All Roads Lead To Murder

by Lynn Bohart

  ALL ROADS LEAD TO MURDER

  BY LYNN BOHART

  Dedicated to fans of Julia and the Old Maids.

  You give me the motivation to keep these stories coming.

  Cover Art: Mia Yoshihara-Bradshaw

  Copyright © 2017 by Lynn Bohart

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, with the exception of brief quotations for the use of reviews or promotional articles approved by the author.

  Published by Little Dog Press

  Disclaimer: This book is a work of fiction and while many of the businesses, locations, and organizations referenced in the book are real, they are used in a way that is purely fictional. I took some liberty with locations across the country to fit the storyline, while still attempting to capture some of the grandeur of this great land we live in.

  Acknowledgements

  Once again, I have an army of friends, co-workers and experts to thank for helping me to bring this book to you. First and foremost I need to thank my writing group who methodically reads my books two chapters at a time over a period of ten months. Some of their feedback is hard to hear, but they help to clarify the storyline and characters, they challenge me on specific details, eliminate things that just don’t work and highlight internal ‘gems’ I didn’t even know I had. Case in point: they liked Jake so much in this story that I’ve decided to bring him back in another book as a potential competitor for David’s affection towards Julia. Whoa! My thanks go to Tim McDaniel, Michael Manzer, Gary Larson, Irma Fritz, Jenae Cartwright and Brian Beckley.

  I also rely on a group of “beta” readers to give me honest feedback. They volunteer to read the book from cover-to-cover and not only catch mistakes, but identify inconsistencies in the storyline, things that might confuse the reader or things that just don’t make sense (yes, sometimes I do that.) This time around my thanks go to Karen Gilb & Bill Dolan (fine writers in their own right), Traci Dysart and my daughter, Jaynee Bohart.

  I was so happy this year to meet Rex Caldwell, Police Chief, retired, who spoke at my Rotary club. Never shy about finding the right people to give me advice on technical aspects, I asked Rex for help. He readily agreed to read the entire book in order to make sure I wasn’t taking too much literary license on law enforcement issues. After all, it was a challenge to take the girls on the road, crossing multiple state lines and interacting with a variety of law enforcement agencies. I appreciate his help in helping to preserve the humor and yet avoid horrendous mistakes. I also appreciate Rosie Lizaola who reviewed my rudimentary Spanish in the book and Richard McSwain, a martial arts instructor who graciously reviewed the section where the girls get self-defense training and gave me some of the technical terms.

  As always, I would be lost without my friend and colleague, Liz Stewart. In her real life, Liz runs the Renton History Museum, staging first-class historical and cultural exhibits in the greater Renton area. She also just happens to also be a great editor.

  Once again, thanks to my friend, Mia Bradshaw, for another terrific cover. I decided long ago to keep the St. Claire Inn as the main focal point on every cover and only change things in the foreground to highlight the new storyline. Mia is very patient with me. She is a wonderful craftsperson and shows/sells her work in Seattle. Please check out her website at www.miayoshihara.com.

  PROLOGUE

  It was midnight. The clock tower in the middle of campus had just finished its slow, mournful chime of the hour. The massive academic buildings sat eerily quiet, while the college lay cloaked in shadows. Although it was late, the Florida temperature still hovered near 85 degrees, with suffocating humidity.

  Eric had stayed in the dorm that night to study rather than joining some friends at an off-campus party. He was just about to go to bed when there was a soft rap on his door.

  He opened it to find a fraternity brother–a kid named Peter. They’d met at an initial get-together during rush week. The two boys shared an interest in science; Peter wanted to design prosthetics, while Eric hoped to become a doctor.

  “Let’s go,” Peter said with a curt nod.

  “What? Where?”

  “Never mind. Just follow me.”

  Peter had lost his affable countenance. As a pledge to the Kappa Sigma Fraternity, Eric had been told to expect some good-humored tests of loyalty. He assumed that’s what this was. Though a history assignment loomed large in his mind, he turned back into the room.

