by Nancy Basile
Roadside Homicide
By Nancy Basile
Copyright
© 2021 Nancy Basile. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, companies, organizations, places, events, locales, and incidents are either used in a fictitious manner or are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual companies or organizations, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For rights and permissions, please contact:
Nancy Basile
P.O. Box 5052
Lancaster, PA 17606
[email protected]
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my daughter, who brainstormed the title and poked her finger in the plot holes so I could plug them, and my son, who supported my rosy vision for the world of River Sutton so I could create a happy, bucolic place.
Acknowledgements
Many, many people helped me complete this book. It would still be languishing in draft mode if it weren’t for the honest, helpful feedback and the emotional support of author Aidy Award, my beta readers, the Amazeballs Writers, Sisters in Crime, my friends, and my family.
Chapter 1
The zipper snagged. No amount of tugging or silent begging could coax it to go any further. She shoved the bag away from her, giving it what for, even if it couldn’t understand anything she was muttering.
Robin Pearce sniffed and pursed her lips. Her brand new, gorgeous, burgundy leather suitcase should zip closed as smoothly as a spatula spreads frosting. Snags were not a welcome addition to her morning schedule, which was timed to the second for greatest efficiency.
“Not today.” Nodding to herself, she marched into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and snatched the bar of lemon and rosemary soap she’d bought at the makers’ market in a posh suburb of Cleveland. She marched back to the bed and unzipped her traitorous, but beautiful, new bag. She rubbed the bar along both sides of the zipper, as softly as if she were caressing a baby’s skin.
Setting the soap aside, she gave the zipper another go. “Yes!” She returned the soap to its dish on the bathroom sink and snapped off the light.
Time for a final check before hitting the road.
Suitcase with enough casual clothes that flattered her curvy figure, including pretty underwear, bras, and nightshirts? Check.
Matching toiletry bag with makeup, moisturizer, ponytail holders for her thick, chestnut hair, a brush, and a razor? Check.
Leather messenger bag with wallet? Check.
Greeting card with a sentimental message and a gift certificate to Williams Sonoma? Check.
Cleared for takeoff.
Robin piled her bags at the front door to her apartment. Flipping on the kitchen light, she scooped up her vitamin gummies from the counter, which was bare except for a top-of-the-line coffee maker and a sparkling clean toaster oven. She switched off the light again and trotted to the front door.
Through the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony, the gray haze of dawn crept across the horizon of Lake Erie. Getting on the road this early meant she could spend the entire day with her family in River Sutton, especially her little sister Jenn. They would have plenty of time to discuss dress fittings, up-dos, centerpieces, bouquets, toasts, and any other last-minute details brides fretted over.
As maid of honor, it was Robin’s responsibility to make sure her sister’s big day went off without a hitch. She hadn’t played a big part in any of the wedding plans because she lived two-and-a-half hours away from River Sutton, the little town in West Virginia where she grew up. Jenn hadn’t needed her for planning the wedding, what with their mother and Jenn’s wife-to-be, Deb, on hand. But the wedding day was Robin’s time to shine. Her sister’s big day would rock if Robin had to slay dragons to make it happen. Or just keep Uncle Eli away from the bourbon.
Robin switched off the lights, slung her messenger bag over her shoulder, and dragged her other bags into the hallway where brass sconces threw soft light up the walls and over the ceiling. She pulled the door closed, locked it with her key, tested the knob to make sure it was locked, and she was ready to go.
Visions of Jenn and Deb getting married had been flitting through her mind for weeks. As she rolled her luggage to the elevator, she pictured Jenn with a bigger-than-life smile lighting up her face.
Her little sister. Getting married. Robin’s bottom lip trembled a bit. She cleared her throat. Plenty of time for mushy feelings later, when she could hug Jenn and let her sister’s joy wash away her melancholy.
The elevator doors opened onto the dark parking garage under the apartment building. Although the sun wasn’t up, a security guard was already on duty at the gate. Her skin pimpled in the chilly morning air. Her linen shorts and sleeveless cotton top weren’t much cover right now, but once the summer sun was up, she’d be thankful she wasn’t wearing more.
The drag of her suitcase’s wheels on the concrete echoed around the dozens of parked cars that belonged to the residents. She clicked her remote and her Subaru Outback chirped. After popping the hatchback, she loaded in her luggage, except for her messenger bag, which she dropped into the passenger seat after getting into the car.
Shoulders hunched against the cold, she waited for her car to warm up. A jaw-cracking yawn had her blinking away tears and morning gunk. Before moving to Cleveland to boost her career as a website analyst, she hadn’t been a morning person. But at North Star Consulting, she learned that to earn a promotion, her bountiful butt needed to be in her chair before the boss came in. After five years, she was used to waking up in the dark.
She backed her car out of her reserved space, and her stomach flip-flopped. Every time she went back to River Sutton, her nerves jumped. She had trouble shaking the feeling that she was still an awkward teenager. She had flourished in Cleveland, grown into the life she had always pictured for herself. But going back home aroused youthful insecurities about her curvy figure and her shyness. Hopefully, Jenn’s wedding would occupy enough of her time that she couldn’t focus on whether she presented herself as the doofus she felt like inside.
