Chasing a Dead Man
Kathryn J. Bain
Copyright © 2021 by Kathryn J. Bain
Kindle Version
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. As such, any names, characters, places, incidents, and dialog are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental.
To find out more about this book or the author, visit: www.kathrynjbain.com.
Dedication
I’d like to thank my editors for all their help. This one took a while, so they deserve all the accolades I can give. Thanks to Shannon Roberts and Ann Leslie Tuttle over at Reedsy.com, along with the great and wonderful Marcie Bridges. You guys are the best.
Also, my Elite Reader Crew for helping to promote the book. It’s great to have a good group of readers on my side.
And finally, to my wonderful cover designer Murphy Rae. Is she not awesome or what?
I’d also like to thank Ele, my dog, who is so patient with me when I get into writer mode. She deserves all the dog treats she can get.
Chapter 1
Pamela Evers leaned over the toilet and threw up for what she swore was the fiftieth time. The bitter taste of bile lingered on her tongue like a sour lozenge. She’d heard of morning sickness, but never middle of the night sickness. She hadn’t slept well in over a week.
Nothing could be worse than this.
At first, they thought she had a touch of the stomach flu until the doctor’s office took her blood. Then the announcement came. She was pregnant. At first, she’d been terrified, but the loving look in Phillip’s eyes told her everything would be all right.
“Not again.” She leaned over the toilet and vomited.
Maybe this meant the kid would be a night owl.
“Here, try this, Pammy.” Phillip returned to the bathroom and handed her a cup of tea. “According to some parents’ website, it’s supposed to work.”
As much as she appreciated the thought, sometimes her husband’s remedies only made things worse. Did he honestly think licking the salt off tortilla chips would help? That had been his remedy two nights ago. Who knew what he’d come up with this time?
“What is it?” Her throat was raw.
“Ginger tea,” he said.
She leaned back against the tub. Steam from the tea carried up into her nose, leaving a floral aroma that lingered. After a couple sips, the nausea seemed to wane. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry you’re going through all this.” He knelt beside her, brushing her hair from her face.
“It’ll be worth it.” She touched her stomach and smiled. The first of many, she hoped. She’d love to have a gazillion kids running around, even if it meant getting sick the entire nine months for each, no matter how much she grumbled.
It’d been lonely growing up as an only child, traveling to swimming competitions all over the country. It might have been more fun if she’d had a sibling to play with on the long trips. Her only friend was her fifty-year-old nanny who knew little about playing, so her parents forced her to read the entire time. And only nonfiction. Friends in college thought she was weird reading middle-grade fiction, but she was just catching up.
Her child would have a different life. No moving from place to place. A home to call her own. Not just books either, but board games. Games that Pamela would play with her. Or him. She couldn’t wait to take her child to Disney World.
She smiled and touched her stomach again. They didn’t care which they had, as long as the baby was healthy.
A spark of sadness swept in. Too bad her child would never know his or her grandparents. Would they have been different once they had a grandchild? More fun. Not so staunch and strict on education and training?
“Can I help you into bed?” Phillip’s voice brought her back to the present.
“I’d rather sit up for a minute or two,” she said. “Just to make sure.”
He took her hand and pulled her from the floor. She took her tea and walked into the bedroom. The bathroom gave light, leading to the reading nook in the corner. He guided her to her chair and covered her with an afghan.
Phillip kissed her on the forehead. “I love you. You know that?”
“I love you, too.” She sipped her tea, then placed the cup on the side table. “Why don’t you go back to bed. No point in both of us being up.”
“If you’re up, I’m up. It’s only fair.” Parenthesis crinkled at the side of his eyes when he smiled. “After all, I’m the one who got you in this shape.”
“I don’t think I argued.” Her cheeks heated, recalling that night of passion when they created their child. “Besides, you have a meeting in the morning. I can always sleep in.”
It paid to work from home. Having deadlines for her online ad projects allowed her to set her own hours.
“Doesn’t matter if I have a client or not.” He plopped down on the edge of the bed. “I can suffer with you.”
How did she get so lucky? She’d waited years to marry the right man, and here he was beside her, waiting for the child inside her belly. Warmth rushed through her.
She took another sip of tea and looked around. Plenty of space for a bassinet. Her stomach seemed to settle. “I think I’m fine now.”
Once in bed, Phillip tucked her under the covers. He climbed in on the other side and wrapped his arm around her waist. Did their child know it was their father’s arm? He breathed against her hair. She scooted closer, his warmth engulfing her. Her eyes finally closed as sleep took over.
Crash!
She jolted awake.
Phillip was already sitting up in the bed, his head cocked to one side.
“What was that?” she asked.
Another noise came from the kitchen.
“You wait here.” Phillip pulled his gun from the nightstand. “Call the police,” he ordered. She took hold of his arm. He patted her hand and said, “It’ll be okay.”
