by Vella Day
Sidearms and Silk
Nash Mystery Series
Book 1
Vella Day
Copyright © 2017 Vella Day
Sidearms and Silk
Copyright © 2017 by Vella Day
Kindle Edition
www.velladay.com
[email protected]
Cover Art by Gabrielle Evans
Edited by Rebecca Cartee and Carol Adcock-Bezzo
Published in the United States of America
E-book ISBN: 978-1-941835-42-5
Print book ISBN: 978-1-941835-43-2
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief questions embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Private investigator Dax Mitchell had more pressing things to do than solve some mystery in small-town Kerry, West Virginia—that is until some sweet old lady begs him to locate her missing friend. Not even a former homicide detective could turn her down.
Deputy Jessie Nash has enough on her hands, and the last thing she needs is an irresistible investigator interfering with her job. After her boss goes missing, Jessie reluctantly turns to Dax for help. Now, they must work together to solve the case. The closer they work, the more intense their desire for one another becomes. As they uncover truths neither wants to face, will it extinguish the passion that burns so deeply between them or make it brighter?
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Book
Epigraph
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
Other Books by the Author
About the Author
“The irrationality of a thing is not an argument against its existence, rather, a condition of it.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
Chapter One
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* * *
Kerry, West Virginia
Nightly rounds sucked.
Seven days a week, Deputy Jessie Nash drove to the edge of town to check out some half-built cement plant in Kerry, West Virginia. The good old mayor promised the company that the sheriff’s department—read her—would do everything to ensure that nothing happened to their precious building. Short of blowing up the place, there wasn’t much anyone could do to cement. If the town hadn’t been so desperate for the employment opportunity, she might have balked at the assignment.
As Jessie drove in to make sure no vagrants were squatting there, the cruiser’s headlights shone on the front of the building. The top half was encased in a white fog, and the bottom half looked like a skull with black, looming eyes where the doorways would eventually go.
Needing to get this chore finished as quickly as possible, Jessie stepped out of her cruiser and stood in the headlight’s path to study her surroundings, cold dampness settling in her nose and throat. As she looked for something amiss, tendrils of fog wrapped around her legs. The sight was unsettling and fascinating at the same time.
She glanced toward the full moon glowing through the fog-laden sky. Even she had to admit, the silent orb looked a bit menacing. Maybe Nana was right—the moon might be the cause of all the town’s recent problems. Jesse huffed out a laugh. Right, and the mines would reopen tomorrow and give Kerry back its life.
To be fair, three strange events had happened in the last few days to make even her suspect some presence was hovering over the town. The most disturbing of which was the disappearance of Sadie Palmer, Jessie’s grandmother’s best friend. While Nana was convinced there had been foul play, Jessie believed Sadie was on a trip and had merely forgotten to tell someone. It wasn’t as if that hadn’t happened a few times before.
Nonetheless, her grandmother was upset, which was why Jessie had begged her boss, Sheriff Clinton DuPree, to cough up some funds to hire additional help to find the woman. Unfortunately, he said there was no money to look for Flaky Sadie, as he called her. That meant tomorrow, come hell or high water, along with all her other chores, Jessie was going to talk to the neighbors to see if they had any idea where her grandmother’s friend might have gone.
A little voice in her head told her to stop playing around and get on with the inspection or she’d never make it home. With her flashlight in hand, she worked her way around the construction tape and headed toward the building where two large cranes peeked their gangly heads through the mist like giant dinosaurs.
The smell of cement dust was heavy in the air, and as she coughed to clear her throat, a cold breeze trickled under her shirt and made her shiver. She should have worn her Pea coat tonight, but she hadn’t wanted to believe winter might be upon them.
Jessie blew out a breath to test for frost but nothing crystalized, implying she had time before the snow arrived.
A night owl hooted in the distance a second before the fog brightened in front of her. She stilled, her pulse racing. Someone else was there, and she doused her light.
Deep inside the blackness, more flashes flickered, and then beams of light swung around in random patterns like some mystical ritual. What the hell? She didn’t believe in ghosts or aliens, but just maybe…
Shuffling her feet along the ground to avoid running into anything, she moved closer to the building.
Ouch! Shit!
Despite her caution, she banged her knee into something hard. Feeling around with her hand, she found she’d run into stacks of cement blocks. Luck just wasn’t with her tonight. Her leg throbbed, but Jessie wouldn’t let some namby-pamby injury stop her from doing her job.
Laughter burst from inside the plant and her shoulders relaxed. From the high, thin tone, it was kids—kids who shouldn’t be out here on a school night. Cripes, they shouldn’t be here on any night.