The Subaru’s lights came on automatically as she pulled up to the security gate and put down her window.
“You’re up early for a Saturday, Miss Pearce.” Nathan, the weekend security guard, leaned out from his booth and bent low to see her.
“Heading home for my little sister’s wedding.” She couldn’t keep a smile from her face. “I’m just a bit excited.”
“I can imagine. Best wishes to your sister.” He stepped back into the booth and bumped his fist on a big red button as Robin put up her window. The gate lifted, and she waved goodbye.
Her car nosed out of the darkness of the garage, into the glow of the rising dawn.
✽✽✽
“That’ll be six dollars and twenty-five cents.” Eyes half-closed, a teenage boy wearing a black apron yawned, waiting for Robin to pay. Thank heavens there was a coffee drive through a block away from her apartment. She required a giant cup of caffeine every morning to talk and walk upright, let alone drive two-and-a-half hours to River Sutton.
She held her phone up to the window, and the boy shot it with his handheld scanner. Trying and failing to hold back another yawn, he handed Robin her thirty-one ounce cup of mocha. She drove to the curb and took a sip before she pulled out into the street. Rich, dark, chocolaty coffee slid down her throat, warming her insides and putting a grin on her face. She set the drink in the Subie’s cup holder and swung out onto the street.
It was lovely to drive through Cleveland early
on a Saturday. No traffic whatsoever. Other than a few early morning joggers, she had the roads to herself. She made it to the highway in record time and headed south.
Robin had driven about ten miles when Willie Nelson piped up on her phone with “On the Road Again.” Last night, she had changed her ringtone, like she always did for special occasions and holidays. She had an entire list of ringtones to use for the wedding week, including Bruno Mars’ “If I Knew” and “Chapel of Love” by The Dixie Cups.
She placed her cup back in its holder and glanced at the console. It was her mother. Of course, it was her mother. Only her mother would be awake this early and coherent enough to call her.
Robin mentally girded her loins and tapped the green X on the screen. “Good morning, mom.”
“Are you on the road?” Her mother’s voice had a sing-song quality.
Robin rolled her eyes. “Yes.” Her mother knew very well she was on the road. That’s why she was calling now.
“What time do you think you’ll get here?”
Robin shrugged, even though her mother couldn’t see her. “I don’t know. Eight-ish.”
“Oh, good. Then there’ll be plenty of time for your fitting.” Dull, thumping noises sounded in the background.
“What’s that noise?”
More thumping. “What noise?”
“That thumping sound, or knocking?”
“Oh, I’m stirring cookie batter. I’m holding the bowl and the phone’s on my shoulder. The bowl must be knocking the phone.”
Frances Pearce, her mother, was one of River Sutton’s legendary bakers. Robin could remember how everyone’s faces lit up when her mother would arrive at the school bake sale, carrying a covered tray full of no-bake cookies or a stack of butterscotch pies. The PTA always placed her desserts front and center, partly for the patrons’ convenience, and partly to lure in more customers.
“What are you baking?”
“Mini-cheesecakes. For the reception.” The knocking stopped. “I was hoping Jenn could help out, but I guess her beauty sleep is more important.”
Robin could hear her sarcasm dripping all the way across the cellular signal. “As the bride, she’s excused from all that, isn’t she?”
Her mother huffed. “When I got married—”
“Here we go.”
“—I pitched in with the baking, the bouquets, the decorating, the centerpieces. You name it, I did it.”
“You also didn’t have a lot of money to spend on your wedding. Jenn and Deb both have brilliant careers and enough money to pay for a lot of that stuff.”
Another huff. “Still. A wedding loses something when nothing is homemade.”
Robin smiled. Her mother was only a generation older, but sometimes it seemed like she was born in the 1800s. “I’m sure Jenn appreciates everything you’re doing.”
As the sun rose above the horizon, traffic on the highway picked up. “Mom, I better go. I need to pay attention to the road.”
“All right.” Pause. “Did I tell you that Aunt Chloe isn’t coming to the wedding?”
Who’s Aunt Chloe? “Nope.”
“She RSVP’d no, but I called her to find out why. Says she’ll be on a cruise that she paid for months ago and couldn’t cancel.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“Who goes on a cruise at her age?”
“I would argue that someone her age is exactly who should go on a cruise.” Robin pictured her mother and father on a cruise. In her mind’s eye, her father was smiling and holding a drink with an umbrella in it, while her mother glowered at the younger women wearing bikinis. “Mom, really, I have to go. I’ll see you soon.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.” Robin tapped the red X on her console screen to hang up.
Robin reached for her mocha, but Willie sang out again. This time Jenn was calling. Robin tapped the go button. “I can’t believe you’re up this early.”
A growl issued from the speakers. “Me, either. Mom’s been banging around the kitchen since oh-dark-thirty, or something like that.”
Robin laughed. “What’s up? You know I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
“Thank the heavens.” Jenn huffed. “I need allies.”
“Mom giving you trouble about the wedding?” Robin glanced at all her mirrors, but she was alone on the road for the moment. “What about Dad?”