Pamela nodded and swallowed hard. Once the door had closed with a click of the lock, she climbed out of bed and jerked her phone off the charger. With trembling fingers, she dialed 9-1-1.
“This is the 9-1-1 operator. What is your emergency?” the woman on the other end asked.
“Someone’s breaking into our house.” Pamela gave the address. “Please hurry.” She kept her voice purposely low.
Bang!
“Phillip?” She screamed. She ran to the door but stopped short of opening it.
“Ma’am, what’s going on?” the operator asked.
“Get out of the house,” Phillip yelled from the living room.
“Ma’am.” The operator’s voice rose. “Talk to me.”
Another shot rang out. Pamela’s heart jumped to her throat.
“Help us, please!” Pamela screamed into the phone before dropping it to the floor. She rushed to the sliding glass door.
A dark silhouette passed by the window. Two of them!
She scooted back. Hoover the dog next door was going crazy, running up and down the fence line in his yard.
The figure paused, looked at the dog, and then the pool area before trying the screen door. Thankfully, she’d remembered to lock it.
Pamela’s pulse pounded in her ears. She could barely breathe. After a second, the dark figure headed to the front yard with the dog following on his side of the fence. Had Hoover been barking before the break-in? Maybe they hadn’t heard it because they’d become so accustomed to h
is noise at night.
Pamela shoved open the sliding glass door leading to the pool and backyard. The cool air hit her like a freezer on a warm day. Hoover let out a low growl.
“Shh.” Pamela inched her way to the pool screen door. It felt like she was trudging through deep mud.
She had to get help. Please, God, let Phillip be all right.
Her fingers trembled in the dark as she unlatched the lock on the door. She swung it open to make her escape. A thin silhouette dressed in black came through the front gate. Pamela locked eyes with the perpetrator, then turned and ran.
Her knees gave out, and she hit the ground. Crawling along the fence, she headed to the back exit, her pulse pounding in her ears. Hoover barked hysterically, inches away from her face. The neighbor’s back porch light flicked on, taking away any cover of darkness.
“Hoover,” Ralph, her next-door neighbor, hollered out the door.
“Help,” Pamela screamed.
She got to the fence and tried to flip the lock open, but her trembling fingers made the simple task seem impossible.
Bang!
Pain hit her in the shoulder, spinning her to face her assailant. A second shot hit her in the abdomen.
She slid down the fence. Terror pulsed through her as sirens droned in the distance. Blue lights flashed off the house next door. Footsteps pounded. She heard shouting. Pamela’s eyes fluttered and then closed.
Please God, save my family. Everything went dark.
Chapter 2
Jane Bayou bounced the basketball up the block. She aimed for the first hoop. It recoiled off the backboard. She dribbled up the road to the next hoop which was about a half block up. Aimed again. This one went through.
“Yeah.” She fisted the air.
The hoop at the end of the block belonged to Irving Jeffers. He claimed he’d hurt his back pushing some appliances into a truck for delivery. Skyline Insurance had hired Jane to discover if Jeffries was lying, and the basketball provided one way for her to get close enough to investigate his worker’s compensation claim for Sunshine Mutual Group Insurance.
She dribbled to Jeffers’ basketball hoop and took the shot. The ball spun around the rim before it went in.
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“What ya doing?”
She startled and looked around, surprised someone was out at sunup.
A man with a mop of gray hair sat in a rocker on the front porch of the Jeffers’ home, his hands folded on his lap. She recognized him as Irving Jeffers from his photograph.
The white paint on the ranch-style house had peeled all the way through to reveal the yellow color beneath, and the lawn needed mowing.
“I asked you what ya doing messing with my hoop?” He stood.
“Working out.” She panted. “It’s a game I play as I run. See how many baskets I can hit.”
He stared at her a moment. “How many you got?”
“Out of seven, five so far.” Her heart raced. Sweat coated her. “You should try it. Better than just running.” She bounced the ball. “Well, got to keep going. Still got a few more before I get home.”
He nodded, and she continued around the corner. She made the next basket but missed the final one around the next corner. When she got to her car, she climbed in and gulped down some water. Her lungs burned. Definitely a good workout. She might have to get the kids to try it. Twelve-year-old Luke would love shooting hoops.
She flicked on the radio before pulling out her phone. Guns and Roses’ Sweet Child of Mine was playing. One of her favorites. She bobbed her head to the music as she backed the video feed from the micro cameras, she’d placed on the black pole of the basketball hoop the night before. She watched the video as she neared Jeffries’ basket, then tossed the ball.
The cameras were working great. One faced forward and panned the area. The other focused on Jeffers’ house.
Mr. Jeffers sat on the porch, rocking back and forth.
Part of his lawsuit claimed he could no longer play basketball with his kids. According to reports from the neighbors, he’d been active until the injury to his back.
Her phone buzzed. She swiped the screen. Her C.P.A.
Just a reminder I need your tax information before March 1.
