Benny James Mystery Series Box Set

by Jason Deas

  She yanked curtains and blinds violently from the windows slowly working herself into a rage. The screws holding the hardware for the window treatments came out as well, pulling chunks of the wall with them, which fell to the floor.

  Angel dialed Benny’s cell.

  “Hello,” he answered.

  “You missing something, yet?”

  “If you wanted me to take you for a ride you just had to ask.”

  Angel walked into the kitchen and opened the first cabinet she came to. Glasses filled the shelves along with a few expensive flutes. She picked one up and smashed it against the wall.

  “I think you dropped something.”

  “Come on down to the marina, I have something I want you to see.”

  Benny motioned to Vernon and held his hand over the receiver.

  “Angel’s on the phone,” he whispered. “Drive me to the marina.” Taking his hand from the phone he said, “I’m on my way.”

  “I’m putting you on speaker,” Angel said. She flung the rest of the cabinets open and started emptying the shelves. She swiped her arm across a line of coffee cups and pulled stacks of plates to the floor.

  “Stop!” Benny yelled into the phone. A flash of rare anger hit him and he pounded his fist against the dashboard as Vernon drove.

  “Do you remember when you told me that living on this boat was your slice of heaven?” Angel opened the fridge and tossed salad dressing bottles and other condiments onto the floor.

  “I do remember saying that,” Benny said squeezing his fist tight, trying to slow his breathing and calm down.

  “Mine was going to be the Oglethorpe house rebuilt.”

  “Is that worth killing for?”

  “Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to grow up in that house?”

  “No, I don’t, but I can imagine.”

  “No you can’t,” she said, throwing a potted plant onto the couch.

  Across the lake, Big E paced in front of his office window. He knew burning the boats was a knee-jerk reaction, and in his panic he’d made a bad decision. He turned the television to an all-night news channel to see if the media was still covering the fire. They weren’t covering the fire, but they were live, covering the frenzy at the Tilley police station. On the television screen he saw a lanky reporter bent over interviewing a frightened woman. Behind the reporter, in the background, he spotted Ned.

  Without thinking what he would do when he reached him, Big E ran for his boat. He wanted his hands around Ned’s neck. The quickest way to the Tilley police station was to drive straight across the lake.

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Paul. He hoped Paul was at his girlfriend’s house. She lived near the Sleepy Cove Marina.

  “Hello,” Paul answered.

  “You asleep?”

  “Yeah. You told me to act normal. I had a few drinks at my girl’s house and fell asleep.”

  “Perfect. Pick me up at the Sleepy Cove Marina in five minutes. I found Ned.”

  “OK, boss.”

  Big E untied his fastest boat and cranked the engine. It purred with a deep power. Turned around and pointed in the correct direction Big E unleashed the power as he pushed the throttle forward as far as it would go. The bow of the boat sped forward, parting the glassy calm of the dark water.

  “Are you at the marina yet?” Angel asked.

  “Almost,” Benny answered. “Will I be able to see you from there?”

  “You better believe it,” Angel said.

  She began pouring liquid onto the floor and Benny could hear the splashing and gurgling of the container.

  “What’s that noise?” Benny asked.

  “Oh, just five gallons of gasoline.”

  Benny didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to but accepted the fact that the houseboat he loved was a goner.

  “I have three more of these containers. Lucky for me somebody had filled four of them and left them on the side of the office.”

  “You’re going to kill yourself,” Benny said. “I hope you didn’t turn on the propane grill.”

  Angel spied the grill through the shattered glass door and quickly wheeled it into the boat. She pulled it into Benny’s bedroom, turned on the gas, and shut the door. Back in the main room she emptied the remaining gas containers. She poured gas on the furniture, the tables, the crumpled pile of curtains, and anything else that crossed her path.

  With a little less than half a container of gas remaining, she drew a trail to the outside deck. The plan was to light a cigarette, toss it onto the gas trail, and dive. Once in the water she planned to swim as deep and far away from the boat as she could with one breath.

  “I’m here,” Benny said into his phone. “I don’t see you.”

  “Give it a minute. I just turned off all the lights. I’m hanging up now. Enjoy the show.”

  At the back of the boat, Angel put a cigarette in her mouth. She didn’t smoke so the tobacco tasted foreign on her lips. She flicked the lighter, held it to the end of the cigarette and inhaled. The end of the cigarette lit up a fiery red. Angel blew the smoke out as her ears perked. She heard something.

  Big E saw the lights of the Sleepy Cove Marina in the distance. The boat hummed at top speed and glided across the water almost as if it was flying. He put his hand on the throttle to slow down, but it was too late when he saw the strange cherry red light and the dark object in his way.

  The speed boat collided with the center of the houseboat. The noise was deafening. The sight was spectacular. A scream of crumpled metal was followed instantly by a brilliant explosion of reds dancing with orange in a hellish twist that spun into the night sky. Fiery pieces shot across the water in every direction. Debris landed with the sound of waterfalls. Fire reflected off the waves made from the crash. The water shimmered and swayed. Almost as soon as it started the chaos was over. Slowly the sound died to nothing except the soothing roar of fire.

