HOLY SMOKE (An Andi Comstock Supernatural Mystery, Book 1)

by Ann Simas

  I owe my gratitude to some folks who helped me out along the way:

  Dr. C.M. Bowers, author of Forensic Dental Evidence: An Investigator's Handbook, who explained to me why I couldn’t use lead poisoning if my victim was cremated. Thanks, for your patience and the why-not, Mike!

  Father John Costanzo, who helped me understand some matters pertaining to saints and Catholic rites. Thank you, Father John!

  Woodeene Koenig-Bricker, who, through her book, 365 Saints, provided me with pertinent information about saints that allowed me to cultivate the germ of an idea and incorpo­rate it into Holy Smoke. Thanks, Woodeene!

  As always, a big thank you to my editor, Nancy Jankow, and to my husband Frank, who is always my first reader and keeps me on the straight and narrow for all things mechani­cal and gun-related.

  Given the knowledge of those named above, I accept full responsibility for any technical errors or misinterpretation of the facts.

  Coming soon, HEAVEN SENT,

  another exciting new book by Ann Simas.

  Read on for a preview.

  HEAVEN SENT

  ~ CHAPTER 1 ~

  Things weren’t going well for Sophie Doyle. Over the previous two weeks, her car had been stolen, her washer and dryer tanked simultaneously, and she’d been given notice that the lease on her apartment would not be renewed when it expired the following month. Renters out, condo owners in. Sucks.

  Little things had been going wrong, too. Like the power outage overnight because of the wind storm, which meant her alarm didn’t go off at 6:30, so she overslept. Since the insurance company was still arguing with her about her stolen car, she had to resort to taking the bus to work. In her neighborhood, it would trundle by on the hour and the half-hour. Oversleeping caused her to miss the 7:30. That made her late to work at Adz, so she missed a short but important conference call with a client. She would have called in, but the battery was dead on her iPhone and the power was out, and shit, she couldn’t even toast some bread for breakfast let alone plug in her charger! Her client was sure to be pissed and what if he fired the agency? Her boss would be beyond pissed.

  If there’d been any old ladies to knock over on the way off the bus, Sophie probably would have done it. 8:25. She’d never been late for work. Ever. Regardless of that sterling record, Syd, the supervising partner, and Jon, the managing partner, both had a way of ripping the hide off anyone who screwed up. Sophie was already anticipating some pain.

  She raced across the plaza fronting the building that housed Adz and pushed through the revolving door with so much steam, she nearly didn’t allow herself enough time to squeeze out as it kept moving. She called out a greeting to Robbie O’Connor, the security guard, and high-tailed it to the elevator. It opened just as she was about to push the UP button. “Thank you!” she murmured with a brief glance upward.

  Sophie didn’t remember the twelve-floor elevator ride being so sluggish. Perhaps on another day, it wouldn’t have been, but at this particular moment in time, somewhere between the sixth and seventh floors, the lift stuttered to a halt. The lights went out briefly, then the emergency lighting flickered on.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Alone in the elevator, Sophie’s scream of frustration didn’t bother or deafen anyone. She punched the alarm button, but nothing happened, which may have been a godsend, she decided belatedly. A nonstop squeal might well have driven her completely bonkers. With her smartphone still useless, she opened the call box and lifted the red phone from its hook. Red. Like it was the hot­line to the freaking Kremlin or something.

  Robbie answered immediately.

  “I’m stuck in elevator two,” Sophie explained, “between floors six and seven.”

  “Strange,” Robbie said. “Nothing is showing up on the panel. Did you hit the alarm?”

  “I did, but it’s not working.”

  “Okay, I’ll get a call in to the elevator company right away. You okay in there?”

  “So far, so good. The emergency lighting came on at least. Robbie, could you also call my office and let them know I’m stuck in here? I don’t have any juice in my phone.”

  “Sure thing. Hang tight, kid. Help is on the way.”

  Sophie wished his words felt more reassuring, but the way things had been going….

