Murderous Envy (The Veils of Parallel Times Book 1)

by C. J. Carson

  Murderous Envy

  The Veils of Parallel Times Trilogy

  C.J. Carson

  Copyright © 2021 by C.J. Carson

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in any form—whether electronic, mechanical, or by any other or similar means of storage without the publisher’s written consent. However, brief quotations for crucial articles and reviews are allowed.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Published by:

  Rustic Barn Door Publishing

  www.cjcarsonauthor.com

  cjcarsonauthor@gmail.com

  ISBN: 978-19543560-0-9

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020924226

  Cover Designed by

  Interior Design by TWA Solutions

  Dedication

  For Liz and Vice Kennedy, who have selflessly been there for me in life. They were a source of inspiration for this book, as they always supported me in my writing endeavors and never said no when I needed a location to film a scene in the pilot that inspired this Murderous Envy.

  For Eric Dawalga, who, with the magic of his camera and hours of editing, has helped me bring the characters of Murderous Envy to life on film, inspiring me to write The Veils of Parallel Times series.

  Acknowledgments

  Gratitude to my amazing daughter, Virginia, for taking this journey with me, reviewing and providing feedback on Allie’s many adventures.

  My eternal gratitude to my life partner who has supported all my artful endeavors in this lifetime.

  My sincere gratitude to Kelley Hazen and Storyteller Productions who was a great influence during my writing process and who made the audible version of Murderous Envy possible.

  Heartfelt thanks to M.L. Hamilton for her wonderful book cover designs capturing the true essence of The Veils of Parallel Times. Her tremendous inspiration, and generous guidance aided me in getting Murderous Envy to the finish line.

  A very special thanks to my editor, Jessica Tilles, for her dedication and diligent work with my first published book.

  My extreme appreciation for my beta readers, Wendy Walker and Donna Murphy who gave their time to review and provide feedback for Murderous Envy.

  With a humble heart I thank all my friends and family who have supported me unconditionally and encouraged my life’s journey.

  Many thanks to The Carolina Forest Author’s Club members, who gently nudged and inspired me to move forward, complete, and publish my first book.

  Prologue

  TODAY, MY LIFE IS NOT AT all what I had envisioned for myself, not even a few months ago. One early morning just a couple of weeks before Christmas, under a veil of thick fog and freezing rain, at three-thirty in the morning to be exact, I raced to an old mill with Chief Detective Dennis Payne and Detective Jake Carpenter, Payne’s rookie partner. As we pulled up to the side of the building, before the car came to a complete stop, I jumped out and ran to the loading dock near the back entrance. Taking the stairs two at a time, with Payne and Carpenter on my heels, I stopped short. There it was, just as I had imagined, or at least I thought I had imagined it. That old black trunk with every detail carved in my memory, or at least it felt like a memory, I can never be sure. I stood there paralyzed, trying to reconcile this chilling experience, which was one of many that were becoming my new reality. Detective Payne threw open the lid and inside was a fleece-covered quilt and a small stuffed doll.

  With rain pouring down on my face, and more than a little out of breath, I fell to my knees, picked up the blanket and doll, pressed them against my chest, and whispered, “We’re close!”

  In frustration, Payne threw up his hands. “Damn, you have got to be kidding me. I can’t believe we missed them!”

  Carpenter leaned over to catch my gaze and, staring straight into my eyes, blurted out, “How do you do this? What the hell?”

  I couldn’t speak, and to be truthful, I wouldn’t have known what to say. Honestly, at that moment, I wanted someone to explain it all to me. What makes me tick? Technically, no one knows why I know the things I know or how I do the things I do. Hell, to be honest, I’m not sure how I even move through this life sometimes; it is all so confusing to me. There are enigmas in this world that are unexplainable in simple or scientific terms and, I guess, I’m just one of them.

  What helps me get through all of this is something my grandfather told me years ago: “When you are on the right path, doors open to you and if you walk through them, you will find your way. If you walk away from them, the course of your life will be a far harder and strenuous path. It is like walking against the ocean’s current instead of going with it. If you go against the current in your life, you risk becoming out of touch with humanity and what is important in your life’s travels.” Well, as confusing and philosophical as all that sounds, I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.

  Chapter 1

  Four and a half months earlier…

  IT WAS THE END OF A LONG day. Damn, it was the end of a long month.

  I was wrapping up a presentation for Healthtech Pharmaceuticals, an account I had been trying to attain for two years. Attending were representatives from the company, which included two members of the board of directors, the chief financial officer, the general manager from the production area, the director of quality, and the lead scientist. Exasperated, I wanted to run from the conference room as soon as I completed my pitch to this seemingly intelligent, but extremely boring group. I had my escape plan all mapped out.