  On the end of the dock, Benny and Vernon stood motionless watching it all. After a moment, Vernon looked at Benny who was biting his lip.

  “You gonna to be OK?” Vernon asked.

  Benny breathed out heavily. “Yeah.” He put his hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “My favorite ball cap was in there,” he said.

  “I’ll get you a new one.”

  “Thanks.”

  Both men continued to stare out at the fire.

  “Now what do you suppose just happened?” Vernon asked.

  “I have a feeling we may have just wrapped up two cases without doing a thing.”

  Chapter 30

  Two weeks later, bits and pieces of the bodies had been identified and the paperwork was almost complete. It hadn’t taken long once the sun came up to figure out what had happened. The two funerals were over, and life in Tilley, Georgia returned to normal as the last of the national media vans drove out of town.

  Benny and Rachael sat on the front porch of the house across the street from Red. The ‘For Sale’ sign in the yard now had a ‘Sold’ sticker across it.

  Vernon arrived first for the housewarming party.

  “I came straight from work,” he said, handing Benny and Rachael a gift. “Connie and the kids will be along in a little while. Go ahead, open it,” he said, pointing to the gift.

  Rachael unwrapped the present and pulled out an Atlanta Falcon’s ball cap.

  “How did you know?” she teased. Rachael handed the hat to Benny who put it on his head.

  “They say home is where you hang your hat and you didn’t have one.”

  “It’s perfect,” Benny said. “Very thoughtful.”

  “Connie will probably bring something boring like a candle for you guys,” Vernon said, winking at Rachael.

  “Go on in and get a beer,” Benny said. “Ned’s already inside setting up a keg of his famous home brew. You won’t hardly recognize him; his face isn’t blue anymore.”

  Chief Neighbors arrived next with two dates.

  “I couldn’t decide who t
o bring so I asked them both,” he said, laughing. He sent the girls inside to get him a drink. Whispering, although nobody was there to hear he said, “I told Vernon this morning that I’m not running for sheriff again and I gave him my blessing.”

  Rachael popped up out of her chair, wrapped her arms around him and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek.

  “I would have done that years ago if I knew that’s all it took to get a kiss from you.” Chief Neighbors stumbled starry eyed into the house.

  Uncle Karl showed up on a riding lawn mower.

  “I brought you a present,” he said, handing Benny a large black trash bag. “Open it.”

  Benny ripped the sides of the plastic bag open and pulled out the cowboy hat he had worn a couple times in Uncle Karl’s studio.

  “Oh, wow. I’ve gone from zero to two hats in five minutes.”

  “I know you love it—you almost didn’t get it.”

  “I appreciate it, Uncle Karl. This really means a lot to me.”

  “Nina said to tell you she wouldn’t be coming. She said she’s going to be sad for a long time.”

  “Of course she is. I understand.”

  “She said to tell you thanks for the money.”

  Rachael looked at Benny. He shrugged his shoulders.

  “The boat was insured. It was the least I could do.”

  As Uncle Karl disappeared inside, Red appeared.

  “This is the bestest day of Red whole life, Bendy.”

  “It’s a happy day.”

  “Red bring you some of he yummy tomato. You can go shopping in Red garden anytime you need.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  “Will you be Red neighbor forever?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Benny said, getting up and putting his arm around Red.

  “Then Bendy and Red can stay here forever?”

  “It sounds like a perfect plan to me. Let’s stay right here forever.”

  undone Preview (First two chapters)

  Chapter 1

  Burt’s heels clicked across the wooden museum floor. He stopped and looked around for a second as the sound filled the room. The High Museum of Art seemed empty.

  “It sure is quiet first thing in the morning around here,” a voice said behind him.

  Burt turned. “How’d you sneak up behind me?”

  “Soft shoes. And, I’ve been working here for over twenty years. I know where all the creaky boards are.”

  “Is it always this quiet?”

  The man looked at his watch and said, “You’ve got about thirty minutes until the school groups start showing up, and you’ll be wondering what happened to all the quiet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And don’t worry about your clicking feet. You’re not going to disturb the paintings.” With that said, the guard smiled and walked away, not making a sound.

  Knowing what he was there for, Burt walked straight to the Howard Finster exhibit. He’d always had a thing for self-taught artists and Finster’s visions of the world beyond prickled his brain and filled him with wonder. Folk art in general intrigued him, but Finster had lived his art, creating forty-eight thousand works of art in a place he named Paradise Garden.

  Burt stared into Finster’s portrait of George Washington. The first president of the United States was surrounded by ethereal buildings, angelic figures flying across the sky, and spiritual sayings Finster had scrawled onto the board he used as a canvas. The blue eyes of the president stared back.

  Burt knew he must’ve been lost in the Finster paintings when he heard a gaggle of school children sweep in behind him. Burt snapped his head and tried to focus back on the here and now as he headed for the museum exit.

