by Abigail Keam
We found several bundles of cash he had taken from the safe and a wallet with six different ID’s.
“Ooh, he’s been a busy lad,” I said, looking at each of the names on the driver’s licenses. As much as we wanted to go through everything, we had to stop as the police stormed the house with guns drawn.
Apparently, our gunman had tripped the security alarm.
Franklin and I raised our hands.
“Hi, guys. What took you so long?” Franklin asked, smiling.
The police were not amused.
39
The gunman was charged with assault with a deadly weapon, carrying a weapon without a permit, breaking and entering, burglary, and terroristic threatening. However, he came up clean in CODIS, and DNA searches proved futile. His moniker was Mark Goodson, if you can believe that was his real name.
The cops ran a ballistics test on his gun, but it wasn’t a match for the slug, which had killed Shelby Carpenter. Without any proof he had killed Shelby Carpenter, the police couldn’t hold him on a murder charge. Because Goodson had no priors, his bail was set at a fifty thousand dollars and you know who paid it? Take a wild guess—the Landau family.
That guy was out of jail within forty-eight hours and disappeared before the ink was dry on the check Ferrina had written. Not really. That’s a metaphor. More like the time it took Ferrina to swipe her credit card.
The police were doggone sure King Landau had killed his wife, Dixie Orr Landau, but couldn’t prove it, nor could they conjure a reason for it. They suspected King had hired Mark Goodson to assassinate Shelby Carpenter, who was doing a piece on King and had stumbled upon the fact that King had a first wife whose very existence had been a closely guarded secret. Carpenter’s questions caused King to fear the blogger was getting too close to the truth and had him done in.
Chase had either figured out his father’s duplicity or had received a confession from King. He left school to help cover up his father’s crimes and protect him, but the police couldn’t prove that either.
Hunter and I protested when Drake consigned the murders of Dixie Landau and Shelby Carpenter to the cold case files.
Frustrated at how things had turned out, Drake argued, “Give me some evidence I can run with, and I’ll open these cases back up. I’m just as sick about this as you are, but the law’s the law. I have no witnesses. I have no fingerprints. I have no DNA. In other words, I have nothing. I must have hard evidence. Not supposition.”
Drake was right. Nothing could be done. King Landau had gotten away with murder—twice. I wondered what King had said when he met his maker. The conversation couldn’t have gone well, I think.
The only bright spot was that the Landaus bought VeVe a brand new car and paid her fifty thousand dollars not to speak of the incident outside a court of law again. Shaneika Mary Todd helped her with the transaction.
They offered the same to me, but I refused. Mark Goodson had shoved a gun to my head, terrorizing me. I wanted justice, not a bribe.
One thing is to be sure—if it hadn’t been for me the police would still be twiddling their thumbs.
It is great to be queen.
40
June decided to invite fifty of her “closest” friends to a champagne breakfast on Christmas day. Guests were seated at one long table in the ballroom, and a buffet was laden with her favorite Christmas foods, including piggy pudding and spotted dick. In anticipation of the repast I had dreamt of chocolate walnut fudge and sugar cookies shaped like stars and Santas. Piggy pudding and spotted dick were really low on my list of goodies, but hey, it wasn’t my gig. All I can say is that June must have been in a Charles Dickens phase. I was fine with it as long as she kept to her new medication regimen and didn’t turn into Scrooge.
A collection of extravagantly decorated Christmas trees bordered the ballroom, all with eye-popping decorations. One tree was more outrageous than the next. We are talking glitter, twinkling lights, and enough tinsel to supply a New York ticker tape parade.
Matt and Franklin fawned over Emmeline, who was overawed by the elaborate decor. Asa gabbed with Amelia while a bored-looking Boris nursed a mug of eggnog that he had generously spiked with bourbon. Charles and Mrs. Dupuy hummed along with the Christmas music looking quite content. Mrs. Dupuy must have gotten good news from the doctors.
Much to my surprise, Baby had received his own engraved invitation. He went from person to person begging for treats and nudging for scratches behind the ears. Some people enjoyed my big canine and slipped him a nibble or two. Others shooed him away, disgusted at the strings of drool dripping from his chin and his ruined eye.
And me?
I was pulled into a corner by Hunter.
“I wanted to give this to you when we were alone, but it looks like that’s not going to happen for a while—so here goes.” Hunter presented me with a small blue box.
“Tiffany’s?”
“Your Holly Golightly dress at the benefit inspired me.”
“This box is too pretty to open.”
“Just open it, Josiah.”
“Don’t rush me.” I put the bow in my pocket and opened the blue box. Inside was a gold bracelet with a slip of paper. I gave Hunter a curious look. Pulling out the paper, I slowly read the note.
Written in cursive was, “I love you!”
It had been a long time since any man had said he loved me.
“Well?”
“Give me a minute, will ya?”
“Aren’t you going to say you love me, too?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I would like to say it without you coaching me, Hunter.”
“But you do.”
“Maybe.”
“Merry Christmas, Josiah,” Hunter said, pulling me close and kissing my cheek.
I hugged him back and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Merry Christmas, Hunter.”
Speaking of Charles Dickens—“A Merry Christmas to us all. God bless us, everyone!”
The End.
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Other Books By Abigail Keam
Mona Moon Mysteries
Princess Maura Tales
Josiah Reynolds Mysteries
Last Chance For Love Series
CHECK OUT THE
JOSIAH REYNOLDS MYSTERIES!
“Abigail Keam writes with vision and understanding.”
Midwest Book Review
“We are introduced to a cast of characters and a storyline that, like honey, is sweet and delicious.”
Linda Hinchcliff, Chevy Chase Magazine
“Ms. Keam writes such that readers want to know more of Josiah’s life and the ending will not disappoint their need to know.”
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About The Author
Hello, my friend. I hope you enjoyed Death By Deceit. I have such fun writing about Josiah and her quirky friends. If you like to read in other genres, I also write The Princess Maura Tales, a high fantasy series and The Last Chance For Love Series, a happily-ever-after sweet romance series. I would love to hear from you.
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bigail Keam, Death by Deceit
