Dead of Spring: An Alexa Williams Novel

by Sherry Knowlton

  Twilight came quickly on the mountain. The light had faded by the time Alexa and Scout arrived at the cabin. “I’m going to the hot tub before dinner,” Alexa announced to the dog. She grabbed a beach towel from a hook in the laundry room and stripped off her clothes. “Come on.” Alexa padded across the deck to the new hot tub that sat on the far side of the cabin. Scout settled in on a cushion right next to the steps leading into the tub.

  Alexa leaned back in the steaming water and sighed in delight. When she purchased the cabin from her parents this past winter, she had decided to install this hot tub. A contractor had extended the deck across the front of the entire cabin and wrapped it around the bedroom wing of the cabin. The hot tub sat on the elevated deck, screened by the house on one side and open to the forest on the other three. Since the cabin sat in the midst of acres of uninhabited forest, Alexa had few concerns about privacy. She loved to relax and listen to the silence of the forest. Alexa smiled at the sound of geese above her in the darkening sky. The flock was flying high and heading north, a sure sign of spring. Ten more minutes of soaking melted away Alexa’s stress. Climbing out of the water, Alexa wrapped a towel around her naked torso and floated into the house.

  When the driveway alert rang a half hour later, Scout dashed to the door, tail thumping against a chair. He bounced with delight when John walked through the front door into the open dining room-kitchen.

  “Hey. You made good time.” Alexa turned back to check the chicken in the oven. “Dinner will be ready in maybe ten minutes.”

  John dumped his jacket on a chair and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “I had paperwork at the end of my shift, so I came straight from the Carlisle station. Can I help?”

  “Nope. Got it under control. What do you want on your salad?” Alexa picked up plates and silverware and headed toward the table.

  “Ranch.” John slowed her progress with a quick kiss. “I’m going upstairs to change.”

  “What’s this flavor?” John pointed to the chicken breast.

  “Just rosemary and a dash of olive oil.” Alexa plucked a sprig of rosemary from her plate and waved it.

  “It’s good. How’d your interview go? You talked to Marshall again, right?” John asked between bites of food.

  Alexa put down her fork. “It blew me away. He made me go through everything again. This time, he focused on those guys we heard arguing. Then, he had me listen to a short recording. I recognized the voice as one of the men in that quarrel. Turns out it was Senator Martinelli, the dead guy.”

  “I heard they’ve moved past suicide to a new theory.” John shot her a look as he reached for his beer.

  “That’s what blew me away. Detective Marshall thinks it was murder. He didn’t give me details, of course. I’m supposed to keep it to myself. But, I guess that doesn’t apply to you, Trooper Taylor―you already have an inside source.” Alexa shook her head.

  “That suicide note sounded bogus from the start. The stilted wording. It was on his computer, not handwritten. Odd, especially for a man his age. Terry says they finally figured out that it wasn’t a suicide note at all. Those lines about coming to terms with his life and not being able to go on any longer―they were part of a work-related letter that he’d sent earlier that day. It had nothing to do with death. The senator must have had it up on his computer screen, and the killer took advantage of those few sentences. Probably erased the rest of the letter. I doubt he realized that it had already been printed and mailed.

  “And the autopsy suggested that the senator may have been knocked unconscious before he was thrown over the rail. Of course, the damage to his head was extensive so the findings weren’t conclusive.”

  Alexa shook her head. “That’s right. He didn’t cry out as he fell. I don’t really know how to process this. Knowing it’s murder doesn’t change what Keisha and I saw. But it’s horrible that someone would throw that man off a balcony. What a way to die.” She banged her fork on the plate. “I said right from the beginning it seemed impossible for such an old, overweight man to get over the railing.”

  John had moved into full detective mode. “It’s an equally difficult challenge for one person―or even two―to toss a grown man, especially an overweight one, over a three foot railing with enough force to clear the mezzanine. And you never heard a scream or a scuffle?”

