Who, what, where, when, die (An Avery Shaw Mystery)

by Amanda M. Lee

  "I'm not a politician."

  Rob fixed his crazy eyes on me. "No, you're not a politician. But you represent them. You speak for them. You act like them." That was just insulting.

  Rob quietly moved over to me. It was then that I noticed that he had a knife in his hand. I desperately pushed against the floor with my feet and as I shoved myself backwards. I felt the ropes around my wrists loosen slightly. Of course, in my terror, I could have been imagining it.

  "We're in the basement of your sister's house aren't we?" I was grasping at straws. "If you kill me here they'll track it back to you." If we weren't at Kathy's house, then I was screwed.

  Rob seemed to stop and consider that for a moment. "You're right." Whew. "I can't get blood all over the place. I'm going to have to strangle you."

  What? I shoved myself back against the ropes again and felt them give even more. A little bit more and I could pull one of my hands loose. It would probably hurt like hell, but it was still better than being strangled.

  "If you strangle me, you'll leave fingerprints." I probably shouldn't keep helping him get away with my murder, I thought. "And you know Jake Farrell. He won't stop until he gets his man."

  For a second, my heart stopped when I said it. Would Jake be the one to identify my body? My heart ached at the thought.

  Rob smiled at me. "Good idea. Thanks. I've got gloves upstairs." Great.

  As soon as Rob moved up the stairs, I desperately started wriggling around and continued to loosen the ropes. I could hear Rob moving around on the floor above. I knew I only had one chance at this. I had to make it count.

  I gritted my teeth and pulled. Hard. I could feel my left hand come free -- leaving a lot of skin behind as it did. I wanted to cry out but I stopped myself from doing it. I couldn’t alert Rob to the fact that I was loose.

  I managed to climb to my feet despite the pain that was registering from my aching muscles. I wobbled and almost toppled over, but instead I grabbed the support pole I'd been tied to and regained my footing. Both of my legs were full of pins and needles. They felt alien. I started for the stairs anyway. I probably looked like I was drunk. I suddenly wished I was. When you're drunk, you're too stupid to be scared.

  Somehow, I made my way up the stairs. Luckily for me, there was a door right at the top. Just as I started to open it, I realized the burglar chain was engaged. Crap. Rob would hear it clang. I was able to stop the door mid-swing and slid the chain off. I opened the door and exited into the dark backyard.

  I managed to keep my wits about me enough to close the door quietly behind me. If Rob didn't notice the chain was off the door, I would gain a few seconds while he went back into the basement. Those few seconds could make the difference.

  I scanned to my right and left. The house on the right was dark, but I did notice that, about four houses down, there was a bonfire going and what looked to be a group of people milling about it. Problem was, each yard was cut off with a chain-link fence.

  I had two choices. I could yell out and alert not only them but Rob to the fact that I was in the backyard. Or, I could try to get in the front yard and run down the street. I decided on the latter.

  I moved to the front of the fence, looking for a gate. I couldn't find one. Crap. I started to move back towards the other side of the yard when the back door flew open and Rob stood illuminated in the doorway in a scene from every horror movie I'd ever watched. He was carrying his knife again.

  Double crap.

  I tried to yell out, but the terror had sucked my voice into oblivion. Instead, I turned back and tried to launch myself over the fence. I was halfway over when Rob reached me. I kicked out with the leg that still remained on the other side of the fence and, against all odds, I managed to make contact with his face. He grunted and swung out with the knife, which ripped into my ankle painfully. This time I did manage to cry out. I had no idea, though, if the people down at the fire had heard me.

  With a hard thud I landed on the other side of the fence, the wind momentarily knocked out of me. My ankle screamed in pain and I could feel the blood seeping from it. I didn't have a chance to sit and think about it, though. I willed myself to my feet despite the dull throb in my ankle that turned into a screaming ache when I gained my footing and moved towards the street. Adrenaline is a great equalizer. I just kept thinking that if I could just make it to the street then I would be safe.

  I staggered forward, urging myself not to take the time to look back to see where Rob was. Just focus on what's in front of you, I told myself. I didn't listen. I turned back and was horrified to realize that Rob was not only over the fence, he was closing in on me.

  My ankle was screaming at me to stop. So I began to run. I was only a foot from the road when another dark figure came out of the darkness and I ran headlong into him. Whoever it was managed to grab me before I fell backward.

  "Are you alright?"

  I'd never been so happy to see a stranger in my entire life. "No," I gasped. "He's trying to kill me."

  Under the light, I finally got a chance to see my savior. He was about 6-feet tall, with a baldhead, huge beer gut and tattoos everywhere. I was pretty sure he was some sort of biker given the leather vest he was wearing.

  "He's not going to hurt you, honey."

  It was then that I realized, he wasn't alone. He'd brought five of his closest friends with him -- and one of them was carrying a bike chain.

  Rob must have noticed the new participants -- and registered their absolute girth -- because he'd decided that killing me was nowhere near as important as saving himself. He started to run in the opposite direction. He didn't get very far.