  The thought fled when the elevator lurched. She would have preferred it lurch upward, but instead it dropped, throwing her off balance. She grabbed for the handrail, missed, and landed on her ass.

  The only thing that kept her calm during the rapid descent was a recent, and somehow prophetic memo from Building Services, addressing eleva­tor problems: Should an elevator stop between floors while you are in it, be assured that you are safe. The building ele­vators are equipped with both electrical and mechanical brakes, which will operate under any conditions, including power failure. The memo had gone on to say that in an emergency—which she deemed this to be, trapped as she was in an elevator she couldn’t control—the elevator would descend automatically to the ground floor.

  Sophie decided to remain with her butt planted firmly on the floor, but she reached up and curled her fingers around the handrail just be­cause it gave her a modicum of security.

  When the doors swished open, a group of gawkers (liter­ally, they had their mouths hanging open) stared at her in si­lence. Sophie explained the situation as she got to a standing position on shaky legs.

  Robbie pushed his way through the small crowd. “You okay, Sophie?”

  “Sure. Great. Never better. That was quite a ride.” Wob­bling on unsteady ankles, she was grateful for small favors. Because her car had been stolen, and she’d resorted to walking to-and-from the bus stop, she’d taken to wearing flats. In three-inch heels, she’d have been back on her ass in front of all these people.

  Robbie scratched his head. “I never even got a chance to call the elevator company.”

  “They should still come out and take a look.” She shook her head, half dazed. “The memo we got said the elevators would come back down to the main level in an emergency and that’s exactly what this one did.”

  He peered into the elevator even as the others waiting to board it backed away. He stepped inside and inserted a key into the panel that effectively shut down the car. “Sorry, folks, but until the elevator people show up, this ride is closed.”

  A few people grumbled, even though it was obvious they had no plans to step foot inside. The adjoining elevator doors slid open. As soon as the passengers exited, the waiting group squeezed in. The doors eased closed and the elevator shot upward.

  “I think I’ll take the stairs,” Sophie said.

  Robbie gaped. “Up twelve floors?”

  Sophie spared a glance at the recalcitrant lift. “I don’t feel like getting on another elevator right now.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Didn’t do nothin’.”

  “Were you able to reach my office?”

  “Oh, yeah, I did do that, I guess.”

  By the fifth floor landing, Sophie was glad she hadn’t grabbed her laptop that morning. On the eighth floor landing, she sank down on the bottom step, panting, thinking maybe she should join a gym. From the eleventh floor landing, she practically crawled the last flight of stairs. Once she reached the door marked 12, she collapsed against it struggling for breath.

  She eased the door open and peeked out to see if the hall was clear. Once assured that it was, she slid through the opening and tiptoed to the door marked LADIES, hoping no one was inside. Her hopes were dashed, of course, but what choice did she have but to enter? She was soaked with sweat, her heart rate was through the roof, and her feet hurt so bad she was thinking of having them amputated.

  Joanie Turner, the receptionist, stared at her in shock. “What happened to you?”

  “Got stuck in the elevator. When it finally went back down, I decided to walk up instead.”

  “Wow! You look like hell.”

  “Gee, thanks,”
Sophie said drolly. Then she got a look at herself in the mirror. “Ohmygod!” Her face was beet red. Her hair, confined in a loose knot earlier, was half up, half down, and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in a week. Her mascara, smudged beneath each eye, ran in rivulets down her sweaty cheeks. Her shirt was sweat-damp, like she’d run up twelve flights of stairs. Oh, wait. She hadn’t run up any­thing.

  “You better fix yourself before you go see Jonathan.”

  Transfixed by her Halloween appearance, Sophie said, “I don’t remember having an appointment with Jon this morn­ing.” When Joanie’s response didn’t come immediately, So­phie’s gaze slid right.

  Joanie’s reflection was wonky. Her eyes shifted, her mouth opened and closed like the proverbial fish out of wa­ter, and she bounced up and down like some crazed ballerina who couldn’t get lift off.