  “No. The argument stopped. It got quiet. I thought the group had gone back to the Senate floor or something. But then the senator came flying through the air.”

  “I can see why they’re focusing on the guys who were arguing with the victim. It’s possible he stayed out there alone and someone else threw him off the balcony. But my money’s on one or more of the men involved in the altercation.”

  “How disappointing.” Alexa switched off the television with the remote. “Brian Stewart told me it was a great movie. That I’d love it.”

  John wrinkled his nose. “Depressing. Not my idea of a happy ending.”

  “Why are all the recent movies so dark? Seems like they’re about zombies, or like this one, set in some bleak dystopian future. It feels like everyone’s practicing for the end of the world.” Alexa used her foot to scratch Scout, who had stirred at the sound of their voices.

  “I love zombie movies.” With a ghastly moan, John scrunched his face, pretending to be a zombie.

  “Of course you do. You’re always talking about that TV series you watch.” Alexa slipped from John’s zombie grip and stood. “Scout. Time to go out.”

  When she returned to the living room, John’s mood had changed. He kissed Alexa’s forehead. “I’ll keep you safe from zombies and other dark creatures, sugarcakes.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry I made such a big deal about coming home with me at Easter. I know you’re close to your family and want to spend the day with them. And I don’t see my parents often enough. So I’ll just head up there on my own.”

  Alexa touched John’s cheek. “It’s no big deal. You just caught me off-guard.”

  “That’s not completely true.” His voice remained mild.

  “You’re right. Sometimes I feel like you’re pushing me toward a commitment I’m not ready to make. Visiting your parents. Talking about living together.” Alexa sighed. “I’ve been burned too many times in the past few years. I don’t want to rush into anything.”

  “I know. I know.” John grabbed her hands. “Sometimes I just get carried away. Like I did that first time I kissed you.”

  “The birch beer made you all wild and crazy.” Alexa giggled.

  “But you like me?” John kissed her cheek.

  “Enough.” Alexa smiled.

  “And you like to spend time with me?” He kissed her other cheek.

  “Enough.” Alexa’s smile broadened.

  “And the sex is good?” He kissed her mouth.

  “Good enough.” Alexa melted into the kiss, then took John’s hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom.

  Standing beside the bed, John folded Alexa in his arms and pressed his lips into hers. Alexa’s body tingled with anticipation as he peeled the turtleneck over her head. He ran his fingers through her messy hair and then gently cupped her head back until her neck lay open to his kisses.

  When Alexa unfastened her bra, John trailed a series of kisses down her chest. He rested from his journey when his lips found her erect nipple. A jolt of pleasure ran through Alexa’s body as he transferred his attention to her other nipple.

  With a sudden urgency, John stepped back. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his jeans and boxers in a single swift motion. Alexa took the opportunity to shed the rest of her clothes before John pushed her back onto the bed. She caught a brief glimpse of his erect manhood before it plunged between her welcoming legs. Soon, Alexa was lost in a sea of warmth and sensation.

  Afterward, John leaned over to trace a finger across Alexa’s lips. “We are good together.”

  She snuggled closer, wrapping her body around his nakedness and breathed, “Good enough.”


  He laughed. “I’m going to stay here tonight, OK?”

  “Sure. I need to get to work early tomorrow. Get me up when your alarm rings.” Drowsy, Alexa rolled over and pulled up the blanket, then bolted upright. “Scout. He’s still outside,” she exclaimed. Sliding out of bed, she threw on her robe and ran downstairs.

  On the stairs, she slowed to consider her playful words to John. Was their relationship truly good enough? She couldn’t help but compare John to Reese Michaels, who had left her for a wildlife research job in Kenya. Although she and Reese had decided to call it quits, he still lingered in her heart. She could never love John the way she had loved Reese.

  When Alexa and Scout returned, John was still awake. He turned as she climbed back under the covers and put a hand on her arm. “On this Martinelli case. You need to be very careful until the cops catch his killer. Suicide’s one thing, but now we know you witnessed a murder.”

