by T. G. Hanson
MURDER AT THE
KNIFE'S EDGE
. . .
A MYSTIC PINES MYSTERY
BOOK ONE
by
T.G. HANSON
COPYRIGHT
MURDER AT THE KNIFE'S EDGE
by
T.G. HANSON
Copyright © 2016 by T.G. Hanson
Published by JWH Productions, Inc.
Cover Art created by T.G. Hanson © 2016
Editor: Kate McClellan
All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner or above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase and an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your retailer and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the author's work.
CONTENTS
THE UNLUCKY CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
UNLUCKY CHAPTER 13 OMITTED
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
CAST OF CHARACTERS
COMING SOON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEDICATION
To my fantastic hubs, John and my sons, you are the lights of my life. You have given me unconditional love, support and laughter along the way.
My undying thanks to my editor: Kate McClellan. Without your help and input, this book would not be what it is now and may have never seen the light of day!
Last, but not least, many thanks to friends and family for their help and contributions during this process.
M O O N … that spells Thank You!
THE UNLUCKY CHAPTER 13
From the author . . .
Hello readers! Just a little side note here. I love watching the old classic mystery movies just as much as I do reading. My longtime favorite movies are those made by Alfred Hitchcock and I’ve always loved the way he made a little appearance in most of his movies. Stephen King adopted this practice and appears in many of his later movies, as well.
In finishing my first book, I wanted to include a unique quirk that would be in every book I wrote, sort of like a signature. Thinking about mysteries, suspense and superstitions, and how hotels don’t have rooms numbered as thirteen, just like many buildings don’t have a thirteenth floor, I came up with the idea of omitting Chapter 13 from my books.
So, if you are a person who uses the Table of Contents and catches that there is no Chapter 13, or in reading you see the chapters jump from twelve to fourteen, it’s not a mistake! From my first book, to the last, the unlucky Chapter 13 has been left in the same place as that one missing sock from the dryer.
ONE
Emily stood motionless off to the side of the crowd, watching the two people she loved most in this world, her parents, being slowly lowered into the ground. They would remain forever entombed in layers of silk fabric, surrounded by cold steel. In their early fifties, and still full of life, it wasn’t right that their lives had ended this way.
She had managed to avoid her adopted brother, Steve, and his crowd so far, and with any luck, could leave the cemetery unseen. Her guess was that Steve would go off with his friends, to their local haunt, as soon as the service was over. He would then spend the remainder of the day drinking himself into a stupor, not returning home till the wee hours of the morning.
Unable to watch any longer, she turned and walked toward the family limo. Because of her family’s place in society, and the sensational way they had died, the large crowd of reporters at the funeral was not unexpected. For most of her life Emily had managed to avoid the press, and she was grateful that they seemed content to leave her alone this morning. Her brother and the controversy surrounding him was far more interesting in their eyes.
Watson was waiting with the door open as she arrived at the car. “Home Miss Emily?” he asked as she climbed inside.
Glancing back towards the graveside, she said a silent goodbye and replied in a soft whisper, “Yes please.”
As the car wove in and out of traffic, Emily thought over the past week's events. She had done everything possible to see the wrong righted but had failed. Knowing Steve had been the last person inside the private hanger the night before her parents had taken off for their vacation, she was certain he had done something to the plane.
Unable to sleep the night before their accident, she had curled up on the large window seat to read for a while. Glancing out the window, she’d seen Steve creeping out of the large door to the private hanger. After seeing him in town the day before, she was a bit curious as to why he was hanging around but had assumed he was back to get more money from her folks. In hindsight, she wished now that she had woken her father and let him know. As it was, she’d returned to bed intending to speak with him in the morning but had overslept and missed their leaving.
The authorities, unable to find any evidence the plane had been tampered with, determined an engine had failed shortly after take-off causing the plane to crash. Despite her accusations, and having found no evidence that Steve had been in the hanger, the cops were unable to connect him to the cause of the engine failure and her parent's death had been listed as an accident.
Emily shifted in her seat and began tapping her fingernails on the center console in a rhythmic pattern - a habit she’d had since childhood whenever she was in deep thought, daydreaming, or became nervous.
Her thoughts drifted to her adopted sibling. Her parents, unable to have more children, had adopted Steve at the age of five. Emily, then only three years older, had been thrilled at the idea of having a younger brother. She had tried over the years to form a bond with Steve, but from the beginning, he wanted nothing to do with her. Eventually, she had stopped trying and they simply became strangers to each other.
