Suddenly Single
Page 1
Suddenly Single
Larry Brown
Austin Macauley Publishers
Suddenly Single
About the Author
Dedication
Copyright Information ©
Acknowledgment
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30The Trial
Opening Remarks
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56Christmas – Shadow Lake Farm
Chapter 57Christmas – Pine Lake
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Epilogue
About the Author
Larry Brown is a retired business executive living near Lake Keowee, Seneca, South Carolina. After a successful business career, he began to pursue writing. This will be his third novel. His goal is to continue writing.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my wife of 48 years, Marsha. She is my toughest critic, but also my biggest motivator. She is also the love of my life.
Copyright Information ©
Larry Brown (2020)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Brown, Larry
Suddenly Single
ISBN 9781643785929 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781643785936 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645368274 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019919329
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
mail-usa@austinmacauley.com
+1 (646) 5125767
Acknowledgment
Thanks to Charles Bassos, Cliff Barlow, and Jan Dickson, who helped me stay motivated and on track.
Chapter 1
The old man was shaking uncontrollably. His sobbing was so deep his chest hurt. He didn’t even notice the blood that was on both his hands and now beginning to show on his shirt and pants.
He had taken her body off the glass coffee table in front of the stone fireplace in their great room, where she landed after the shotgun blast had opened up her chest. The second blast had killed their dog, Belle.
He had awkwardly moved her body onto the sectional leather sofa where they had been watching TV only minutes ago. He sat on the floor beside her trying to close her blouse that had been ripped open by the shotgun blast. He placed his arm around her, put his head on her shoulder, closed his eyes and tried to compose himself.
He said out loud, “Oh God, my God, how could this happen?” Now he was mad. Not at God, he was a man who loved God; they were a couple who loved God. No, he was now furious at the two men who had invaded their home.
He got up and picked up his Ruger .38 revolver which he had laid it on the glass table beside her. A small amount of blood had leaked onto the handle, but it didn’t matter as his hands were both covered with blood.
He walked to the hallway which led to their bedroom and stood over the body of the first dead man, who had received two of his .38s. He screamed an obscenity and shot the dead man in the face. Now he walked back to the great room then onto the porch and the porch entrance to their bedroom.
The other dead man lay in the entry among the glass shards and wood pieces of the ruined door frame. He stood over the dead man and shouted the same obscenity again and shot him in the face. This seemed to calm his rage.
He walked back into the great room, placed the Ruger on the glass table, and sat down in his big leather recliner. His sobbing and shaking had stopped even though his hands still trembled. Suddenly his body felt numb. He knew he needed to call someone, but he wasn’t sure he could pick up his cell phone on the table next to his recliner.
What just happened? They had been talking about food to be bought for their daughter and her husband’s visit. He had interrupted her and told her to wait while he went to get a sweater. She always kept the temperature so cold.
As he started down the hallway to the bedroom, he heard the crash of wood and glass as it exploded. He looked back to see two men in ski masks charge into their entrance. One had a shotgun, the other a handgun. From that point, his instincts took over.
His shotgun, always loaded and in easy reach in the hall closet, was his first stop. He grabbed it, then entered the bedroom and pulled open the nightstand drawer, where he kept the Ruger. That may be the thing that saved him; they probably didn’t know there was an entrance to the back porch from the bedroom. As he grabbed the Ruger, he heard two shotgun blasts. With no forethought, he charged onto the back porch and then to the great room.
Maggie was draped half on the glass table, her chest pouring blood. Belle was lying by the fireplace, a mass of white hair and blood. The two men were gone, and he knew they were in his bedroom and would soon be at the porch door which he had left half open. When the first man stepped into the porch entrance, he fired both barrels of the 12-gauge coach gun, blowing the man along with glass and pieces of the door back into the bedroom. He quickly stepped into the great room from the porch and crouched behind the big TV stand. Setting the shotgun on the floor, he aimed the Ruger at the hallway entrance. The
man stepped into the great room and seemed momentarily focused on Maggie’s body. From his crouched position, the old man fired two .38s through the man’s chest.