Turning on her light, she rubbed her knee and limped forward, careful to avoid the construction equipment this time. It didn’t take long to find the trespassers. Fourteen-year-olds Billy Jenkins, Phil Hartner, and Chuck Federer were spraying graffiti on the newly erected walls.
“Hey, you guys. What the heck are you doing here?”
The cans of spray paint turned silent and their lights stopped thrashing about.
“Ah… ah… we were just having some
fun,” Chuck said, a smile wavering on his lips.
“Well, have some fun someplace else. This is private property.” She swept her light around the enclosure looking for signs of alcohol or drugs but found nothing illegal.
“You gonna tell our folks?” Good, Phil sounded scared, as well he should.
“Someone’s gotta pay for this mess,” she said in her I’m-the-deputy-and-you’re-just-a-kid tone. As soon as Jessie flashed her light on their faces, they held up their hands and squinted. “Bunch of juveniles. Go home before I drag you off to jail.”
She held in a laugh as they raced out of the plant, looking like they’d been caught naked by their moms.
“Fuck.” That would be Phil. Guess he must have tripped over the cement blocks. Served him right coming out here.
* * *
Dax Mitchell rolled down his truck window and sucked in the crisp, clean air. He swore he’d never step foot in West Virginia again, but here he was. Despite the sun shafting through the turning leaves, it didn’t make the state any more inviting.
He searched for signs of the town, but when he found none, he glanced down at the map, figuring he had to be close. Margaret Nash mentioned Kerry was small and isolated, but she’d also said he couldn’t miss the place.
Convinced he’d find it if he went a bit farther, he continued along the narrow road. When he crested the ridge, he spotted the village nestled in the valley below. He didn’t like how the town sat between the rolling hills. One road in meant only one road out—confining, constricting, claustrophobic.
His gut churned, and Dax pulled off the road to get his bearings, gravel crunching under his tires as he came to a stop. Bearings, hell, he needed to get a grip. He never should have agreed to take a job located in a small mining town—one just like where he’d grown up. It didn’t matter the Kerry mine had been closed for almost a year. He’d bet ten bucks there weren’t streetlights bordering every road like there were in Baltimore.
It had been dumb to come here, but Margaret Nash had sounded so much like his grandmother, he’d agreed to help. Besides, it couldn’t be too hard to find a seventy-eight-year-old woman in a town with a population of six hundred. He’d earn his money and leave—maybe even before dark.
Getting himself under control, Dax slipped back onto the deserted two-lane road. A mile later, he spotted a sign boasting that the town of Kerry was the home of the hedgehog. Christ, if that was the best the town had to offer, maybe he should turn around right now. If only he hadn’t promised Mrs. Nash he’d find her friend, he just might have.
He crossed a bridge that spanned a deep gorge with the river sparkling below and was struck once more by the view. It might be pretty, but looks could be deceiving.
As he approached the town, his heart sank. The main drag had about half its storefronts boarded up. The good news was that there were a few signs announcing the arrival of some stores, implying the town might survive. He’d spotted a construction sign a ways back indicating a new cement plant. Perhaps this was fueling the growth. His hometown hadn’t had a savior like the new plant. If it had, his mom wouldn’t have had to work two jobs to support him and his brother.
Stop remembering. Think of something good.
Kerry did have its advantages. According to Margaret Nash, everyone was aware that Sadie Palmer, the town seamstress, had disappeared three days ago, which might make it easier to question people. Of course, getting them to answer those questions to a stranger was another matter.
Quite a few trucks, most looking like construction vehicles, huddled in front of The Sugar Shack, a building squished between the bank and a used bookstore. Given the pink neon cup that was blinking erratically above the door, he guessed it was the town’s diner.
His stomach could use some grub, but he’d have to wait before satisfying his hunger. He first needed to find the location of his new employer. The address Margaret Nash had given him was Nash Road, Kerry, WV. No street number, no directions, no landmarks. Then again, if you had a street named after you, the spread must be impressive.
Unfortunately, his cell’s GPS wasn’t helping, as he hadn’t been able to get cell service out here. He doubted this town had printed maps, and there certainly wouldn’t be an information center either. His best bet would be to ask at the sheriff’s office.
Dax spotted a separate building at the end of the street and the large, swinging sign on the front porch indicated it was where he needed to go. The all-brick building was about thirty feet wide by fifty feet long, and except for the worn wooden decking leading up to the entrance, it was in moderately good repair. A hitching post, that looked as old as a John Wayne movie, sat off to the side.