  Five bikers descended on him -- and proceeded to beat the crap out of him -- while he screamed like a little girl.

  I couldn't muster a lot of sympathy for him.

  Twenty-Four

  It seemed the biker gang lived by a code. Women were not to be touched but men were open season. By the time the cops had arrived, I was sure that Rob wished he'd just stabbed me in the basement.

  The paramedics who'd checked me over and stitched me up on-scene declared I was lucky that the injury was so minor. Yeah, that's what I felt, lucky, twice in one week.

  I wasn't surprised when, about twenty minutes later, Jake appeared at the scene. He was making his way through the crowd with a purpose. A purpose that was clearly me. When he caught sight of me, he blew out a sigh of relief as he raced over.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine." I was not going to cry, not matter how badly I wanted to.

  Jake read the emotion behind my eyes and silently wrapped his arms around me. He hid me from prying eyes as I began to sob uncontrollably. He looked uncomfortable with my show of emotion, but to his credit, he didn't say anything.

  After a few minutes, I regained control and pushed away from him.

  "So what happens to Rob now?"

  "Rob is going away for a long time," Jake said soothingly. "I don't think he'll be throwing water on anyone any time soon."

  Throwing water? What about terrorizing with a knife?

  "Are you going to be okay for a few minutes?" he asked. "I want to go talk to some of the officers."

  I waved him off. The close proximity was too much for me. I was relishing a few minutes alone to collect myself. So, of course, that's when Eliot arrived. He must live his life with that police scanner on.

  He walked up to Jake and they spoke for a few minutes, although I couldn't make out what they were saying to each other. Ultimately, Jake gestured over to me and Eliot made his way across the yard, to where I was sitting alone.

  "Hey kid. So, what did you do tonight?"

  I couldn't help but laugh at Eliot's lightweight banter. It was just what I needed. He was kind of like the Han Solo to Jake's more responsible Luke Skywalker.

  "Nothing much to speak of. Just a normal night for me."

  "That's what I'm afraid of," Eliot admitted ruefully. He tousled my hair affectionately. "Well, at
least this chapter in the Avery Shaw disaster book is finished. How long until the sequel?"

  Disaster?

  Hmph.

  

  A couple days later, I was pretty much back to my regular self. My ankle was still sore, but it could hold the majority of my body weight. I wasn't ready to take on rogue Sith agents on my Wii yet, but I was getting there.

  I hadn't been back to work, but Marvin had called to tell me that once the story had broke, hundreds of people had call in to offer their support -- to Kathy. In fact, a local developer had stepped in to offer her a new house free and clear. Another small business owner had given her a job.

  Despite everything, I was happy for Kathy. It wasn't her fault her brother was a nut-job and her husband had been driven to the brink of his own sanity. Hopefully, things would start looking up for her from this point on.

  In addition, one of the other reporters at the paper had followed up on my Clara Black tip about the missing money and there was a huge political scandal brewing. One someone else got to cover -- and get the credit for.

  During my forced home seclusion, I also hadn't heard from Jake or Eliot. I was torn on the issue. Part of me wondered why they couldn't even be bothered to send flowers, or a Lego Star Wars set. The other was just thankful I'd have the time to regain my strength before I had to deal with either of them. I was pretty sure I'd need my full arsenal to deal with that whole situation.

  That was a fight for another day.

  Lando had stopped by, though. He brought a gift he thought I'd love -- and it had nothing to do with Star Wars. Instead, it was the much sought after Silent Hill game -- a whole two weeks before it was released.

  Life is good.

  So, for the time being, I was perfectly happy to camp out on my couch with my collection of horror movies -- the Friday the 13th collection was currently in -- a new video game and my stuffed Yoda as the only male figure I needed in my personal space.

  Author’s Note

  I want to thank everyone who took the time to read my debut novel. Like any author, I look back on this book and am filled with warm memories. I think I learned a lot from writing it, and hopefully I will get better as time goes on.

  If you liked the book, please take a few minutes and leave a review. An independent author does it all on their own, and the reviews are helpful. I understand that my characters aren’t for everyone, though. These are not bright and shiny people.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  Sneak Peek of If It Bleeds, it Leads

  If you like Avery Shaw, check out more of her adventures in the follow up, If it Bleeds, it Leads. An excerpt can be found on the following pages.

  Church camp is my version of hell on Earth.

  Not literal fire and brimstone, mind you, but pretty much the most uncomfortable situation you can imagine.

  In case you weren't already aware, I was one of those kids you'd inevitably want to smack across the face within a few minutes of meeting me.

  I was mouthy, opinionated and bossy. Oh, and I had a tendency to lie when it suited my purpose, too.

  While that didn't garner me a lot of friends as a kid, I was less likely to be kidnapped by pedophile perverts -- so it was a glass half full situation.

  When I was fourteen, in an effort to get me to "see the light," and frankly to get me to stop smoking "the pot" (that's what my mother called it, anyway) my parents shipped me off to a weeklong church camp in the sticks.