  “Let me get my shoes.”

  “No,” the other boy said. “Come as you are.”

  Peter didn’t wait for a response, but started back down the hallway. With a shrug, Eric closed his door and followed dressed only in an old t-shirt, boxer shorts and socks.

  They left the air-conditioned comfort of Albert Hall at Temperance College just outside of Tampa. Eric skipped casually down the steps from the antiquated building and joined three other pledges huddled in a group surrounded by five young men wearing Kappa Sigma Polo shirts.

  He had pledged the fraternity the week before, and he recognized the brothers from rush week. Two were juniors and on the football team. Three were seniors, including Peter. One of the seniors, the one they called J.R., was president of the fraternity. J.R. wasn’t well-liked, and behind his back some of the boys called him the Bully Master. There were a multitude of stories about him. As a winning member of the debate team, J.R. was pretty full of himself. Eric had been told how J.R. enjoyed berating anyone less verbally agile than him. In fact, he had publicly humiliated a freshman from another fraternity just because he stuttered.

  No, J.R. wasn’t well-liked, and Eric didn’t have any illusions about them becoming friends.

  “Get in line,” one of the football players ordered.

  The four pledges did as they were told. Eric stepped into the back of the line. The humidity was merciless and already creating moisture under his armpits, which made his shirt stick to his skin.

  “Now, move out,” the same young man said. “And no talking.”

  The four pledges began to march in a line toward the east side of campus. None of them were wearing shoes. One of the boys, a short, overweight kid named Jeremy was actually in his pajamas.

  The campus was quiet, except for a chorus of crickets singing from the pond tucked under the eaves of the library. As they walked in lock step into the commons, Eric swatted at a bevy of mosquitoes that dive-bombed his sweat-laden neck.

  Security lights accented doorways and walkways like small glow bugs, but there was no one about. Their procession was witnessed only by the moon and the gargoyles staring down from the giant clock tower above.

  They passed the brick-covered library and the cafeteria, eventually taking a side path that angled off towards Trinity Lake. Eric’s older brother, Mark, had warned him about hazing. He and his best friend, Jack, had been members of the Kappa Sigma fraternity at Temperance College until they’d graduated three years earlier.

  “The hazing’s not so bad,” Mark had said. “Just suck it up, do what they say and get through it. The other guys will respect you if you do.”

  Ordinarily, Eric wasn’t the type to join a fraternity, but he idolized Mark. As a child, Eric had suffered from asthma and was prone to colds and various ailments. Mark had always looked-out for him, coming to his aid on a number of occasions when older boys bullied him at school. Once, when a kid pushed Eric into a locker and stole his homework, Mark had tracked the kid down, punched him in the face and gotten Eric’s homework back.

  Now, Eric hoped to follow in Mark’s footsteps by joining the fraternity. He might even make Mark proud if he could ascend to a leadership position.

&nb
sp; As the line of boys turned towards the lake, Eric’s casual attitude turned to anxiety, however. He silently prayed that whatever his fraternity brothers had in mind, it wouldn’t involve getting into the water. He couldn’t swim.

  Eric swallowed a ball of spit.

  The group continued until they neared a small picnic area that overlooked the lake. They passed a park bench and then veered off the path into a copse of trees. The full moon filtered through the branches, giving them enough light to pass safely, but the boys began to grunt and groan as their bare feet encountered sharp stones and briars.

  “Shut up!” J.R. snapped. “Quit being a bunch of babies.”

  “Where are we going?” Eric asked. A nervous quiver had snuck its way into his voice.

  “What’s a matter?” a boy named Ralph snapped. “Afraid of the water?”

  Eric dared not admit to his Achilles heel unless he had to; that would give the older boys something to hold over him. His heart rate sped up though, as the lake came into view, the moon glistening off its surface.

