. . . “A prayer for the poor parents.” Not the victims themselves.
. . . “Fortune-tellers are imposters.”
. . . “Honor thy father and mother” . . .
. . . “Keep holy the sabbath day.”
Over and over she heard his words, his voice. He had seemed so sincere, so genuine in his faith and concern. Why hadn’t she been able to see him the way Dean had? She looked down at her hand as she mimicked the wave she had seen less than thirty-six hours earlier.
. . . Keep holy the sabbath day is the third commandment . . . that’s why he waves with three fingers up!
Elise stumbled across the sand as she realized the enormity of what was happening. She wiped futilely at the torrent of tears that streamed down her face.
The sound of muted footsteps behind her brought her sobs to a dead stop. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was behind her, ready to punish her for her sin. Just as he had punished all the rest. She turned slowly, her feet dragging in the sand, until she could see into his angry face.
“You sinner! You must be punished!”
“Please, don’t,” she screamed. She saw the wooden object in his hands as he raised his arms into the air. She recognized the stained and battered wood. It had been hanging in his office all along.
“You are just like all of them . . .”
“Who?” she asked, taking several steps backward, hoping to gain some distance between them.
“Susie, Cindy, Ben, and Steve. You all go to church on Sunday morning and act like you are such good followers . . .”
“I am, they were . . .”
“Liar!” he screamed. “Thirty-six hours after you worshipped in His house, you were all asking that imposter to tell you things that only God can know!”
“I didn’t know it was a sin,” she pleaded.
“You should have known! And now you must pay, just as they did!” He pulled his arms back, stared at her with open hatred.
“No!” She turned and ran toward the boardwalk lights that seemed so far away.
She tripped on the soft, dry sand and fell to her knees. There was no use, he had her right where he wanted her.
“Please, please, I didn’t know . . .”
“I liked you, Elise.” Steve Brown relaxed his grip on the cross and looked at her with pity. “You seemed to have such high morals and convictions, but I was wrong . . .”
“I do have high morals. I honestly didn’t know that going to a fortune-teller was a violation of the commandments, you have to believe me,” she pleaded, her words ending in gut-wrenching sobs.
“You should have known,” he said angrily as his grip tightened once more on the piece of wood in his hands.
She saw his arms raise in the air, saw them come back toward her head. Elise closed her eyes and said a quick prayer.
The sound of a gunshot ripped through the quiet night like a clap of thunder. Elise heard a low, guttural moan that wasn’t from her own mouth. She opened her eyes and saw Mayor Brown falling facedown in her direction, the weapon he was holding still grasped tightly in his hands.
With a sudden burst of energy, Elise rolled to the side just as the man’s body hit the sand where she had been.
Bewildered, she looked in the direction the gunshot had come from. The light from the moon shone down like a spotlight on Mitch Burns.
She sank down into the sand and began crying uncontrollably. In an instant the detective was at her side, cradling her in his arms.
“It’s okay, Elise. Everything is okay now,” he whispered soothingly into her ear. She could hear the worry in his voice, feel the relief in his arms.
“How did you know?” she asked him when she was finally able to speak.
“My aunt told me about the first commandment. I called Father Leahy for confirmation.” His lips brushed briefly across her forehead, lingered on her temple. “I’m just glad I got here in time.”
“So am I.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Wednesday, July 7
10:30 a.m.
She was tired but ready. She wanted to reclaim her life and move on. And returning to work was the first step.
She inhaled deeply, savoring the salty sea air and the bright July sun that left little room for clouds of doubt. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“Oh, my God, Elise . . . it is so good to see you,” Debbie said as she came from behind her desk to give Elise a quick hug. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I really am.” The receptionist’s warm embrace was just the added reassurance she needed at that moment. It really was going to be okay.
“Hey, everybody, Elise is back,” Debbie yelled.
“Deb, you don’t have to—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Elise saw Sam jogging toward her.
“Are you okay?” The worry in his face was touching. She reached out and squeezed her boss’s hand.
“I’m okay, Sam.”
“Detective Burns stopped by first thing yesterday morning and told us what happened.” She could feel him looking her over from head to toe, could sense the questions he wanted to ask but didn’t. “He said you needed to take the day off and relax, doctor’s orders.”
“Mitch insisted I go to the hospital after everything happened, even though I was perfectly fine physically. The doctors said I had been through quite an emotional ordeal and they felt I should stay home and get some rest.”
“Absolutely,” Sam said. He put an arm around her shoulder and guided her toward his office.
“They were right, because I spent almost all of yesterday sleeping.” She sat down in the chair across from her boss’s desk. “I’ve never been so tired in my life.”
“I just can’t believe that Mayor Brown could be so off keel.” It was funny, but even after everything she knew, she still felt some of the disbelief she saw in Sam’s eyes.
“I told you he was nuts.”
Elise looked up and saw Dean standing in the doorway of Sam’s office. Nodding in grudging acknowledgment, she took a second to compose her words.