  “What gives?” Sophie asked.

  “Umm, I don’t know. Jonathan just said he wanted to see you as soon as you came in.” She glanced at her watch. “Geez, I better get back to my desk.”

  Sophie should have been suspicious right then, but Jona­than Heywood was a stern boss, which is why he served as managing partner of Adz, and Sydney Ferris, a woman who actually had a heart, had taken the role of supervising part­ner. Employees didn’t like stern, they liked flexibility, secu­rity, and kindness.

  Sophie had been gifted with a talent for fresh and creative advertising design that had paired well with having Syd for a boss. Syd reeled in the clients and Sophie kept them happy with her originality. Another three years on the job and she hoped to make partner. At least that’s what Syd and Jon had promised her.

  She stood in front of the hot-air hand dryer until her shirt dried, hoping the dark circles under her armpits wouldn’t be too noticeable. After that, she dampened a paper towel with cold water and attempted to repair the mascara damage. She examined herself in the mirror and frowned. A human rac­coon stared back.

  Ten minutes later, her hair finger-combed and redone in a less haphazard knot, she deemed herself as presentable as she was going to get without going home to start over. She tossed her purse into her tiny, windowless office and marched on down to Jon’s massive corner suite. The one with windows on two walls.

  “Good morning, Irene.”

  “’Morning,” Jon’s assistant, mumbled back. She indi­cated with a wave of her hand to go on in, but she kept her eyes downcast.

  Sophie’s insides clenched with that something’s-not-right feeling. “Good morning, Jon.”

  Jonathan Heywood looked up from his work and nodded at her, his expression serious, as always. “Please close the door.”

  Sophie did as instructed and promptly went into semi-panic mode.

  Closed door. She’d underestimated how pissed he’d be about her tardiness. “I’m sorry about this morning, Jon. We had a power outage and my alarm didn’t go off.”

  He waved her into silence and indicated with a quick nod for her to take a chair. “Half the office was late this morning. A tree fell in the windstorm overnight and took out a substa­tion.”

  “Oh. Was Mr. Arvakian angry because I missed the con­ference call?”

  “He’s always angry, so who could tell? He fired us, by the way.”

  Shock drained the remaining flush from Sophie’s face. Though the thought had crossed her mind, she hadn’t seri­ously believed it would happen. “Fired us?”

  “Yes, but that’s not why I wanted to see you. I’ve been hoping for some time that jackass would seek representation elsewhere. He’s so demanding, our resources were being stretched beyond limits with no resulting benefit to the com­pany.”

  Sophie disagreed, but no one argued with Jon. “So, why did you want to see me, then?”

  Jonathan closed the file he was working on and set it aside. He folded his hands together on the desktop. “I’m afraid we have to let you go, Sophie.”

  She’d already experienced so many levels of shock that morning, Sophie wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “I’m sorry?”

  “I said we are terminating your employment.”

  “You’re firing me?”

  “No, we’re laying you off. These are difficult economic times and we’ve lost a lot of clients over the past year. Too many others have cut back on our services.”

  “Not because of me!” Sophie protested. Her clients were all still at the level they’d contracted at initially, and many were higher.

  “No, of course not, but we have to cut personnel costs, and in doing so, we look at those who have the highest sala­ries, the most perks.”

  “And that’s me?” Sophie knew for a fact that two others had a higher salary and better perks and three others were at her same level.

  “Yes.”

  “Who else is getting…laid off?”

  “For now, just you.”

  “But….” Flummoxed, she found herself at a loss for words.

  Jon picked up an envelope. “We understand that this will create a hardship for you, but we hope you will agree to the severance package we have compiled.”

  Compiled, like he was putting together a list for her! Why couldn’t the dipstick talk like normal people? “Severance package?”

  “Yes. We’re giving you three month’s salary, three month’s health insurance, pay for all your unused vacation time, and letters of reference from both Syd and me, as well as from the other two senior ad execs.”