  The boys left the tree line and approached the water, passing a rack of canoes and paddles students used on lazy weekend afternoons. J.R. stopped when he reached the entrance to the dock.

  “You’re going to take a little swim,” he said with an evil twist to his mouth.

  “No!” Eric blurted out. “I…I can’t.”

  “What’s a matter?” one of the football players asked. “Is it your period or somethin’?”

  “Yeah, do you have cramps?” another one taunted him.

  The brothers laughed, and Eric was nudged forward. He could feel sharp stones and pebbles poking through his socks, cutting into his feet, but he was impervious to any pain. His entire focus was on the water lapping gently against the shore.

  Eric’s sweat had turned cold.

  “I just had pneumonia recently. I…uh…”

  “No excuses,” J.R. snapped.

  “But I could get sick again.” Eric’s mind was spinning. He had to convince them to give him a pass. “Seriously. I…I almost went to the hospital.”

  The boy named J.R. spun around and stepped to within inches of Eric’s face. “I don’t care how sick you were. You’re a pledge. You belong to me.”

  Eric stared into the blackest eyes he’d ever seen. There was no compassion there, and this monster seemed to see into Eric’s soul. He had to steel himself. He had to find a way to do this. He couldn’t let Mark down. So once again, he swallowed and kept quiet.

  “You’re lying,” J.R. suddenly said. “You didn’t have pneumonia.”

  “Sure I did,” Eric lied.

  “No you didn’t. You can’t swim.”

  That prompted another burst of laughter from the other boys as Eric began to tremble with fear.

  “I don’t swim too good, either,” Jeremy said with a brief raise of his hand.

  “Too bad,” J.R. said, never even looking at him. “Like I said, you’re all going for a little swim tonight.”

  He turned on his heel and walked onto the dock. His fellow fraternity brothers surrounded Eric and forced him forward. Even Peter.

  Eric began to hyperventilate, attempting to dig his heels into the beach. “Okay. Okay. I can’t swim,” he admitted in a panic. “Please. I nearly died once.”

  J.R. didn’t stop. He kept going without a word. The other three pledges followed, glancing over their shoulders at Eric. The dock swayed as he was pushed after them, forcing the taste of bile into his mouth.

  “Listen, I’m not kidding,” he said, taking deep gulps of air. “I really can’t swim. In fact…in fact, I…I…put it on my application. I had an accident when I was young…”

  J.R. stopped at the end of the dock and turned back. “I know all about it. Too bad for you.”

  He knew? And yet, he’d still force Eric into the water?

  “Okay,” J.R. said. “Strip.”

  “What?” Jeremy erupted.

  “You heard me. Take off your clothes.”

  The football players stood behind Eric, preventing his escape. Jeremy nervously pushed his glasses up his nose, as the other two boys began to pull their shirts over their heads.

  Eric couldn’t move. He was frozen with fear.

  “What’s a matter, probie?” one of the seniors said. “’Fraid we’ll see your wee wee?”

  That prompted more laughter, but Eric remained still. The bile had pooled in the back of his throat. His eyes were staring blankly at the water, as the sweat trickled down his neck.

  “Get your clothes off,” J.R. said. “Or my men here will hold you down, and cut them off.” He held up a pair of scissors, which glinted in the moonlight.

  Someone shoved Eric’s shoulder.

  He took a deep breath. If he didn’t do as they said, he’d have to quit the fraternity. He couldn’t do that. What would Mark say? He had to find a way to do this. Suck it up, as Mark had said. Suck it up.

  He glanced back to the shore. It couldn’t be that deep, he thought. He could probably touch the bottom. With trembling fingers, he began to take off his shorts. By the time he’d removed everything, tears had formed in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t feel the mosquitoes anymore. He didn’t feel the sweat. His body had shut down.

  He was going in the water.

  Thoughts blurred within his mind. The picture of Hallerton Lake in upstate New York appeared, and he was eight years old again.

  “C’mon,” his dad said. “Let’s walk out onto the dock.”