“That you did. But as any good journalist knows, the photo only tells half the story. You need the written part to really get the truth.” She wanted desperately to get back to some semblance of normalcy, and trading barbs with Dean was a good place to start.
“That ‘written part,’ as you call it, could have gotten you killed,” Dean said, an uncharacteristic softness evident in his voice.
“You sound as if you care, Dean.”
“I do. But if you tell anyone around here that I said that, I will deny it like there’s no tomorrow.”
“Deal.”
“I guess I’m in on the secret too,” Sam said.
“What secret?” Dean asked.
“Hey, Elise, you got a delivery up here,” Debbie shouted from the front of the building.
“Somebody’s got to get that girl an intercom so we can keep our hearing a little bit longer.” Dean smacked the side of his head playfully and stuck a finger in his ear.
Pushing Dean to the side of the doorway so she could get by, Debbie strode into Sam’s office with a small but tasteful flower arrangement. The bright, cheerful flowers brought an instant smile to Elise’s lips.
“Those are for me?” she asked as Debbie placed the flowers carefully in her lap.
“Yup.”
She didn’t need the envelope to tell her who they were from.
“Don’t keep us in suspense here,” Dean said, covering his mouth over a dramatic yawn.
“Let’s give her some privacy, guys.” Sam scooted Dean and Debbie out of the office and then looked back over his shoulder at her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks, Sam,” she said softly. Once she was finally alone, she pulled the envelope off the flower arrangement and opened the seal.
I wanted you to know that I was thinking about you today and hoping that you are okay. See you tonight at 6:30.
The card was si
gned Mitch.
It looked as if Madame Mariah was right about the budding relationship with a man she had recently met. She reached across Sam’s desk for the telephone and dialed the now familiar number.
“Ocean Point Police Department.”
“May I speak with Detective Burns, please?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Elise Jenkins.”
Less than two seconds later she heard the sound of his voice. A voice she would remember for the rest of her life.
“You got them?”
“I got them. And they’re beautiful.”
“I was hoping that they would help brighten your day.”
“They did. And so did you.”
“Good, I’m glad. How are you feeling this morning? Did you get some good rest?”
She twirled the phone cord around her index finger and closed her eyes. The concern in the detective’s voice was unmistakable, touching.
“I feel better, thanks. I did wake up once during the night, feeling rather ashamed of myself.”
“Ashamed? Why?”
“Ashamed of passing judgment on Daniel Johnson and thinking he was a murderer.”
“Elise, we didn’t know who was doing this. Johnson’s aggressive attitude and threats certainly didn’t help his case any.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I am. So stop worrying, okay?”
“Okay.” Elise sat back and looked around Sam’s office, her gaze coming to rest on a framed picture of Ocean Point’s amusement piers and boardwalk. “Do you think he’ll finally get his luxury condos?”
“I don’t know. But I think the whole topic will be put on the back burner for a while. People need to heal first. It’s been a tough month in Ocean Point and I think everyone needs to return to a little bit of normalcy, if that’s possible.”
“I agree.”
She looked at the card in her hand, at Mitch’s name scrawled across the bottom, and smiled. She’d finally found a true gentleman.
“Elise? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Are we still on for tonight?”
“There’s no place I would rather be,” she said honestly.
“Me neither. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Want to eat at Mia’s?” he asked.
“I would love to.”
It was obvious that the detective was glad she had called. In fact, it seemed as if he was reluctant to let her go.
“So, what’s on tap for you at work today?”
“I’m going to work on my story about the other night . . .”
“Are you ready for that, Elise?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I know something that might make you feel a little better.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Remember how I told you that Ray Carlson had posted a five-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of his daughter’s murderer?”
“Yes.”
“He wants you to have it.”
“Mitch, I can’t take that from him,” she said emphatically.
“He wants you to have it . . . and you deserve it. Use it for a vacation, you’ve certainly earned one.”
“You deserve that money every bit as much as I do,” she argued gently.
“If you use the money to go on a trip, you can take me with you.”
She thought of Madame Mariah’s prediction about an eventful trip to a secluded spot. She just hoped it wasn’t too eventful.
“You’re on.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” the detective said. “I’ll let you go now so you can write your story. If you need anything before tonight, give me a call. Otherwise I’ll see you at six thirty.”
“Thanks, Mitch.”
She set the phone down and walked out into the newsroom. Her computer was waiting for her. She pushed the small power button on the base of the machine and watched as the screen came to life. It was time to relive Monday night all over again. And then she could finally put it behind her . . . for good.
She positioned her fingers on the keyboard and began typing, her hands taking over as the words seemed to pour out of them and onto the screen in front of her.
Deeming himself judge and jury, Ocean Point Mayor Steve Brown set about the task of handing down verdicts on people he saw as criminals. It was in his pursuit of justice that he himself stumbled on the law. By punishing his victims for breaking the first commandment, he was guilty of breaking one himself.