  Chapter Ten

  March 29 and March 30, 1979

  . . . there is no cause for alarm, nor any reason to disrupt your daily routine, nor any reason to feel that public health has been affected by the events on Three Mile Island.

  ―Governor Richard Thornburgh

  Will slammed the switch on the Big Ben alarm clock and glanced at Randi. Fast asleep, his wife clutched a pillow to her chest. His heart melted; this woman, who looked like an angel, would soon be the mother of his child. Will slid out of bed, trying not to wake her, and padded to the bathroom. When he returned to the bedroom, Randi opened her eyes.

  “Good morning, sweetheart.” Will walked over and perched on the bed beside her. “How did you sleep?”

  “Lousy.” Randi groaned and patted her stomach. “This little one was restless. Her kicks kept waking me up. Then I would waddle to the bathroom. I don’t think I fell asleep until dawn.”

  “Go back to sleep for a few hours. I’ll make you breakfast when you get up.” Will kissed her forehead.

  “Yuck. Your hair is wet.”

  “I just took a shower.”

  “You can’t stay home to cook me breakfast. Don’t you have to work?” Randi voiced a feeble protest.

  “I have plenty of sick leave. I’ll just call in and tell them I have a headache or something,” Will demurred.

  “You’d do that for me? You never call in sick, even when you really don’t feel good.”

  “Go to sleep.” Will smiled. “I’ll be downstairs.”

  Will made coffee and toast then called in to work. Harold, his supervisor, always arrived earlier than the other staff.

  “Take some aspirin and rest,” Harold directed.

  “I will. I’ll probably be in the office later.” Will felt guilty lying to his boss.

  “Only if you’re feeling better. Hell, I thought you were going to tell me you left town. This TMI thing has a lot of people scared and fleeing the city. In the past fifteen minutes, I’ve had four different people call to say they’re taking their families out of the area.”

  Will’s throat turned dry. “Did something new happen?”

  “No. They’re still saying everything is under control out there. But, a lot of people who live near TMI decided not to take any chances. Can’t say I blame them. If I looked out my kitchen window at those cooling towers, I might visit my grandma in Scranton for a weekend too.” Harold guffawed into the phone.

  “I guess so.” Will still didn’t see why everyone was overreacting to this TMI problem. The plant people said everything was fine. “I should see you later this morning. Thanks.” Will untangled the cord and hung the avocado green receiver back on the wall.

  He peered out the window. Nothing but fog. At loose ends, he wandered into the living room and switched on the television to Good Morning America with the volume turned low. Lounging on the tattered plaid couch, he watched two men wrestling in a commercial for Irish Spring soap. It felt weird to be home on a weekday morning.

  Will sat forward when the show returned with a segment on Three Mile Island. The host introduced Daniel Ford, from the Union of Concerned Scientists, and Walter Creitz, the President of Met-Ed, the company that owned the Three Mile Island nuclear facility. The men seemed like old adversaries who had argued nuclear power safety many times. The scientist complained about five nuclear power plants that had been shut down for safety problems. He criticized the government’s oversight of nuclear power and accused regulators of promoting industry interests over reactor safety. Creitz argued that seventy-two reactors in operation without any injury to the public testified to the safety of nuclear power.

  Will listened to the debate, but his main interest was the TMI situation. He nodded with appreciation when Creitz said the plant soon “would be closed down without injury to anyone.”

  He was still watching the TV show when Randi came downstairs, looking rested. “Don’t you look beautiful, little mama?” Will swept her into his arms. “What about eggs and toast for breakfast? Do we have bacon?”

  “No bacon.” Randi shook her head. “But, I’m dying for a big glass of milk. I’ll get that while you make the eggs.”

  “I already had toast, but I could go for some eggs. They’re not expecting me at work until late this morning.” Will moved into action in the kitchen.

