When retired family doctor Sam Moore’s old girlfriend is murdered in a local hotel, the police suspect his involvement. The coroner, a former med school colleague whose husband is about to desert her, reveals that she had a crush on Sam in med school. When she is strangled the next day in her own morgue, Sam is once again in the hot seat.
Sam’s world falls apart when he returns home to find a family member killed in the laundry room, stabbed with his own garden shears. Rocketed into a world of denial and temporary insanity, Sam faces his worst fear, and is locked up in the very same psych ward he was in when his brother Bill died fifty years ago. Sam is determined to ask his long dead brother to help him. Billy, who communicates through a little green marble, has the ability to propel Sam through time and has helped Sam unwrap baffling mysteries in the past.
Sam’s plan: to change time, and bring his loved one back to life.
Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. The award-winning and bestselling Kindle author of three addictive mystery series, Aaron enjoys the Genesee Valley countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys.
Visit his website at www.legardemysteries.com and watch for his upcoming Twilight Times Books releases, ESSENTIALLY YOURS (MAR 2012), TERROR COMES KNOCKING (FEB 2011), FOR KEEPS (MAY 2012), DON’T LET THE WIND CATCH YOU (APRIL 2012), and the author’s preferred editions of DOUBLE FORTÉ (FEB 2012) and UPSTAGED (JUNE 2012).
Writing Credits:
In addition to receiving publishing contracts for Double Forte', Upstaged, Tremolo, Mazurka, Healey's Cave, Firesong, Terror Comes Knocking, For Keeps, For the Birds, Essentially Yours, and Don't Let the Wind Catch You, Aaron writes "Seedlings," a monthly column featured in the Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine(FMAM) and the Mysteryfiction.net literary newsletter "Voice in the Dark." Many books follow these in the publishing queue.
His articles on writing have appeared in Absolute Write, and his short essay, "Word Paintings" was included in the 2007 Bylines Writers' Desk Calendar. Check out the Great Mystery and Suspense Magazine for the flash fiction piece, "Follow the Leader" and visit his blogs at www.murderby4.blogspot.com and http://www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com/. Aaron was the Saturday Writing Essential host on Gather.com 2007-2009 and keeps all of his reviews, essays, and writing articles at www.aplazar.gather.com.
Chapter
One
“Murdered?” Sam juggled
four pots of yellow daylilies in his arms, squeezing the cell phone between his
shoulder and ear. “Where? And why in world do you need me?”
Lou sighed. “I told you.
The Twin Sisters Inn. And I can’t say over the phone, I just need
your…expertise.”
My expertise? Sam had practiced family medicine in East Goodland,
New York for over thirty years, but couldn’t imagine how treating runny noses
and chicken pox qualified him to help with a murder. And why was Lou being so
damned secretive about the whole thing?
“Hold on a sec, Lou.” He
dropped the flowerpots on the counter and barely caught them before they
toppled. Flashing the clerk an apologetic smile, he swept the spilled dirt into
a pile and mumbled into the phone. “I’m at Palmiter’s. Just checking out.”
Lou groaned. “Why am I not
surprised? Since you retired, that’s all you’ve done. Flowers and more flowers.
Holy Mother Mary. Don’t you get sick of it? Or are you trying to get your place
on the Home and Garden network?”
Sam slid the plants toward
the clerk. “You’re just jealous.”
“Damn right I am. I can’t
retire for another coupla years. Remember, I was two years behind you in med
school.”
“Just because I’m retired
doesn’t mean I’ve lost my marbles. Of course I remember.” Sam thought back to
the coroner when she was a student at the University of Rochester. Short
strawberry blond hair, willowy figure, high cheekbones, and a ready smile.
Aside from her gray hair, Louise Reardon hadn’t changed much after forty years
and five kids. Except she was a hell of a lot pushier.
The freckled teen behind
the counter looked bored. “That’ll be fourteen ninety-two.”
Sam dug out fifteen bucks
and paid her. “Thanks. Keep the change.”
She raised her eyebrows as
if she couldn’t believe he’d actually try to tip her with eight lousy cents.
“Gee. Thanks, mister.”