  Sophie remained silent, trying to process it all.

  “Of course, you also have two weeks’ pay coming. We realize you may be a while without another job, so payroll has not deducted anything but the mandatories. You will be responsible for the tax burden when you file next spring.”

  Tax burden. The bastard was laying her off—no, he was firing her!—and he had the nerve to talk to her about a tax burden! Who did he think he was, the IRS or something?

  He slid the envelope across the desk, along with a one-page document and a pen. “Please sign this separation agreement.”

  Sophie read through the three paragraphs, stupefied. What happened if she didn’t sign? She looked up and met Jon’s blank stare. There wouldn’t be any negotiations and Jon didn’t suffer pleading. Only a masochist would try. She picked up the pen and signed the document. “I’d like a copy of this.”

  “Of course.”

  She opened the envelope and reviewed the documents in­side. They included a check for an amount that would help pad her savings account, but wouldn’t be enough to live on for six months, if she couldn’t find a new job. Everyone knew those were in short supply these days. On the up side, if she quit eating, she’d not only save money but probably drop that extra ten pounds she’d been carrying around since college.

  “We appreciate your years of service, Sophie. Please clear out your office immediately. Joanie left you a couple of boxes for transporting your personal belongings.”

  Transporting? Now he was comparing her to some kind of pack animal? She felt like giving him a good swift kick in the gonads.

  Besides, one box would be more than sufficient. Sophie didn’t believe in mixing work with personal life, so she had few personal items in her office. She had won some prestig­ious awards though. “Can I take my ad—”

  “No,” he cut her off, “anything earned on the job stays here.”

  All the better to impress your future new clients, she thought bitterly.

  “Security will escort you out” —he glanced at his Rolex— “in twenty minutes. Please be in the reception area by ten a.m.”

  Sophie stood, wanting to say something, not knowing what that should be. Jon was treating her as if she’d stolen mega millions from the company instead of bringing mega millions into the company. Even for him, this all seemed so…callous, so heartless. So fucking wrong.

  “Leave the door open.”

  She slammed it open against the wall so hard, it bounced shut.

  All the way down to her office, she mentally tossed around parting salvos in her
formerly agile and creative brain. No pearls materialized. Not that she was going to go back and confront him about his dirty deed, anyway.

  Her PC was shut down. She turned it on, but when she tried to log on so she could send farewell emails to her cli­ents, she discovered her password no longer worked. By the time she’d gathered her few personal possessions, one box remained empty and the other was only half full. Sophie scanned the walls, indecisive about removing the award cer­tificates, especially since Jon had said not to. In the end, she pulled down the frames and extracted the certificates. She photocopied them, then placed the color copies into the frames.

  The shelf where her Gold Clio Award had sat was bare, but that was because she’d taken it to a woodcrafter to have a special case built for it. If they searched her when she left, which they surely planned to do if security had been called to escort her out, they wouldn’t find it in her possession. By the time anyone realized it was missing, maybe they’d as­sume someone who hadn’t been laid off had lifted it. She’d heard how the vultures flocked to a vacated office and pil­fered the desk. Hers would be barren by noon.

  Her Design & Art Direction Black Pencil was more problematic. Considered by some to be the most prestigious award in the advertising industry, it had been a really big deal for the firm when she’d won. Sophie had been over the moon about it herself, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to properly display it, so the Pencil remained in her bottom drawer, in its box. Maybe….

  She glanced at the wall clock, then remembered it was packed in with her meager belongings. Since she didn’t wear a wristwatch, she pulled it out and noted she had sixty se­conds to get her butt down to the reception area. She quickly unpacked the box, pulled the Pencil award out of its nesting place and resituated it in the bottom of her box. She piled her other stuff back on top, added her purse, and put the lid on.

  Seven years in a box. Not a lot to show for her first and only advertising job, but fortunately, if she ever needed a reminder of her accomplishments in years to come, she had the portfolio and scrapbook she kept at home.