  The camp was supposed to be a way for me to make friends and learn discipline through Bible classes, swimming and tetherball. Yeah, I never understood the function of a ball on a string either. For the record, I didn't do either that summer -- make friends or learn discipline, that is. Big surprise, huh?

  On the first night at church camp -- which was out in the middle of nowhere, mind you -- all of the camp leaders gathered everyone on the baseball field and promptly informed them that they had to burn their rock ‘n’ roll paraphernalia in big metal garbage cans because it was "the devil's music."

  I had no intention of doing that, so I gently declined. Of course, when I say gently it might not be as gentle as, say, you would decline -- but the fact that I only used one expletive is the definition of gentle for me.

  The first way they tried to change my mind was through peer pressure. That didn't work, of course. I'm not someone who cares what other people think about me. In fact, I actually thrive off the dislike of others sometimes.

  The second thing they tried to do was reason with me. That didn't work either. The one word no one would ever use to describe me was reasonable.

  As a last result, they locked me in the chapel overnight to think about things.

  You want to know what I thought about? It wasn't about burning my Motley Crue denim jacket, that's for sure. Fire was involved in my ultimate plan, though; I was just trying to figure out how to ignite the chapel without killing myself. If I took a few of the camp leaders out with the fire -- hey, it was justifiable homicide. They were ruining my buzz.

  The next morning, the portly pastor and his paisley shorts -- who insisted we call him Pastor Lenny (blech) -- entered the church to gauge my "new and improved" attitude. It wasn't pretty.

  Despite my use of, shall we say colorful metaphors, I was let out to have breakfast and attend classes, but when nightfall came I was given the same option of burning my rock paraphernalia or sleeping in the church. I opted for the church. If these freaks thought they were going to break me down, they had another thing coming. I was not going to drink the Kool-Aid.

  The next day the same thing happened all over again. At this point, I was demanding to call my parents (yes, I wanted my mommy and daddy at that point) and was being told that wasn't an option. While my parents wanted me to learn some discipline, I seriously doubted this is what they signed up for.

  I started to hatch my escape plan. Just call me Batman.

  On the third day, there was a decided "buzz" in the air (and not the good kind) where the camp leaders were concerned. I watched them for cues as to what was going to happen, but they weren't letting on.

  All of a sudden, the camp’s short little yellow bus (no, the irony isn't lost on me) came barreling through the volleyball pit and the bus driver was nearly in a panic.

  "Get in!"

  No one did.

  "Get in," he commanded again. I couldn’t help but notice the sweat stain spreading down his back. Gross. I didn’t want to go anywhere near him.

  "Why?" I really didn't want to have anything else to do with these people. I was hoping everyone else would get in and leave me behind at this point. You know, the bitchy inherit the camp sort of thing?

  Pastor Lenny had arrived in the middle of the melee when I wasn't watching and I was surprised to see he was almost smiling -- despite the undercurrent of panic that was currently making its way through the crowd.

  "What is it?" he asked the bus driver, with all the appeal of a breathless teenager in drama class.

  "It was just on the news," the bus driver answered. "Christianity has been outlawed. They're coming for us."

  Now, I can admit that, at fourteen, I wasn't what you would consider massively intelligent. Heck, at twenty-seven you still couldn't say I was massively intelligent, but I realized something wasn't right about this situation right from the beginning.

  "Who outlawed it?"

  Everyone ignored me.

  "We have to hide," the pastor said, making eye contact with a few
of the camp counselors.

  It was then that I realized that we were in the midst of a very elaborate skit.

  "Who outlawed it?" I wasn't going to be deterred this time.

  "Everyone on the bus!"

  Apparently, I was going to be deterred.

  Everyone was herded on the bus -- despite my very loud proclamations to the contrary.

  "Just leave me here. They won't want me; I can guarantee it."

  Pastor Lenny glared at me. I got the distinct impression that if crucifixion was still an option I would be looking at an extremely uncomfortable future. Then again, anything was better than spending time with these nuts.

  "I can buy you time," I promised, unleashing my best "I'm a good girl" smile. "You should take advantage of my sacrifice. Just go, leave me."

  The pastor grabbed my arm and roughly dragged me onto the bus, forcing me into the front seat next to him -- unfortunately with no way out. I felt like Sally Field in that movie where they took her child prisoner in Iraq or Iran, or wherever it was.

  Over the fifteen-minute ride to wherever we were going -- I was personally thinking hell at that point -- I stewed about the situation I found myself in. I knew that something funny was going on (not funny ha-ha, but funny weird) -- but in my limited political experience at the time I had no idea why someone would lie about Christianity being outlawed.

  When the bus finally stopped, it was at a ramshackle barn in the middle of nowhere. I had no idea why anyone would erect a barn without a house anywhere in sight -- but here we were.

  The church counselors led everyone inside and forced them up into the loft above the barn. Everyone was admonished to pray quietly for our survival and salvation. I decided that was a waste of time and instead plotted how to get down the loft ladder and out of the barn without anyone noticing. Or at least how to light up the joint I had hidden in my pocket discreetly.