  Over the meal, Will said, “I hope that fretting about this TMI thing wasn’t what kept you awake last night. They were just talking about it on TV, and the president of Met-Ed said everything’s fine. One of these anti-nuke scientists tried to make a big deal out of what’s going on, but he had no proof there’s a problem at TMI.”

  “I did worry about TMI some when I couldn’t sleep. But it was more the little one kicking up a storm.” Randi smiled and nibbled at a piece of toast. “I’m glad to hear there’s nothing to worry about. But I’m sure Mom’s going to call again today and try to get us to leave Harrisburg.”

  “Just tell her everything’s fine here. I’m sure they’ll have more on the news later if you want to listen to the radio.”

  When he arrived at work, Will stopped in Harold’s tiny office. “Hi. I just wanted you to know I’m here.”

  “How’s the headache?”

  “Gone. I feel fine.” Will looked over his shoulder toward the half-empty office. “Where is everyone?”

  Harold frowned. “Even more people called in and said they were leaving town, at least through the weekend. Governor Thornburgh held a press conference a little while ago. He said there’s no cause for alarm; no reason to disrupt your daily routine.” The supervisor rapped on the desk as if remembering something. “That’s right. This part is important to you. He said public heath hasn’t been affected by TMI, and that part also applied to pregnant women. Your wife’s expecting soon, isn’t she?”

  Will smiled. “In a few weeks. She’ll be glad to hear that the governor says everything’s fine.”

  Will cursed the fog on his way to work the next morning. The windshield wipers on the Thing were no match for the heavy moisture as he drove along the Susquehanna River. On the walk across the Market Street Bridge from the parking lot, Will’s dark hair got so wet that little rivulets of water streamed down his face. He coughed as he breathed in the damp air, tinged with the dank smell of the river below.

  “Armstrong,” a voice shouted behind him.

  Will slowed and turned. “Hey, Brad. I bet you’re glad they don’t have you out checking radiation today.”

  “Yes. This weather’s miserable. But my boss told me I could be out in the field every day until this TMI thing is totally put to bed. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission is in charge of the situation with the plant, but the governor wants us to monitor the environment.”

  “Things are under control, right? That’s what both Met-Ed and the governor said yesterday.” Will glanced down through the metal grid of the bridge at the river flowing below. For a second, he wobbled, thrown off balance by the rush of the dark water.

  Brad leaned closer to Will and spoke in hushed tones. “That’s what they’re sayin
g. But, back in Nam, we would have called this a real clusterfuck. Met-Ed isn’t giving us the full story on the status of the reactor. Prying information out of them is like pulling teeth. The NRC is in charge, but there are some communication gaps between the folks here in the field and the people in Washington. And, on the State side, we’re having a hell of a time trying to sift through everything to figure out what’s really going on.”

  “Seriously? Are you saying there’s still a problem at the plant?” Will asked in alarm.

  “Not necessarily. As of yesterday, things seemed to be under control. But we’re not sure we’ve got all the facts. I’ll let you know if I hear anything more.”

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate it,” Will mumbled as Brad dashed through the front doors. Shaken by Brad’s words, Will teetered on the edge of panic when he walked into the office and looked at all the unoccupied desks. Andy had accused him of being too trusting of The Man. What if that were true? What if officials were covering up some real problem at TMI?

  Will had shrugged off any disquiet and was hard at work at eleven fifteen when the frantic blare of sirens pierced the air. After a moment of disbelief, the few people in the office jumped up in unison and ran to the windows.

  “What’s going on? Aren’t those the air raid sirens?” Harold shouted as he burst from his office.

  Out on the street below, people were scattering like ants from a broken mound. Some were running into buildings. Others fled down the sidewalk.

  One of the young secretaries wailed, “TMI blew up. Oh my God. We’re all going to die.” She sank into a chair, sobbing.

  “Calm down, everyone. We don’t know what’s going on. It could be nothing.” Harold’s shaking voice belied his attempt at comfort.

  Will followed Harold back into his office. The supervisor turned on a transistor radio and spun the dial through several channels. All were still playing music.