Death Notice, page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Death Notice
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
Also available from The Wild Rose Press
I stripped off my clothes and turned the shower on full blast. I stepped under the hot spray, enjoying the almost painful sting of the water. I shampooed my hair and scrubbed with ginger-citrus body wash, staying until the hot water was almost gone.
Toweling off, I stood in front of the mirror, naked, and partially blow-dried my hair. As I reached for my robe, I heard a thump, then a scraping sound, and froze.
My legs went weak and a tremble worked its way from my toes through my chest.
What was that?
Even living alone, I wasn’t prone to being skittish or imagining noises. I seldom became frightened. Wasn’t the least paranoid.
That had been something, though. Some noise inside my house. I pulled the robe over my still-damp body and belted it.
I didn’t have a weapon in the bathroom, or in either bedroom. There was a gun in the living room and knives in the kitchen, but in this part of the house, nothing. My phone was in the front room, too. Although, what would I do if I had it? Call 9-1-1 and tell them I thought I heard a noise?
I rummaged through the cabinets beneath the bathroom sink and came up with a spray bottle of Tilex. Tough on mildew, had to be tough on exposed eyeballs.
Slowly, I eased the bathroom door open and crept to the front of the house. The living room was empty.
I made my way carefully to the kitchen and pushed the door open.
My hands tightened on the spray bottle and I gasped, drawing the attention of the man seated at my dining table.
Death Notice
by
Alicia Dean
A Monroe Donovan Novel
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Death Notice
COPYRIGHT © 2022 by Alicia Dean
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Lisa Dawn MacDonald
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Edition, 2022
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3984-9
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3985-6
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my sisters, Christi and Janis, and to my beautiful nieces, Madison, Amanda and Jenny.
Thank you for your love and support.
Acknowledgments
They say it takes a village and that was pretty much true with this book. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all the ‘village people,’ who contributed, although I know I am leaving someone out. I can assure you, if I am, it is simply an oversight and I truly appreciate the help I’ve received from everyone.
I’d like to thank Meredith, for believing in me. I’d also like to thank my mentor, Mel Odom; my friends and support group… Rhonda, Judith, Faith, Claire, Janet, Natasha; all those who’ve read the book, or part of it, and offered numerous helpful suggestions… Martha, Julie, Johanna, Mary, and Lori. Also, my friends and critique group… Christy, Betty, Sheila, Kelly; the members of my OKRWA group, Erin, Danell, Silver, Colleen, Diana, and my beta reader, Calisa, for catching many errors I didn’t. The members of my HERA group, Judy, Derek, Janice, Goldie. Jeff Paris, for reading for me and inadvertently providing me with the terrorist remark, and especially Major Vincent Cannon, whose expertise helped me to get the police stuff at least partially accurate. Any and all mistakes are my own.
Chapter 1
Before I found out that a murderer was using my obituary column to forecast his kills, my biggest concern was the promotion my boss/ex-lover, Adam, had promised me.
I’d been writing obituaries for the Northland Chronicle for two years, but that was about to change. Today, Adam was promoting me to the crime desk, something I’d wanted since leaving my job at the Kansas City Star.
I’d given up a coveted career as crime reporter because I was in love, and because Adam swore that when the crime desk came open at the Chronicle, it was mine. Two years, and one very bad break-up later, the position had opened up. Last month, when one of the crime writers turned in his notice, Adam promised me that he wouldn’t let our break-up stand in the way. Today was when we made it official. I could barely contain my excitement as I drove to work, leaving earlier than I normally did, since I hadn’t been able to sleep anyway.
Although it was October, summer had lingered longer than it should have and autumn was just now establishing its rightful place. I took a moment to appreciate the scenery—the beauty of the blue sky and the trees—some still fat and green, others with leaves that had turned scarlet, gold, or burnished orange.
When I arrived at the newspaper and climbed out of the car, cold wind snatched at my coat and whipped my hair around my cheeks, making me hasten my trip from the lot to the office park where the newspaper was located.
I halted long enough to toss a few pennies into the fountain that dominated the square outside the Chronicle. Water spewed from multiple spouts, bathing the marble statue that depicted Pandora in the motion of opening her infamous box. Kansas City was known as the City of Fountains and was rumored to have more fountains than Rome. In a few months, the water in most of them would be frozen, but they’d still be lovely to look at.
In the break room, I made a pot of what my co-workers called my truck-driver sludge. I had my own pot because the others preferred something resembling tinted water more than coffee.
Adam arrived as I was pouring my second cup. He headed to his office without speaking to me, but he opened the door moments later and stuck his head out.
“Monroe, I need to see you.”
His voice was hard. Harder than a man about to promote a valued employee.