She put the car into gear. There was no point in hanging out when the camera could do the work for her. It wasn’t like Mr. Jeffries was going to rob a bank or something. At least she didn’t think so.
Within an hour, she’d reached home, just in time for the kids to get out of bed. She rushed in and showered and changed. Luke and Eliza, Liz for short, were eating the breakfast her husband Cam had prepared for them.
“And for you, m’lady.” He kissed her forehead and put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her.
“I love ya.” She shoved a forkful of the scrambled eggs into her mouth.
“Mom, Can I go to Neil’s house after school today?” Luke gnawed off a bite of bacon.
“Not until I meet his parents,” she said. Jane was glad her son was making friends. He’d never been the social butterfly his sister was. “Give me their number, and I’ll call and invite the family to dinner.”
“Mom,” he whined, “nobody does that anymore.”
“We do.” Cam leaned against the kitchen counter.
Luke rolled his blue eyes. Except for Cam’s green eyes, their son was the spitting image of his father.
“I’m not a baby. I’m in middle school.”
“Yeah, and that’s worse,” Jane said. “I’ve seen the type of stuff boys without supervision get into. It’s not gonna happen to you, so until I’m sure of Neil’s parents, the answer is no.”
He dropped his fork on his plate and got up, storming from the kitchen.
“Just think.” Cam came over and kissed her on the head again. “We got one more to go.”
“That’s me, huh?” Liz raised her eyebrows up and down, causing both Jane and Cam to laugh.
Jane drove both kids to school, Liz talking about an upcoming reading contest, and Luke brooding in the backseat.
At a little before nine, Jane pulled into the parking lot of the Wayfair Building in Ponte Vedra, Florida. Winston’s car was still not in her reserved parking space, the one next to Jane’s. She hadn’t been back since Wednesday, the week before, four days if you count the weekend.
Jane’s heart sank. It was going to be a long day of wondering and worrying. Might be wise to drop by her house to check on her, though she wouldn’t like it. Jane entered the office to find Brenda Franklin, their office manager, and Winston’s assistant at her desk.
“Good morning. How’s everything?” Jane asked.
“Quiet.”
Jane glanced at the closed office door behind Brenda.
“But she has two appointments today,” Brenda said. “I’m keeping my fingers crossed she doesn’t call and ask me to move them.”
Jane nodded in understanding, then headed back to her office. She flicked on her computer, then walked to the window.
It'd been four years since the anniversary of Winston’s husband’s death. Four years since they first met. Jane understood the pain of losing a spouse, she’d seen her mom go through it. But her dad had been a good man. An officer killed in the line of duty when Jane was twelve.
Steve Simmons was nothing like her father. The lead singer of a popular rock group, he’d made a habit of having affairs.
One of them finally caught up with him. Jane had been a fan of the man’s music until his death. But the more she got to know about his affairs, and the more she came to like Winston, the less a fan Jane became of his music.
She would now turn the station when one of his songs came on.
***
Gabriel Yates, III walked from his bedroom to the dining room, listening to the sound of his children laughing. He forced a smile over his face. As he neared, everyone went silent.
“Okay, what are you all up to?”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about
,” Analyn said.
He loved her more than the day they married. It wasn’t fair a woman could make him so happy.
“I heard you all laughing,” he said.
“We don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eleven-year-old Brittany echoed her mother before she shoved a bite of pancake into her mouth.
He knew it had to do with his upcoming birthday. They always plotted something special. His family didn’t realize he’d like nothing more than to sit beside his wife on the back patio, watching his two children play in the pool. For some reason, they thought he needed more.
“Did you see my poster, Daddy?” Nine-year-old Olivia stared up at him with her big green eyes.
“I did. I have little doubt you’ll win first prize in the art contest.” He leaned over and kissed her plump cheek.
His cell phone rang in the other room. They all glanced in that direction. Gabriel plopped down in his chair at the head of the table, and Analyn brought him a plate with a stack of blueberry pancakes.
He took in a whiff. “Smells good.”
She kissed him on the cheek. He listened to the talk of school and soccer practice, things he never had as a kid. His mother, a single parent, worked two minimum wage jobs, never seeming to earn enough to make ends meet, especially with three mouths to feed.
If it weren’t for Gabriel, his mom would still live in that lousy apartment on the poor side of town in Miami. Instead, she had a nice condo overlooking Tampa Bay. It wasn’t like his sister and her husband made enough to help. They barely squeaked by themselves. And his older brother…
He gripped his fork to the point his knuckles turned white. William would have been forty-three today. But no, some bum killed his brother for drug money when William’s car broke down. Though the jury convicted him of murder, and he received life without parole, Gabriel thought he should have gotten death. Sitting there daily, living his life on the taxpayer’s dime. And Gabriel and his family lived with the loss of a good man.
Gabriel’s hand trembled.
Chasing a Dead Man Page 1