He shrugged, loaded his
plants into a green wagon, and pulled it toward the Highlander. He’d bought
enough plants here to put all their kids through college. Anyway, who tipped sales
clerks? “Lou? You still there? I’m almost at the car.”
“I’m here.” She let loose
another frustrated sigh. “How long ‘til you get here?”
Sam loaded his plants in
the back, got in, and turned the key. The SUV purred to life. “Not long. I’m
putting you on speaker. Just a sec.” He slid the phone into his breast pocket
and backed out of the parking spot. None of those new-fangled blue tooth
gadgets for him. It was hard enough to keep up with cell phones, laptops,
iPods, and every new device that came out each year. “On my way.”
“Geez. Finally. Watch out for the news vultures when you get here, though.
They’re everywhere.”
“Will do. Be there in a
few.”
He hung up and pushed his
silver forelock back from his forehead. Shouldering his way through a pack of
hungry journalists to view a dead body had not been in today’s plans. Today was
supposed to be devoted to gardening, to feeding his insatiable need to dig in
rich loam while the sun warmed his back. If Lou weren’t such a good friend,
he’d have blown her off.
Turning south on Route 39,
he imagined the ribbing he’d get if she knew about his aversion to cadavers. A
doctor? Afraid of bodies?
He’d dealt with dead people
before, but not a great deal. Med school, of course. He’d barfed his way
through that ordeal. And when Mrs. Tupple had died in her bed ten years ago,
he’d gone to the house at Mr. Tupple’s request. Reluctantly. But he’d gone. The
most recent experience had been last fall, at his brother’s funeral.
Well, it hadn’t really been
a body…it was Billy’s bones, bones pinned underwater for fifty years.
Submerged with heavy stones deposited by Sam’s three best friends. Billy’s
disappearance had remained a mystery, until it was finally revealed last year.
When things happened. Things he couldn’t explain to anyone, except Rachel. He
couldn’t even tell her the whole story. But Billy connecting with him
from beyond and helped him get to the truth.
A familiar sadness took
hold, and as if in response, Billy’s green marble hummed and warmed in his
pocket. His brother’s face floated across his mind’s eye. Freckles. Clear hazel
eyes. Sandy hair. Impish smile.
Billy wanted to talk.
Not now. I can’t.
Later, buddy. He thought the words
in his head, knowing Billy could hear him if he said them out loud or imagined
them.
Sam turned left at the
Mobil Station on the corner of Main Street and Route 20A and headed for the
historic brick building housing The Twin Sisters Inn. Willing the marble to be
quiet, he forced himself to think of what lay ahead.
A murder victim? Why the
heck did Lou need his help? It didn’t make any sense, but in spite of his
reservations, a trickle of excitement ran down his spine.
News vans and squad cars
jammed the lot. He parked on the side of the road and headed toward the
building. The marble pulsed twice, then grew cold.
Was it a warning?
The green glass talisman
had linked Sam to Billy since he unearthed it in his garden last year. He’d
learned to respect it, and through it, Billy’s interventions had helped with a
number of sticky situations. He’d saved the life of his friend, Senator Bruce
McDonald, after the sudden collapse of Healey’s Cave. And more important, he’d
found his daughter, Beth, after she’d been kidnapped.
He locked his car and
headed toward the building, skirting around vehicles and people. He brushed
against the back of a policeman when several news reporters pushed past him.
The officer swung his head around and stared.
“Er. Sorry.” He smiled at
the patrolman and kept going.
If they had any idea. If
they knew I talked to Billy, traveled back in time with him… A lace dragged
from his shoe, threatening to trip him. He stopped to tie it. If they knew,
they’d put me back in the asylum, just like they did when I was twelve.
A chill stole over him. Memories of the day Billy disappeared assaulted
him. Billy, on his brand new bicycle, driving down the road, never to return.
Guilt coiled in his stomach. He’d answered a phone call from a damned girl,
instead of following his brother on the bike ride like he’d promised. He’d
never forgive himself for that.