Coming from an unstable home, Steve had shown signs of being troubled early on. With an outgoing personality, and his blond, blue-eyed California looks, Steve could charm even the most cautious person. He made friends easily then betrayed them even easier. By the time he was a teenager, he’d had more than a few scrapes with the law and had angered more than a few girl’s protective fathers.
Her parents having reached the end of their rope on Steve’s tw
enty-first birthday - when he stole the neighbor's Mercedes and crashed it - had bailed him out of jail, covered the cost of the repairs on the Mercedes, and basically ordered Steve to pack his bags. He left with his car and a sizeable trust fund, set up to pay him a decent monthly income for quite some time. Her father had told him to go make a man of himself and find something worthwhile to do with his life.
Where Steve went from there and what he did, they never knew. The only time he showed up back at the mansion was when he had spent his monthly allowance and needed more money. The only time they heard anything was when his name would appear in the paper under a headline along the lines of: Millionaire’s son misbehaves - embarrassing her mother and father yet again.
Watson cleared his throat and broke into Emily’s thoughts. “Will Steve be staying on at the mansion now that your folks are gone?” He glanced at Emily through the rear-view mirror; “I thought you should know some of the staff have been asking.”
Emily knew Steve had only shown up believing he was going to benefit, financially, from her parent's death. She also knew that he’d been cut out of her parents will years ago and would inherit nothing. Glancing up into the rear-view mirror and placing a hand on Watson’s shoulder she replied, “I’m not sure what he will do, but if you will, please gather the entire staff in the library at three o’clock. I’ll explain everything at that time.”
“Yes miss, I’ll be sure to do that.” Watson smiled and returned his full attention to driving. He had watched Miss Emily grow from a wee child up to a lovely, smart and strong young woman. He had no doubts she could handle anything that came her way. If not, well, he and his wife would be there to help if needed.
As he drove onward, Watson frowned while thinking, that brother is nothing but trouble. The family gave him the same opportunities as they would have one of their own and the boy had all but spat in their face. The sooner he was out of the house, and Miss Emily’s life, the better.
Emily turned to stare out the car window and went back to her own thoughts. Watching Steve move into the Mansion the day after the accident had made her shiver. He had waltzed in, taken over the Master Suite, and begun ordering the servants about like slaves.
Two days later the family attorney, Mr. Humphrey, had come by to read the will. Upon discovering that the entire estate had gone to Emily, Steve ranted about suing her and stormed out of the library. The will had stated that all the money go to Emily, as well as the estate, but that Steve should be allowed to live in the mansion if he chose to do so. His trust fund was to continue, but only for six months after their parent's death. He’d been on a drunken bender since and had threatened her life twice.
The following day, on her way to the attorney's office to sign papers, the brakes had failed on her BMW causing her to crash the car into a tree. The police informed her she was very lucky to have walked away alive with only a large bump on her head and a sprained wrist. It was when the mechanic found a hole in the brake line that Emily realized that Steve, determined to get his hands on the money and estate, would stop at nothing to do so. Once again, without proof, the police were unable to do anything.
Emily realized that Steve wasn’t going to leave the house of his own accord and that unless she wanted to wind up like her parents, she had to figure out something and fast.
******
Emily sat on the edge of the bed counting the chimes from the antique Grandfather clock, in the downstairs hall. One, two, three, four. Four am. She’d heard Steve come home, stumble up the stairs, and shut his bedroom door around two in the morning. By now, he’d be deep into a drunken sleep, not waking till late in the day. If I’m going to survive, now is the time to leave and disappear, forever.
She had spoken to their small staff giving them a choice of two weeks paid vacation or the option to resign. All but Watson and his wife had chosen to leave once they learned Steve would be staying in the house.
Watson had been with the family for years. He and his wife oversaw the other staff and had been like substitute grandparents to Emily. They both had refused to leave the house if Steve remained.
With the help of her family’s longtime Attorney, Humphrey, they had formed a plan for her to leave town and disappear. Humphrey had helped her obtain new ID and made sure she had enough cash to last at least six months. He was also the one who suggested she travel by bus and would be the only person she would remain in contact with once she left.
Earlier in the day, she had packed one of the larger suitcases that she could carry on her own, hiding it in the small closet under the staircase. Grabbing one of her oversized tote bags, she placed the bulging bank bag inside along with her new driver’s license and other ID, then quickly called for a cab.