  “I’m afraid, Dad,” Eric whined.

  “We’ll just take a look. I’ll hold your hand.”

  Eric took a deep breath and reached out and grabbed his father’s hand. They stepped onto the dock, and Eric’s stomach rolled as the dock rocked underneath their weight.

  “No, Dad, I don’t want to,” he said, pulling back.

  His father held him in a firm grip. “Eric, don’t be a pansy. We’re just walking onto a dock. Do you want the other kids to make fun of you?”

  Eric looked over his shoulder at the other families gathered on the beach. Several of his brother’s friends were throwing a football, but his brother, Mark, was standing at attention, watching them. His friend, Jack, was behind him.

  Mark and Jack were inseparable, often leaving Eric behind to nurse a pang of jealousy. But Mark had never let him down. Many times he’d stood up to their dad when he’d tried to make Eric do things he couldn’t. Maybe Mark would do it again.

  Eric turned back and allowed his father to lead him further onto the long dock. He was breathing heavily now. They reached the end of the wooden planks just as a motorboat swung by. The waves slapped the dock making it tip and sway. Eric tried desperately to pull away from his father again.

  “No,” his father snapped, yanking his arm. “You have to get over this fear of the water. And it’s time you learned to swim. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “No,” Eric said, beginning to cry.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Stop that!” His father suddenly picked him up and threw him into the lake. “You’ll learn to swim just like I did!”

  Eric splashed into the lake. Instead of swimming though, every muscle in his body tensed, and he sank like a stone. When his feet hit the bottom, the mud sucked them under. He kicked to free them, but his flip flops were stuck.

  In a panic, he opened his mouth and inhaled. Instead of air, he gulped down a big swig of algae-laden lake water. His belly expanded, and his throat burned. He choked, taking in more water. He flailed his arms and kicked frantically, his eyes opened wide. The dirty water swirled around him until his vision began to go dark.

  Then, someone was there with him, pulling his arm, dragging him back to the surface.

  He’d passed out that day, and his brother had not only pulled him out of the lake, but given him CPR. As afraid as he was of the water before his father had thrown him in, the incident had left Eric terrified of it.

  Now, someone was shoving him toward another large body of wat
er, and this time, he was going to die.

  One of the pledges, a boy named Arthur, turned around and gave Eric a brief smile. “Just move your legs and arms like an egg beater, and you should be okay.”

  “Time to get in,” J.R. said.

  “I can’t do this. I won’t pledge the fraternity. I don’t care,” Eric said. His body had begun to shiver as a chilled current passed through him, leaving his legs wobbly.

  He turned to flee, but the fraternity brothers grabbed him and wrestled him to the dock. Before he could stop them, they each had an arm and leg and hoisted him up. He struggled, but they were too strong.

  J.R. just stood back, smiling. “Throw him in,” he said with a casual nod toward the water.

  “No!” Eric screamed and struggled more.

  The boys tossed him into the lake just as his dad had once done. He didn’t sink this time. He splashed around, coughing and yelling for help.

  The fraternity brothers lined up on the edge of the dock and jeered at him.

  Eric reached down with one toe, hoping to touch the bottom. There was nothing there, and his head dipped beneath the surface.

  Once again, he took in a mouthful of water.

  He choked and sputtered, splashing more. Full-blown panic took hold. His arms and legs flailed faster and faster.

  On the dock, he heard Peter yell. “J.R.! He really can’t swim. Shouldn’t we go in and get him?”

  “No,” was the last, heartless word Eric heard.

  Before his head went under water a second time, he stared with abject fear at the boy who had so callously sealed his fate. J.R. stood stoically on the deck and just glared back at him with a sick kind of triumph etched into his dark features.

  Eric sucked in a second gulp of lake water and began to sink.

  Blackness swirled around him, but there was no rescue this time. His brother was in New York in dental school. Even Jack was gone–in the Army. And his father was dead from a hit and run accident two years earlier.