As he sat and leaned against the wall, he knew he didn’t believe in coincidences. It was no coincidence that he had gotten cold and had gone for a sweater. For whatever reason, God did not want him to die that day. But, why Maggie? Why poor little Belle? Why us? He then remembered the box of gold coins. He picked up his cell phone and dialed 911.
Chapter 2
The town of Lakeview, SC, was in Polk County and on the perimeter of Pine Lake. Polk County was on the far western side of the state with two pieces of the county bordering North Carolina and Georgia. Lakeview was the largest town in the county and the headquarters of the Polk County Sheriff’s department.
Sheriff Clay Hardaway had lived in Polk County his entire life. He had been in the department for 30 years, the head man for the last 20. The sheriff was a big man at 6'5" before he put on his brushed leather cowboy boots. He weighed about 250 pounds with a pink to red complexion. He had always worn his hair in a flat top cut, and you could hardly notice the white hair now mixing with his blonde. He was an intimidating figure, even at age 56.
Sheriff Hardaway’s team of 10 included three dispatchers and one administrative assistant, all females. Four of his six deputies were under 35 years old and had done tours in the military special forces in the Middle East as did the one female deputy. His sixth deputy was 65-year-old Al Johnson, the former sheriff, and Clay’s best friend.
It was 10:50 pm when the 911 call was received at the sheriff’s office. According to procedure, any call that involved gunfire with people down gets the highest priority. If there were not a deputy on patrol, one was immediately dispatched to the location. The second call went to the sheriff, wherever his location was at the time. EMT dispatch received the third call.
On this night, the call went to the sheriff at his home, a cabin on Pine Lake. The location would take about twenty to twenty-five minutes to reach from the office, but Hardaway could be there in ten minutes from his home. He had just cut a big red apple into slices when the call came. When he heard the name and address, he was shocked. He had just been at a reception in the county auditorium honoring Harry Blake and his wife, Maggie.
They were older than him but full of life and energy, and he had enjoyed meeting them both. He felt like they were genuinely nice people. He remembered thinking how much Maggie had reminded him of his wife, Louise. Louise would have liked the couple. She had died of breast cancer six months ago, about the same time the Blakes had moved to Polk County and the lake.
The reception was to celebrate the literary award Harry Blake had received. He had been a successful businessman, retired and began to write fiction. His first two books received the American Literary Association’s Craft Master Award. Not only was the recognition national news, but it also contained the grand prize of $125,000 in gold coins enclosed in a gold inlaid box. The box and coins were on display at the reception, and all of the mainstream media outlets had pictured the prize. It was awe-inspiring.
His mind shifted back to the dispatcher’s remarks, “apparent home invasion.” They didn’t have home invasions in Polk County. Maybe a drunken husband or boyfriend in a gone-bad relationship, but that was about all they had to deal with in that regard. And three dead bodies, Oh my God, he thought, he couldn’t remember the last time he had dealt with something like this. He and his team had talked about the unhealthy things that were happening in the county, and they all had hoped it would be later than sooner to come to Polk County. He hoped this was not the beginning.
Traffic around the lake at this time in the evening was non-existent. As the sheriff turned onto Ridge Road where the Blakes lived, he lit up the colored lights on his black four-wheel-drive Tahoe. He turned down the driveway that was long and steep. He could see a faded blue panel van, with both front doors open, parked close to the front door. It was entirely out of place unless you were loading or unloading. He pulled up close, blocking the van.
It was dark outside; only the lights inside the house gave illumination. He took his 12-gauge pump shotgun from its rack, opened his front door cautiously and stared carefully at the half-open front door. About that time lights came on everywhere around him. Floodlights from the house corners and over the doors of the three-car garage lit up the driveway and the generous parking area. Then the front porch light came on, and the door opened all the way. The 12-gauge went instantly into the shooting position.
Harry Blake stepped out holding both hands in the air, “It’s okay, Sheriff, it’s all over.”
“Are you alright, Mr. Blake?”
“Physically, yes. I was not shot.” Harry had moved toward one of the stone columns on the porch, so he could hold on to steady himself.
Hardaway realized how shaky Blake was and ushered him back into the house. As they passed through the foyer into the great room, Hardaway grimaced as he saw the devastation. Ahead were the bloody bodies of Maggie Blake and the dog and a bloody glass coffee table. To the left in the hallway was another body. He felt Harry shudder and choke up when he looked at Maggie again. Hardaway guided Harry to a stool in the kitchen and out of sight of the carnage.