That moment had been the end of life as he knew it, and the beginning
of his tortured life to come. The insane asylum had been the worst, though. He
hated to remember the way they talked to him, the stupid pills they’d made him
take that doped him up, and the disgusting smell of antiseptic that had
followed him everywhere, even seeped onto his pillowcase at night. He shuddered
and tried to put it out of his mind. Best to forget it and see what the hell
Lou wanted.
Chapter Two
Lou hailed him from the
front steps. “Over here, Doctor Moore.”
She said it loud enough to
discourage the eager journalists who craned their heads to see if he was anyone
they cared about. When they realized he wasn’t a detective, they lost interest
and swarmed toward the police chief’s car that just pulled in behind Sam’s SUV.
Lou took his arm and
steered him inside. The inn boasted antiques and wide plank floorboards. Inside
the door, a pine bench with a stenciled backboard lined the wall; an
old-fashioned pie cabinet anchored the opposite wall beside a mahogany
sideboard, on which an essential oils diffuser sat, filling the air with the scent
of balsam. Sam breathed it in, relieved it wasn’t one of those chemical
smelling, fake candles. It bolstered his spirits and reminded him of the deep
woods in the Adirondacks. He was damned sure it smelled a hell of a lot better
than what he’d find upstairs in the crime scene.
Mary and Alice Peterson,
the inn owners and former patients of his, had been encouraging him to
investigate the oils for years, and he’d meant to, but had been too swamped
with patients to check them out. He’d always regretted that, and had resolved
to do some research in his retirement that might help merge traditional
approaches with those steeped in Eastern medicine. Time would tell if he could
fit it in between the gardening, babysitting, and spending time with Rachel.
She needed more care now that her MS had worsened, but he was up to the
challenge. It was one of the reasons he’d retired a little early.
He shuffled after Lou. Tin chandeliers hung
over a long trestle table, decorated with dried crabapples and fresh flowers.
The twins reportedly served scrumptious breakfasts to guests at that table, and
he’d been invited more than a few times to partake of their homemade breads,
jams, and other goodies. Again, he’d had to decline his patients’ generous
invitations. There just hadn’t been enough hours in the day to socialize and
run his practice. But now that he was retired, he wanted to find time for more
of that kind of thing.
A policeman sat in the
corner, interviewing the hotel owners. Alice’s hands shook when she took a pen
from the officer to sign a statement, and her complexion seemed unusually pale.
Sam wondered if her blood sugar was low. She’d been his patient forever. He
started toward her with concern, but Lou grabbed his sleeve.
“Come on, it’s this way.”
“But Alice—”
“For crying out loud,
you’re retired now. She’s not your patient anymore, Sam. It’s not your job.
Come on.”
Sam dug in his heels. He
shook his arm loose and spun around. “Alice. Are you feeling okay?”
Alice’s face lit up. “Oh,
Doc! I’m so glad you’re here. It’s awful. Just awful. A woman was killed in the
Maple Nut room!”
Mary put an arm around her
sister’s shoulders. “She’s shook up, Doc.”
Sam felt her pulse. “I
think she’s more than shook up. Let’s get her some orange juice. She needs
something to get her sugar back up.”
“I’m fine, Doc. Just a
little light-headed.”
When Mary brought the
juice, he sat while she drank it, sputtering the whole time about not needing
such a fuss made over her. He waited another ten minutes, making small talk,
while Lou fumed. When he was sure she seemed stable, he turned to Lou. “Okay.
I’m ready.”
Lou blew up a lock of her
gray bangs and made a face. “Geez, Sam. You’ll never be able to leave it alone,
will you?”
“It’s not like I died when
I retired. Alice has been my patient since I started my practice. I couldn’t
just walk past her, for God’s sake. I’m not a monster.” He followed Lou up the
stairs to the second floor, ticked off now. Did being a coroner make you callous
toward the living? He shook his head, mulling it over while they threaded
around police, through a carpeted hallway, and into a room already marked with
yellow tape. The room crawled with technicians.
Lou spoke through tight
lips. “Just be careful not to touch anything.”
Sam nodded and followed her
across the suite, around a coffee table, past a fireplace, and into a bedroom.
“She’s in the bathroom,”
Lou said. “You’ll have to stand in the doorway to see. They’re still taking
photos of the blood spatter.”