“He’s Switzerland. Refuses to engage in battle.” Jenn must have rolled over because Robin heard loud rustling sounds. “Any time he senses an argument brewing, he heads out to the barn to tinker with something.”
“Your wedding is only a week away,” Robin chided. “How many decisions could possibly be left to make?”
Jenn barked a laugh. “You’d be surprised. We haven’t even made the favors for the reception because I can’t decide on whether we should go frivolous or functional. Then there’s the hors d’oeuvres menu. Sure, the country club knows we’re going to have three, but which three, is the question. And I thought I had decided on flowers for the bouquets and centerpieces, but I just saw an issue of Martha Stewart that showed a couple who went totally crazy and just used whatever wildflowers were in season. Now I’m wondering about that, you know?”
“Deep breath.” Robin demonstrated for Jenn, forcefully blowing out a breath. “We’ll figure it all out. Big sis is on her way.”
“Wah. Get here.” Jenn hung up.
Smiling and taking another glorious sip of mocha, Robin put her playlist on shuffle, and settled in for the rest of the drive.
Chapter 2
Clouds of black smoke drifted back to Robin from the truck carrying a shed. She shut the Subie’s outside vents to keep the nauseating smell to a minimum. They were traveling at a snail’s pace, increasing Robin’s frustration every second.
She was so close to home, but the slow speed made her feel like she’d never get there. And the two-lane road didn’t allow her to pass, not that she could see past the wide-load truck, anyway.
“It’s Saturday, why are you here?” Talking out loud to herself always made her feel better, like the release of a pressure valve.
They were coming up on a narrow road that was a shortcut between the major routes around River Sutton. Locals only took the shortcut when they were desperate, because the potholes were so deep you could break an axle. Was she desperate? Heck, yeah. “The shortcut, it is.”
Seeing no oncoming traffic, she made a wild turn onto the shortcut that was part gravel, part crumbling asphalt, and part packed dirt. She kept her speed around ten miles per hour for about half a mile.
Then, to her amazement, the road smoothed out into nothing but hard-packed, dusty dirt. “I guess it’s my lucky day.” She picked up speed as the shortcut deposited her on another main road that would take her home.
If he hadn’t been moving at a zombie’s pace, Robin would have crashed into him.
Robin slammed on the brake, screeching and skidding, leaving a cloud of dust behind her. A man, about her age, with sandy hair, stumbled out of his front yard, covered in blood. His arms were extended in front of him, zombie style, as he teetered toward her car. He tripped over an old tire at the edge of his yard, but stayed upright, making slow progress.
Without taking her eyes off the bleeding man, Robin squeezed the side button on her smart watch. “Call emergency services.” She yanked open her glove compartment and dug under receipts, expired insurance cards, and a gnarly hairbrush until her hand seized on the plastic box that held her DIY first aid kit. Robin hadn’t been a Girl Scout for nothing.
She threw open her door and ran to meet the bleeding zombie man. As soon as she reached him, he collapsed in her arms. Her muscles pulled as she lowered him to the dirt road. He was taller than her and he was all muscle and sinew, a farmer’s build. She glanced back and forth, but didn’t see anyone else around, unless you counted a couple of cows chewing their cuds about twenty yards away.
“Sir? Sir?” Robin lightly slapped zom
bie man’s face until his hazel eyes found her. Under all the blood spilling down his head and shoulders, his face was a chalky white, with a few days of stubble and dirty smudges on his forehead and cheeks. An acrid odor told her he hadn’t showered recently.
His mouth was working like a goldfish’s, opening and closing, but with no sound coming out. Gently, she turned his head, looking for the wound so she could staunch the bleeding. The bright morning sun cast her shadow across his face. She leaned back slightly to allow more light to shine on him. Blood seeped from the back of his head, behind his right ear.
“My name is Robin.” Holding his head to the side, she groped in the dirt for her first aid kit. She snapped open the lid and snatched a packet of gauze. One-handed, she tore it open with her teeth and pressed it to the squishy area, ignoring her stomach when it lurched in protest. She focused on his eyes, wide and staring. “Stay with me. Help is on the way.” She glanced at her watch to confirm it was relaying her location to the local emergency services. It was still clocking. The surrounding hills and lack of cell towers in River Sutton meant her signal might not be getting through. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, please let help be on the way.”
His hand, slippery with blood, icy cold, clamped down on hers. His eyes were nearly all white, like a horse’s when it’s spooked. “Jo… Jo…” She leaned closer, watching his lips move to form a word. “Sor-ry.” He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. His eyes seemed to be begging her to understand.
“Got it.” Even though she didn’t. Not really. She nodded, exaggerating, like she was assuring a toddler. “‘Jo Jo. Sorry.’ Loud and clear. Just hang on.” She strained her ears, but all she heard was the somnolent, steady buzz of bees and beetles. Where were the blasted sirens?
She watched a puddle of blood grow and spread beneath her hand where she held his head. The man’s blood had already thoroughly soaked the gauze pad. She scanned beyond his front yard, to the nearby fields, the edge of the woods, the dirt road. No one was there.