“Mr. Blake, can I get you something? Maybe some water?”
“Sheriff, please call me Harry.”
“Only if you call me Clay.”
Harry nodded affirmatively.
“Sheriff, sorry, I mean Clay, would you mind going to the bar and getting me a glass and a bottle of Buffalo Trace?” he pointed to the bar at the entrance to the dining room. “Join me if you will,” asked Harry.
“Wish I could, but I am working. Maybe later.”
After pouring Harry’s crystal glass half-full, Clay excused himself and began his inspection. His first stop was at Maggie’s body and the immediate area. He now realized that the TV was on, and he found the remote by the big recliner, ending the game show that was in progress. The silence was now deafening.
Something caught his eye, and he realized a woman in pajamas and a robe, with a dog on a leash, was starting up the front steps. He rushed to the door to make sure the woman did not enter or see anything. Before he could open his mouth, she spoke.
“I’m Ms. Turner from down the street. I was walking Pookie when I saw your flashing lights. Are the Blakes okay?”
“Ms. Turner, I’m Sheriff Hardaway; I have just arrived. I’ll have an update a little later. Would you mind going back up the driveway to the street and ask the other neighbors to please stay away until we can sort things out here?”
“What things?”
“Ma’am, please let me do my job, now please go.”
“I’ll go, but I do think you should tell me something.”
Clay stared at the lady with his most serious face and pointed up the driveway. She grunted and left, shaking her head. He closed the front door and went back to the kitchen to check on Harry. He looked around the opening to the kitchen, hoping not to be seen. No Harry. He was gone. The light was on in a room on the opposite the big kitchen. He walked to the door; it was Harry’s office. Harry and the Buffalo Trace were at his desk.
“Come in, Clay. A little more comfortable in here.”
“Not yet, just checking to make sure you’re okay.”
“Clay I’m exhausted; I feel like I’ve been up for a week.”
“Adrenaline, you probably got such an overdose of it, that may take a while to recover. Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”
“No, I’m 72.”
“Damnation, you should be tired. We’ll talk when I’m through.”
Clay went back to work; his next stop was the body of the intruder in the hallway. As he bent over the body, he heard the front door open.
“Clay, everything okay?”
Clay stood up and met Morris Canady, the oldest of his young deputies. Morris was 35 and black.
“We got a mess. A damn sad mess.”
&
nbsp; Clay motioned Morris to follow him back into the hallway. They both bent over the body; the obvious thing was two gunshot wounds in the chest. Morris had put on a pair of latex gloves and started removing the black ski mask when Morris said, “Shit, look at this. Shot in the face and at fairly close range, I would say.” When the mask was removed, and they could clearly see the face, Morris said, “Tee Watson, a Milltown boy.” He had been arrested several times: drugs, fighting, nothing good in his public life. “And I got five bucks says I know his partner. There’s two of them, right?” asked Morris.
“Yeah, let’s check on the other one.”
They continued down the hallway and into the master bedroom. The French doors from the bedroom to the back porch had been blown apart, and the body lay in a pile of glass, wood, and blinds. His whole front had been blown apart.
“Double hit,” said Morris.
“No question. Still, think you might know who it is?” asked the sheriff.
“Big Moe Jones.” Canady was sure; he had grown up on the eastside and knew most folks in Milltown.
“Look,” Morris said as he started to remove the mask, “another face shot at fairly close range. What’s that about?”
“I don’t know but let’s keep that quiet until we hear Harry’s story.”
They walked out onto the porch and back into the great room as the EMTs arrived. Clay put a finger to his lips to keep the EMTs quiet. He walked over to them and explained that they had two dead guys and one victim, and under no circumstance did he want the lady placed in the same vehicle with the bad guys. Everything is on hold until Jesse Corbin, the coroner, gets here and does his work.
Clay asked Morris to call dispatch and get them to wake Al and have him come over. Clay went back to Harry’s office. “Can we talk?”
Harry nodded yes.
Clay closed the door and sat down across from Harry. “I know you haven’t had time to think about these things, but have you a choice for taking care of Mrs. Blake?”