He almost laughed. All the place needed was a watering trough, and he could have believed he’d entered some kind of time warp. Dax parked in front, and as he stepped out of his truck, a spasm shot up his left leg. He winced, proving he should have taken the time to stretch on the way down. He rubbed his thigh, but it didn’t do any good. Damn injury from the exploding land mine would never heal. Even taking the three wooden steps one at a time didn’t prevent the ache from racing straight to his hip.
The large, black door handle and brass sign showed the place had been a prize many years ago, and he bet with a little polish, the building could be a city treasure again. Pots of sweet smelling wild flowers bordered the door, and while it reminded him of his grandmother’s house, he didn’t need to be spending time admiring what he’d soon never lay eyes on again.
He stepped inside to voices raised in a heated discussion. Dax debated waiting outside, but a man who looked to be in his mid-fifties motioned him in. A white-haired lady stood with her back to Dax, her hands on her wide hips, seemingly oblivious he was even there.
The inside was a little stuffy and a bit dark, but otherwise, it was a nice sized office with two desks and a row of armed, wooden chairs near the entrance. At the end of the chairs were three five-drawer file cabinets, and off to the right sat two empty holding cells.
Dax shifted to the side to peer around the elderly woman and spotted a metal plate on the man’s desk that read, Sheriff DuPree. The man leaned back in his chair and kept his gaze on the older woman while Dax stayed put, waiting patiently for his turn to speak with the busy man.
“How many times do I have to tell you, there ain’t no such thing as aliens,” DuPree said in a patronizing tone to the woman.
“Well, I seen the lights with my own eyes, Clinton. Me, Mary Alice, and Eleanor will tell you the lights came out of nowhere, then disappeared, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“You saw them next to the mine, right?”
“Yes.”
He scribbled something on his note pad. “And Sadie was with you?”
“Yes.”
Sadie, the seamstress? Dax straightened.
The sheriff scrubbed a hand over his chin. “So how did she disappear? You see the aliens take her, Margaret?”
Aliens? He hoped this wasn’t Margaret Nash, but odds were she was.
“No. She didn’t disappear that night, but since she was real curious about why they landed in Kerry, she wanted to look for some evidence they might have left behind.”
“Did she find any?”
“Yes. I’m guessing that’s why she went back the next night to check them out. It’s when they must have taken her.”
For a split second, Dax hoped there really were aliens; it would make his short stay more interesting.
The sheriff sat up, leaned forward on his elbows, and expelled a deep breath. “Okay. Lemme see this evidence.” He wiggled his fingers, motioning for the found prize.
Margaret opened a large, black cloth bag and pulled out a pair of NVG’s, night vision goggles.
The sheriff’s expectant face fell, and Dax thought he caught a flash of worry, but it disappeared too quickly for him to be sure.
“And how is this proof of aliens?” the sheriff asked.
“For Pete’s sake, Clinton, they’
re glasses. The aliens wear them to see in the dark,” she said with such authority Dax almost believed her. “You need to get out more.”
Dax forced his lips not to turn up.
“Oh, okay, Margaret,” the sheriff said, taking the goggles from her. “I’m beginning to worry about you. Your memory’s not what it used to be.”
“I’m as sharp as I’ve ever been.”
“A few fries short of a happy meal,” the sheriff mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?” she asked, leaning closer.
Boy, did she ever remind him of his high school algebra teacher—strict and always pissed off.
“Nothing.” The sheriff ran a hand over his mouth again, looking as if he needed to compose himself. “Sharp, you say? Don’t you remember how you had the town in a tizzy over the crop circles? You just knew aliens had made them. It turned out, the Parker boys had stolen old man Haslett’s tractor in the middle of the night and cut down his field.”
She flapped her arms, as if she was trying to come up with a good excuse, but DuPree held up a hand. “And how about the ghosts you claimed were in your house? You had me stand watch for three nights waitin’ for them to show up, and what were they? Rats. That’s right, rats in your attic making scratchin’ noises.”
“I know. That was a mistake, but this time I’m telling you we saw… alien lights.” Her voice trailed off. No doubt even she was beginning to disbelieve her own story.
“And the vampires?” The sheriff tapped a pen on his large wooden desk.
Margaret clicked close her purse and tilted her head high. “Fine. I knew you wouldn’t believe me, so that’s why I’ve hired a private investigator.”
DuPree’s brows pinched together.
That was Dax’s cue, so he stepped forward and held out his hand to the officer. “That would be me, Dax Mitchell.”
Margaret turned around, slapped a hand over her chest, and took a step backward, her eyes wide. “Oh my, you’re the private investigator?”
Sure he had a bum leg, but from his stance, she couldn’t tell. He was only thirty-four, a good age to do detective work. “Yes, ma’am.”