The fifth commandment says, “Thou shalt not kill.”
Excerpt from Deadly Getaway
Keep reading for an excerpt
from the next
Jenkins & Burns Mystery,
Deadly Getaway!
It was supposed to be a romantic winter getaway complete with snow, sleigh rides, and nights spent by a roaring fire. New Jersey police detective Mitch Burns and newspaper reporter Elise Jenkins are trading one tourist town for another by heading to a remote Michigan island to relax and enjoy.
Unfortunately a killer has other plans. When a body is found under two feet of snow, stabbed, Jenkins and Burns once again need to put their sleuthing skills to the test. As a blizzard descends, the island is completely cut off from the outside world and terror mounts while a serial killer plays a frightening game of cat-and-mouse with the island as his playground.
Prologue
Thursday, January 27
11:00 a.m.
Pete Garner studied the faces of the dozen or so men standing around in thick winter coats, waiting—like he was—for Dan to get started. For them, the waiting was as much a part of the game as the game itself. It was the time when good-natured barbs were exchanged, snide comments about alcohol rampant. But for Pete, it was an extra chance to go over his strategy, memorize his route. Only this time he was ready, route planned, confidence high, eyes focused on the prize.
“Although most of you idiots know the drill already, I thought I’d listen to the sound of my voice again and go over the rules with everybody one more time,” Dan Friar said as he zipped up his thermal parka and secured his hood around his neck. “When you hear me fire the starter pistol it’s every man for himself. The first one back at this spot with all ten points is our winner.”
“C’mon, Dan, enough already,” shouted a voice toward the back of the group. “You’ve got a bigger mouth than my wife, and I never thought anyone could steal that title. Fire the damn thing so we can find our points and head back to Sophie’s for some beers.”
“Would you relax? I’m trying to make sure everyone’s got a crack at the prize money,” Dan said. “If Pete wins one more time I’m gonna be accused of favoritism or some other sort of weird attraction you guys come up with.”
“That might be the case if you actually liked Pete . . .”
“Now, now, boys. I like Pete, I just wish he’d give the rest of us a chance at winning once in a while.”
“Lose some weight, Dan, and then maybe you’ll have a chance,” quipped a guy named Josh.
It felt good to laugh. In fact, it had occurred to Pete recently that he felt more relaxed with this group than he did with any of the guys he worked with on a daily basis. And he had his cardiologist to thank for it. Instead of sending him home with a few cholesterol pills and a follow-up appointment card, the doctor had encouraged Pete to find a hobby that would enable him to leave work behind and enjoy a little competitive exercise.
And now, three years later, he was in the best shape of his life thanks to Dan and the rest of the orienteering club.
He looked at the men he’d gotten to know over the years. Dan, Drew, Austin, Steve . . . all good, hardworking guys with a shared passion for the outdoors, especially when it was mixed with a healthy dose of friendly competition.
Pete rubbed his hands together, eyed the new faces that dotted the group thanks to the handful of lime green flyers Da
n had left around the island over the past few days. Most of the newcomers had the same playful cockiness as the club members. Except one.
The burly redhead who stood a few feet off from the rest of the group had introduced himself as Mark. But despite Pete’s attempts to strike up a real conversation with the guy, he’d learned very little, other than the fact that the newcomer liked to win just as much as Pete did. And that he knew a good compass when he saw one.
But this competition was more than just being the best at something. In fact, for the first time since he joined the club, more was at stake than just bragging rights and a free beer.
“Countin’ the money already, Pete?”
He turned quickly, surprised at the accuracy of the question.
Drew.
“Man, Pete, are you ever gonna remember who taught you how to play this game?”
He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, saw the mock seriousness in Drew’s eyes.
“Oh, I remember. Problem is, he ain’t here this year.” Pete slapped his hand on Drew’s heavily padded back and laughed.
“How quickly they forget. How quickly they forget.” Drew zipped his parka to the base of his neck, snapped the hood strap across his throat. “Seriously though, what were you thinking? You were a million miles away just now.”
Pete shrugged and looked at the snow beside his skis. “Actually, you weren’t too far from the truth. You know, about the counting stuff. I’ve got plans for that money. Big plans.”
“Care to share?”
“I’ll tell you when I win.” He pulled on his gloves and snapped the strips of leather that held them tight to his wrists.
Drew’s laughter filled the cold morning air. “I’d love to argue and say I’m gonna win, however, self-delusion is a waste of time. But you might get an argument from Joshie Boy.”
“Why’s that?”
Drew shrugged. “He claims he’s gonna win this one, one way or another.”
“Oh, really?” Pete looked across the circle at Josh, the youngest and most mouthy of the group. A head shorter than most everyone around him, Josh had a real need for attention. Trouble was, the guy was an excellent skier, and if winning was based solely on speed and agility, Josh would win hands down.
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