Checking the battery on the new cell phone, she pulled the power cord from the wall and placed it inside the bag containing her brand-new laptop. With one last look around the room, she wiped a single tear from her cheek, turned, and crept down the long hallway to the staircase. It’s hard to believe that I may never see this house again, at least not till Steve is in jail, and there’s no telling when or if that will ever happen.
Moving as quietly as she could, she descended the massive winding staircase, pulled out the suitcase and walked out the front door. She turned one last time to look at the home she had grown up in; I can’t stay. If I do, he will find a way to kill me. Without proof of what he did, the cops won’t listen to me and can’t protect me. I must protect myself. Shutting the door, she began walking down the driveway.
She had requested the cab wait at the end of the drive, thinking it would be less likely that anyone would hear it arrive. The driver loaded her luggage into the trunk as she climbed inside. As the cab pulled away, she turned for a final look at her home. Steve was standing on the balcony off the master bedroom, watching the cab pull away.
Emily shuddered and began tapping the laptop case furiously. Had he seen the luggage being put into the trunk? Would he come after me? If so, he’ll go to the airport first. He’d never imagine anyone in our social circle to travel by bus.
A short time later she arrived at the bus station. I’ll be on my way by the time he figures out I’m not at the airport and with my tickets purchased under Meg Stinner, he’ll hit a dead end. I just need to keep moving for the first few days to gain some distance.
Because she had no idea of where she was going, her plans were to purchase a one-way ticket to the furthest point the bus line offered, change buses and do the same again, continuing until she felt like stopping. Breathing deeply, she began to click her nails on the laptop case as she waited for the bus to arrive. Step one completed. From this point forward, I am now Meg Stinner.
TWO
Meg had been on the road for almost a week now. She would travel for a day or two then stop in some random town for a night, then continue onward the next day. Today she had grown weary of traveling and had been toying with the idea of getting off the bus for a few days’ rest when the driver announced they would be stopping in the next town, Mystic Pines.
Looking out the bus window, Meg was admiring the quaint buildings and lovely landscape as the bus pulled into town. Tall pine trees surrounded the edge of the town with a thick forest just beyond the tree line. People sat on benches in front of the buildings talking and laughing while others stopped to chat with each other as they walked along the sidewalks.
Mystic Pines - unusual name. What was it the driver had said? Some mystery writer had founded the town in the early thirties, with the intention of attracting other mystery authors and those who loved reading mysteries. An intriguing idea. From the looks of the names on the shop fronts, the idea must have worked, at least to some degree.
The bus pulled up and stopped outside a rather run down looking diner, The Knife’s Edge, while the driver informed everyone they would stop for an hour lunch break. Grabbing her tote and laptop bag, she stepped off the bus and looked around her. I’ll grab a bite to eat and then see how I feel. It isn’t t
hat far to Houston, and a larger city might be easier to get lost in. But then again, larger cities have more access to the news and gossip magazines. My photo was in that gossip rag just the other day under “Heiress Missing.” At least I had on large sunglasses and a hat, thank goodness for small favors.
She had noticed a small hotel, The Haunted Inn, just as they entered the edge of the town and had thought it might do for a few nights’ rest. Running her fingers through her long auburn hair, she pulled it up into a messy ponytail then picking up her bags she entered the diner. This place is kind of busy for a small-town restaurant at lunchtime. Adjusting her bags, she sat down at a table in the corner near the big front window. Within minutes a smiling waitress was at her table.
“Welcome to the Knife’s Edge Diner. I’m Mary and I’ll be your waitress for today.” Smoothing down her silver hair with her hand she laughed, “Actually, I’m the only waitress, every day.” Reaching into her apron, she pulled out an order pad and looked up at Meg. “What can I get for you honey?”
Meg smiled back at the plump, she guessed fifty-ish aged waitress whose eyes seemed to sparkle when she laughed. “Well, hello, Mary. I think I’ll have the soup and sandwich lunch special with tea please.”
“Good choice. Randy, our cook, makes the best potato soup in the county. You’ll love it. Be right back with your tea.” replied Mary as she walked off.
Looking around the diner while unrolling the silverware from inside the paper napkin, Meg wondered how long it had been in existence. Such a shame. This could be a real nice place with a little bit of sprucing up, and from the looks of the crowd, it did a fair amount of business.
She stopped short when her eyes locked onto a pair of ice blue eyes and a very handsome cop, attached to those eyes, smiled and winked at her. Meg managed a half smile, dropped her head, and began tapping her nails on the tabletop. Oh goodness, was that just a friendly smile or has he recognized me, she wondered.