  Clearing my throat, I brought the group’s attention to the overhead presentation for the last time. “So, in summary, ladies and gentlemen, we designed our marketing strategy to increase your regional profit margin by fifty percent during the first year of implementation. Within six months from that year, market share will double and you will have captured seventy-five percent of the global market.”

  The room buzzed with excited conversation.

  I collected and filed paperwork into my briefcase. “I have provided each of you with a packet for your review this evening. I would like to reconvene in the morning promptly at nine o’clock to wrap this up and sign the contract.”

  Without missing a beat, I picked up my coat and briefcase and headed for the door.

  A gentleman seated at the conference table stopped me. “Excuse me, Ms. Callahan, but—”

  “I’m sorry…” I looked at the name tag pinned to his neatly tailored suit jacket, “… ah, Mr. Sullivan? I am sorry to be so abrupt, but I would like everyone to hold any questions until we reconvene in the morning. I am on a tight schedule and I have another meeting this evening. My assistant, Tara, will escort you out of the building. Have a good evening.”

  As I left the conference room and beat feet down the hallway, the room was buzzing with conversation. Maybe they didn’t like my abrupt exit, but at this point in my life, it seemed I had no tolerance for any wasted time or energy.

  Looking back on it now, I don’t think I had time for anything that didn’t positively affect the bottom line. That was the driving force behind my success and the success of the firm. In hindsight, I was sure that was why they chose us. After all, several business publications listed us as number one of the top three marketing firms in the Northeast this year.

  Reaching the parking garage, with a clic
k of the key remote, in one fell swoop, I started my car, unlocked the doors, popped the trunk, threw in my briefcase, and slammed the trunk shut. As I got into the driver’s seat, I reached over to fasten my seat belt. When I took a deep breath, my cell phone rang. It was Mark, my brother, who was also my partner at the firm.

  Mark was what I liked to refer to as our on-site worrier, taking on all the burdens of our company internally. He was a walking heart attack in waiting.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Allie, how are the negotiations with Healthtech going?”

  “Mark, they went exactly as planned.”

  “What do you mean ‘exactly as planned’? Is the meeting over or are you just taking a break? Are they signing the contract today?”

  “Relax, Mark, it went off without a hitch. I don’t have time for a long conversation, but they were really impressed with our strategy for implementation as well as our projection for their growth.”

  “Look, Allie, I thought today was about closing the deal! What were you thinking?”

  I was on the edge of losing my patience. “Mark, I’m thinking that this is my negotiation and you should leave it up to me. I fully expect to sign in the morning.”

  “But, Allie!”

  “No ‘buts’ about it, Mark. I have an appointment this evening and I need to go. You’re on vacation, why don’t you act like it? I am sure your family would appreciate it. Does Tammy even know you are calling me?”

  Yes, that was me, Ms. Allie Carpenter Inc. speaking; the driven, no holds barred woman who took no prisoners and never looked back except to access whatever needed improving.

  “Tammy is down at the pool with the kids and I am heading there now.”

  “Mark, please take this vacation seriously. I need you back here rested and rejuvenated.”

  My meeting that evening was the first session of a self-defense class I had been planning to take. I drove across town and as I pulled up to the building, I became more than a little uneasy. The neighborhood was run down, and it was getting a little dark. Frankly, my first thought, as I put the car in park, was it must be a requirement to take a self-defense class to even walk these streets. Putting it bluntly, it wasn’t the most favorable part of town. I picked up my gym bag off the passenger’s seat, placed my cell phone, wallet, and keys in the side pocket, and got out of the car.

  I walked to what appeared to be a storefront and entered the building where an overzealous and cheerful young woman standing behind a counter greeted me.

  “Good evening, my name is Trisha, can I help you?”

  It was a combination lobby and waiting area. There was a strange odor that hung in the air, which I would later come to remember was the scent of burnt sage. The interesting thing was that at that moment, I had some vague recollection of that smell, but couldn’t quite place it.

  “Hello. Yes, I am here for a self-defense class.”

  “And your name?”

  “Allie, Allie Callahan.”

  Trisha smiled and moved out from behind the counter, carrying a neatly folded white top and pants and a manila folder. “Oh yes, welcome! We were expecting you, Ms. Callahan. We are so glad you are joining us.” She pointed to a door on the right of the lobby. “Here is your gi and paperwork. You can change in the locker room. Your locker number is thirty-five and the combination for it is in this folder. Class will begin promptly at seven-thirty.”

  I stepped into the locker room at seven-fifteen and emerged by seven twenty-five to find a lobby full of people waiting for class to begin. As I glanced around the room, it was clear most everyone there knew each other very well. I had put myself in an environment that was out of my element, and for the first time in a long time, I felt vulnerable and very much the proverbial fish out of water.

  Promptly at seven-thirty, Trisha announced, “Sensei is ready for you now. Please enter the dojo.” That was the first thing I learned in that experience. The dojo was the classroom or gym. The second thing I was to learn was how to enter that space.