Blood spatter.
Sam’s insides churned.
There was a reason he didn’t become an emergency room doctor. And blood spatter
had a lot to do with it. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus.
Inside the black and pink
bathroom, a woman lay on her side, facing away. A three-foot long gray braid
curled behind her on the floor, fastened at the top and bottom with elastic
bands and fake daisies. She had been slim, and wore a silky Japanese dressing
gown, covered with pink and black dragons that matched the floor tiles. Three
technicians crowded around the body. Camera flashes blinded Sam as he tried to
absorb the scene.
Lou whispered in his ear.
“She was hit from behind with that phone.”
An old-fashioned beige
rotary phone perched on the edge of the tub. Red smudges stained its edges.
Blood soiled the back of the woman’s head and neck and splashed about the room
on the walls and floor. A particularly large spot smeared the pink shower
curtain. He felt sick and hoped he wouldn’t lose it in front of all these
professionals.
Lou leaned on his shoulder
to look past him at the body. “Looks like it happened last night, sometime
between midnight and four. We think she let him in, recognized him, since there
was no sign of forced entry. The sisters didn’t see anything. Lights are out at
ten, but guests are free to admit family or friends whenever they like.”
One well-toned leg extended
back from her body, with toes pointed toward the sink. An anklet glistened in
the light of the camera flashes. Four silver stars marched around her slim
ankle, separated by black pearls.
A technician lifted the hem
of the dead woman’s gown to reveal a vivid pentagram tattoo, circled with black
roses. The photographer shot it from all angles.
Sam caught a glimpse of
painted pink toenails. One hand, nails unpolished, rested on the cold tile, as
if the victim was ready to push herself into a sitting position. A bottle of
nail polish had spilled on the floor by the tub.
“She never saw it coming,”
Lou said. The skinny, bald technician looked up and nodded as if he agreed,
then went back to work dusting the edges of the phone and tub.
“Maybe we should let these
gentlemen finish their jobs,” Sam said. He backed up into the bedroom. “And I
still don’t get—”
Lou shushed him with steely
eyes. “Wait. Just wait a minute, for God’s sake.”
She’d been testy with him
since she called, and he was starting to get sick of it. He’d come here to help
her. He’d much rather be in his garden, or better yet, having lunch with
Rachel.
In ten minutes, the room cleared.
One of the techs nodded to Lou on the way out. “She’s all yours, Doc. Let us
know if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” Lou shot him a grim smile
and motioned for Sam to follow her to the nightstand.
“Look at this.” She flipped through
the white pages using the eraser end of a yellow pencil. “There. There it is.
The book was opened to this page when they found her.”
Sam stared at the circled entry.
“Are you sure she did this?”
Lou shook her head. “No. But it’s
pretty damned likely.”
The name and address circled shouted
at him. Dr. Samuel J. and Rachel S. Moore. 5125 Maple Beach Road. East
Goodland, New York.
Sam stared at the phone book,
then glanced around the room. It was tidy, as if the occupant had just arrived.
The suitcase lay unpacked and opened on a stand near the television. “Am I a
suspect?”
“Hell, no. I just want to see if you
knew her. I didn’t exactly broadcast the information to the police.” She
gestured to the phone book. “I wanted to show you first. I’m not sure if they picked
up on it.”
“Thanks, Lou.” The last thing he
needed was to be part of a murder investigation. He thought back to last night.
He didn’t even have a good alibi—Rachel had fallen asleep early, and he’d read
until he’d drifted off.
He leaned over and looked
at the books on the nightstand. Standard fare. The newest Dean Koontz novel and
a women’s magazine.
“According to the detective, the ID
she gave at the front desk comes up bogus in the system, and her purse is
missing. If she carried one, that is. No wallet, no identifying papers.” Lou’s
voice softened. “You ready to see if you recognize her?”
Sam squared his shoulders and
nodded, feeling less confident than he sounded. “Sure. But what makes you think
I’ll know her? Maybe she was just looking for a local doctor.”
They walked toward the bathroom.
“Maybe.” Lou led the way. She crouched beside the victim and carefully rolled
her onto her back. “But take a look anyway.”
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