  Having just retired at fifty-two, Burt thought about making his own Paradise Garden. He’d taught high school art for thirty years. What the hell was he going to do for the next thirty or so years? His wife wasn’t ever going to stop working. She was absorbed in her architectural career. Alice was so entrenched that she had her own apartment in downtown Atlanta where she stayed during the work week. And their only son was mid-twenties and supposedly going to school in Colorado. Burt was pretty sure he was mostly snowboarding and getting high. The thought didn’t bother him. His twenties had been filled with experimentation and fun as well.

  Walking down the sidewalk and making his way to his car, Burt spotted a man watching people from the reflection of a store window. Something about it twitched his inner-teacher and made him take a second look. After working with high school age kids for thirty years he had a way of reading people—and this guy was up to no good.

  Burt pretended not to notice the man as his heart started beating faster than usual. As he walked past him he looked at the ground. He spied a bus stop just ahead and decided to act as if he was waiting for a ride. He sat on the bench and continued to observe. Burt’s heart continued to pound and a droplet of sweat found its way into his eye. Something was amiss. He was certain of it. He wiped the sting from his eye.

  As he watched the man watching others, Burt noticed the man’s eyebrows rise at one point. Something had captured his interest. And sure enough, a moment later, the man began to stroll down the sidewalk toward him as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Burt knew he did. When he passed, Burt tried to count to ten, but made it to eight before he stood and started to follow. At one point, the man looked over his shoulder and Burt studied the ground and his own feet.

  Trying to figure out who the sketchy character was following, he scanned the people walking ahead. Two bald-headed dudes—nope. An older lady with no purse—probably not. And a mom pushing a stroller, peering at the phone in one hand, with a purse and another bag over her shoulder—duh.

  Burt knew the man would spring into action at any moment and crept up, closing the distance between them, waiting for it. At this point, he could hear his heart in his ears. His feet, fingers, and his breath pounded to the same beat.

  The man turned his cap backwards and Burt sensed he was about to make his break. He was right. As the man pushed off his back foot to gain speed, so did Burt. A few seconds later, the man snatched the mom’s purse and sprinted toward a side street, bag in hand. Burt was on his heels.

  As the chase rounded the corner, the mom was on the phone with the cops. The man with the bag looked over his shoulder to find a man hot on his trail grinning from ear to ear.

  Retirement was going to be a blast.

  At fifty-two, Burt had taken care of himself. He hadn’t done anything extra special. He ate whole foods and stayed active. There was no magic to staying young and healthy. He’d always found it to be fairly simple. People still thought he was in his early forties, and he secretly loved it. He grew his hair a little too long just because he still had it and could, and he stayed clean shaven, which perpetuated his youthful look. If that didn’t do it, the big blue eyes did.

  As the sketchy character with the mom’s purse rounded the next corner, Burt was so close he could smell his 80’s cologne. Burt took a deep breath and spread his arms wide and dove toward him. He flew through the air like a super hero. Gravity took over as his arms wrapped around the man’s neck, and they both fell to the pavement as Burt came crashing down on top of him. At six feet two and two hundred pounds, Burt’s weight and the force of the tackle made the man under him woozy.

  Burt hadn’t thought this far ahead. As the man tried to get up, Burt’s instincts took over as he cocked his fist back and landed a brutal punch into the thief’s cheek. The man moved again and Burt pulled his arm back ready to strike again. This time the guy dropped his head to the pavement and surrendered.

  Before he had to decide what to do with the creep, two cop cars and a lady on a bike appeared out of nowhere.

  They handcuffed the guy and tossed him in the back of a car.

  “Nice job,” the head officer said to Burt. “You really saved the day here.”

  Burt smiled.

  “As soon as I saw him I knew he was up to no good.”
Burt twitched his shoulders. “I just retired from teaching. I’m pretty good at reading people.”

  “You’ve definitely got good instincts,” the officer said. “You should put your instincts about people to good use.”

  The officer walked off and another officer came to take his statement.

  Long after Burt was home away from the city and back in North Georgia on the couch he kept hearing what the first officer had told him, “You should put your instincts about people to good use.”

  Burt ignored it and got a beer.

  It was Friday night and Alice was going to be working the weekend in Atlanta on a project. The usual. But cool.

  Burt had complete control of alone.

  He didn’t usually drink more than two but today had been an unusual day. Burt got a beer, and then another. And another. And then a bunch more.

  Burt was in his own bed when he woke up. That was a good sign. There was a guitar on the bed. That was a bad sign. Somebody had written words on a piece of paper in a purple notebook that he couldn’t quite decipher. It was his hand writing. He was sure about that, but he couldn’t understand a word he’d written.

  He was naked.

  That was normal.

  He stood and tried to figure out what time it might be. By the intensity and direction of the rays he figured it to be close to noon. It was twelve on the dot.

  Burt went straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth and gargle mouthwash. With a fresh mouth, he stumbled down the stairs to the coffee machine. He had the foresight even in his drunkenness to set the coffee. Such a powerful bean.

  His slothful cat Ernie cocked an eye at him from the couch. He’d recently emerged from hiding. People had made Sesame Street jokes with Burt’s name for as long as he could remember. They loved to ask, “Where’s Ernie?” So, he’d bought a cat and named him Ernie. Now, Burt could just tell people that asked he was at home, probably sleeping.