  Everyone lined up outside the entrance and, as each person entered, they stopped just inside the door, bowed from the waist to someone on the other side, and moved into the room. Being at the end of the line, I did not want to feel out-of-place, so I proceeded, mimicking the behavior of everyone else. I stepped into the room, bowed, and looked up straight into the face of the Sensei. At that very moment, I wanted the floor to open up under my feet, drop me in a hole, and somehow transport me magically back to the end of my meeting that afternoon. I was looking right into the eyes of Mr. Sullivan, the scientist I so quickly cut off at the end of my meeting earlier that day. Yes, the very same gentleman I told I had another meeting to attend. Oops! I felt like a small child caught in a lie, and my feeling of vulnerability climbed a few more notches. This was not a position I was used to being in. All my research showed that such activity increased self-confidence, which ordinarily was not an issue for me, ever. In my mind, I came strictly to exercise and gain physical stamina. My confidence level was not usually an issue.

  Without skipping a beat, he grinned. “Welcome. My name is Josh and we are so pleased to have you join us this evening.”

  Honestly, I rather enjoyed the class. My first impression was that to be successful here would require a lot of concentration and more than a little discipline. One could say that was my mantra in every other aspect of my life, so this class would be a great addition to my weekly routine.

  When the session was over, I was more than a little sore in places I never thought possible, which was surprising. After all, I worked out at least three times a week and was in great shape. However, I may have overdone it trying to keep up with those who had been doing this workout, probably for months or even years. Blame it on that competitive entity residing somewhere deep inside my psyche.

  After class, I was leaving the dojo when I heard that familiar voice. “Excuse me, Ms. Callahan?”

  I had wanted to escape without having to speak with the Sensei, but clearly, he was not letting that happen.

  “Hello, Mr. Sullivan. What a surprise to run into you here.”

  He smiled like a Cheshire cat. “I’m sure! So, what did you think?”

  “I think I’m going to give it a few more sessions before I answer that.”

  As he turned to walk toward the door, he glanced back. “You’re on!”

  That competitive side of me responded, “I accept that challenge.”

  By the time I got back to my car, I expected to feel tired, but I felt energized. I sat quietly behind the wheel, recapping my day, which was quite productive. I had stretched a little, both physically and emotionally, and I was quite proud of myself. Unknowingly, I had put myself in an uncomfortable situation and survived. That was not something I ever did, but I considered it a challenge to overcome. The question now was, should I go home to get a good night’s sleep or go back to the office and prepare to move in for the kill during the morning meeting? This was a big account, and I wanted to be completely prepared. Besides, Mark would never forgive me if I blew this opportunity.

  So that was it, I needed to go back to the office. I picked up my cell phone and called for a late dinner at my favorite takeout place.

  “Hi, George. It looks like another late night at work for me. Could you make me one of your famous grilled chicken sandwiches?”

  “Hey, Allie! I’ll be happy to, but you know what they say about all work and no play?”

  “Yes, I know, but my name’s not Jack and I’m not a boy. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. See you then.”

  I loved George Pappas. He had been like a father to me since my father and grandfather passed away. My mother, my brother, Mark, and George were truly the only links left to my wonderful, long-lost childhood. As I drove across town, I reminisced and remembered the hours I spent at George’s Café with my grandfather. Located downtown on Main Street, the café was previously an old bank. Walking into the café was like walking back into the 1950s. The fl
oors were black-and-white tiles and the ceilings were high and had an industrial feeling. I loved to sit up at the counter because it had those old stools that could spin in circles. The countertop was Formica, with that old busy boomerang pattern that was so popular in the fifties. George had discovered a multitude of old photographs of the bank and the buildings from all around the city, had them blown up, and hung on the walls along with many old artifacts from that era. On one side of the café was a bank of booths and a jukebox filled with old forty-five vinyl records. When I was about five years old, I loved the song, Splish Splash, by Bobby Darin. I was quite a little ham back then. George would play that song and sit me on the counter where I would sing along with Bobby and entertain the customers. By far my favorite spot in the café was the large bank vault with its massive combination door that was open and bolted to the wall. George converted that space into a cozy sitting area with couches and a coffee table. When I was little, I spent many hours in there drawing on paper placemats. As a teenager, I would go there after school and sit in that space doing my homework. It was truly my home away from home.

  As I entered the café, George was waiting at the counter with my dinner packed and ready to go.

  “Well, hello there, Allie. How’s my favorite girl?” He stepped out from behind the counter to give me a huge bear hug. “You know these hours you’re keeping at the office are not good for your social life.”

  I had no good answer for that. “What social life?”

  “Exactly, you have none! What in the world ever happened to that young girl I used to know that came here with her grandfather?”

  Again, for just a minute, I allowed myself to go back in time to that fun-loving, lost part of my life, but quickly snapped back to reality.