered contemptuously at the man’s outthrust hand.
“Well,” William said, drawing back his hand, “I think you will find things pretty comfortable here. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to help.”
He returned to his chair and Carver threw the packet of personal items onto the nearest bed.
“That’s my bed, I’m afraid. You can have that other one. They are identical,” Halverson said.
“Then you won’t mind moving, will you?” Carver said.
His voice was soft, but the look accompanying it pierced Halverson to the marrow.
William was certain this room assignment had to be a mistake. All his previous roommates were pretty decent sorts.
He decided to fill out a new-roommate request right away, during the next recreation period.
“No, of course. Not at all. I’ll just take the other bed. Um, er, I didn’t get your name.”
“Schramm,” Carver replied, looking out the mesh-covered window and fighting down an urge to beat the smaller man to death with the metal desk chair.
He knew it must be some sort of computer snafu bringing him to this room, instead of to a concrete block hole in solitary. Sooner or later, the mistake would be discovered, and he would be moved. In the meantime, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
Feigning an uncharacteristic congeniality while attempting a friendly smile, Schramm sat on his chosen bunk and leaned toward William as he spoke.
“So, what’s the drill around here?”
The little man gulped, barely swallowing down a scream, as the oddly grimacing visage loomed near.
“The drill? Um, you mean the regular routine?”
Carver wanted to smash his fist into this stupid pipsqueak’s idiot face, but instead, forced his mouth into an even more grotesque contortion and nodded.
“That’s right. What sort of activities you got? Do you ever get out in the fresh air?”
“We will be released to the yard and recreation center in mid-afternoon, just before dinner.”
“You got a cushy set-up here. So nice, they probably don’t even need many guards, huh?”
“Oh, we have plenty of guards. The security staff here is very competent. Of course, there are security cameras covering most of the grounds and buildings.”
“Most?” Schramm asked. “Where don’t they cover?”
“A few years ago, there was a fellow who walked away from the garbage dump, when it wasn’t covered. I imagine that situation has been rectified by now, though.”
“Just walked away, huh? Did they catch the guy?”
“Oh, yes. He was moved to the super-max, after that. I don’t know why anyone would ever want to risk it. One hears such horror stories about the place…and, of course, no one’s ever escaped from in there.”
“Yeah, that’s what I hear, too. What sort of activities you got in that rec center?”
“Oh, it’s very well equipped. There’s the gymnasium with workout equipment…you’ll probably like that,” Carver glared at him and Halvorson hurried on, “and there’s the library and the TV lounge area.”
“Library, huh? You got computers? They let you go on-line?”
“Only certain sites. There have to be filters or some of the men, even here in minimum security, might take advantage and indulge their baser instincts.”
“Oh, sure. Ya gotta guard against them basic instincts. Well, guess I’ll take a rest before rec time.”
To Halvorson’s immense relief, Schramm swung his feet onto the bed and turned his face to the wall.
An hour later, the doors buzzed and swung open.
A loudspeaker directed the men to leave their rooms and go out to the courtyard.
The inmates were mustered for a head count while the rooms were being inspected, then were free to jog around the outdoor track, toss footballs or shoot hoops.
Those who preferred could use the recreation center facilities.
Carver followed William into the library where he elbowed the smaller man out of his way and grabbed a seat in front of a computer.
Entering a search on “Northern California prisons,” he was able to pull up an overhead view of Pelican Bay, including the area in which he was housed.
After getting the information he wanted, Carver stood up and left, turning the computer over to the next impatient inmate.
Newly hired prison security guard, Boyd Lenninger, leaned lethargically against a green metal dumpster. Being low man on the seniority totem pole, he was assigned to patrol the trash collection area during recreation times until a new security camera could be installed.
Bored and resentful of the tedious duty, he was taking advantage of the rare privacy to sneak an unauthorized smoke break.
He did not hear the man creeping up behind him, until it was too late.
Chapter One
Naidenne Davidson, her wild red-gold curls bouncing with every step of her long legs, jogged down the potholed side street, hurrying to get to the crosswalk before the only traffic light on this stretch of Oregon’s Highway 101 changed to red.
She knew the crosswalk light stayed green only long enough for a person to dash desperately across before it switched back for another interminable through-traffic cycle.
If she missed that light, she was going to be late, again.
Eskaletha hated it when any of the women arrived after the meeting began, and she wasn’t shy about letting everyone know it.
Naidenne was in luck! The little walking-man symbol was still glowing when she stepped between the lines of the pedestrian crossing.
She increased her pace when the red hand began to flash its warning, just as a white and black sub-compact, anticipating the green light, surged forward and struck her a glancing blow, spinning her around and sending her skidding along the pavement.
Naidenne scrambled on all fours to the sidewalk and sat on the curb gasping for breath.
When she pulled her toes up to protect them from the vehicles now rushing past, she noticed blood running down her legs, jagged holes in her capris and a painful throbbing in her knees.
She eased to her feet, hanging onto the signal pole for support and stood for a moment getting her bearings.
Dazed, Naidenne wobbled along the sidewalk toward her meeting. It was being held in a local restaurant inside the Ships Stores, an upscale shopping mall only a block away.
The mall was on the site of an old dockside processing plant recently converted in hopes of attracting tourists.
>
Once inside the mall, she made her way to the Boatworks Coffee Shop, where she stood swaying in the entrance trying to regain her composure before joining the others.
Jostled from behind, Naidenne turned to see her friend, Judy Falls, another tardy member of the group.
As usual, Judy’s lank and faded blond hair had escaped its elastic scrunchie and drooped messily over her chubby cheeks.
Naidenne was happy to see her kind-hearted friend, even though Judy’s wrinkled organic all-cotton blouse and peasant skirt were badly in need of a wash and her leather thong sandals revealed toes coated with dirt.
A throw-back to the hippy era, Judy somehow managed to maintain her voluptuously unrestrained figure on a strict vegan diet. Her politics were extreme, but her genuine love of the Lord earned her a grudging tolerance, if not outright welcome, from her husband’s conservative Presbyterian congregation.
“Excuse me! Oh, Naidenne, you look awful. What happened to you?” Judy asked. “Come on, we need to find you a chair.”
Naidenne allowed the shorter woman to lead her into the café’s banquet room.
She eased down onto a chair near the doorway.
As she’d feared, the meeting had already begun.
“Just a minute, Olivette, I don’t think we have everyone’s attention,” Eskaletha Evans arched her eyebrows as she addressed the tiny gray-haired woman standing beside her at the front of the room.
“You can resume reading the minutes when Judy and Naidenne finally get settled.”
All eyes turned toward the late arrivals.
Realizing something was the matter, many of the ladies left their seats and surrounded Naidenne and Judy, asking questions and exclaiming in dismay over Naidenne’s bloody knees and ruined clothes.
“Ladies! Please, can we have some decorum?” Eskaletha spoke over the commotion and clapped her hands.
Her commands ignored, she strode toward the back of the room, a glower forming on her handsome ebony features.
In high dudgeon, Eskaletha bore a striking resemblance to a bust of Queen Nefertiti, only without the headdress.
“What’s going on here? Can’t you girls ever take our meetings seriously?”
The group parted, allowing their president to see what was causing this uncharacteristic display of anarchy.