I stepped inside and shut the door.
He sat on the edge of his desk, holding a newspaper. Before I could sit, he thrust the paper toward me.
I took it and saw that it was folded back to the obituary page, with one of them circled in red.
“Read that for me, please,” Adam said.
“Why?” I grinned. “Are there words with more than two syllables?”
He gave me a look. He was not amused. I read.
Richard James Hebringer, 33, of Kansas City, Missouri, passed away unexpectedly on October 24th. Richard is survived by his parents, Hank and Patricia Hebringer, sibling Cassandra Hebringer, and extended family members. He will be interred at Macon Cemetery on October 24th.
“Shit!” I sank slowly into the chair across from his desk.
“Yep. Shit is right.”
Today was October 23rd, which meant the guy died tomorrow. What really sucked was that I was the one who’d overlooked the error.
“How’d you happen to catch it?” I asked. “You were reading obits?”
“No, my grandmother saw it. She reads them every morning. Likes to use the old joke about making sure her name’s not in there.”
I smiled faintly. “Sorry. I can’t believe I let this through.”
“Yeah. We’re just lucky no angry relatives have called…so far,” he added ominously. “Can’t imagine they’d be too happy with us.”
He said ‘us,’ but his accusatory look said ‘you’—as in me.
“I assume the guy actually died on the twenty-first or twenty-second. I’ll check, but I’m sure the email had the twenty-fourth listed. Whoever sent the obit to me had the wrong date.” My excuse was lame, even to my own ears, but I ran it by him anyway.
“Maybe so. But it’s your job to check these things before they’re published.”
“I know. Want me to print a correction?”
“Let’s hold off. If no one notices, that will just bring attention to it.”
I nodded. Although in the grand scheme of life, this was a very small infraction, I, of all people, knew how serious it really was. Having been raised with a mortician father, I knew better than anyone of the solemnity and seriousness of death. The smallest thing that seems mocking or disrespectful can send already grieving family members into deep despair.
I tossed the newspaper on Adam’s desk and changed the subject. “When do I start my new job?”
Adam’s gaze slid away from me, landing where his hands were clasped between his thighs. “About that…” He sighed heavily.
“Abo ut that, what?”
He looked at me now, his eyes pained. “Roe, I’m sorry, but there’s been a change of plans.”
My body tensed, but I tried to remain calm. “What do you mean, a change of plans?”
“You’re not going to be writing crime.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he lifted a hand and rushed on, “At least not right now. I’m not saying it won’t happen. I’m just saying it’s not going to happen as soon as we planned.”
I was humiliated to feel tears at the back of my eyes. Determined not to let them fall, I cleared my throat. “This is because of Tabitha, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “She feels a little threatened by the fact that my ex-girlfriend still works for me.”
“Even though you chose her? While we were still together, I might add.”
Adam stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. Turning his back on me, he walked to the window, staring outside. “Tab knows you and I would be working more closely together. She feels my giving you a promotion makes it look like I’m still in love with you.”
“Hmmm.” I snorted a humorless laugh. “You’d think the fact that you fucked her on my birthday would negate that theory.”
He turned to face me. “Come on, Roe. You know I’m sorry about all that. I thought you’d forgiven me. That we’d gotten past that.”
“Jesus, Adam. I did, too. I am past that, but apparently, Tabitha’s not. And it’s pretty damned unprofessional of you to let your girlfriend dictate how you deal with your employees.”
“I know. It’s just…well, her father does own the newspaper, and right now is a bad time to make her feel threatened. Especially since—”
He stopped, and I saw something like dread in his expression.
“Since what?”
He blew out a breath and took his hands out of his pockets. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked down at the floor as he spoke. “We’re engaged.”
A bolt of pain shot through my chest. It surprised me that I could still be hurt by Adam. But, his news did hurt—and shock me. I’d always thought of Tabitha as just a fling, never dreaming she’d be the kind of woman he’d marry. Adam had just gone through a divorce when he and I started dating and, at that time, he was more than just gun-shy. He was as opposed to getting married again as an atheist was to prayer. That worked for me, since I wasn’t interested in marriage, either. Especially to Adam. I would never, ever marry a man who was prettier than me. With his golden hair, smooth, tanned skin, and intensely green eyes, Adam definitely fell into that category.
I’d always wondered what he’d seen in me, and now realized I was a no-pressure rebound girl after a bad marriage. Not the kind you kept around for long, but the kind that would do in a pinch until a woman more suitable came along. Still. I never figured Adam would get married again. Well, I knew he wanted to settle down someday. He’d mentioned wanting children. I just figured it was a long ways off. Like the Millennium had seemed in the early 90’s.
I sucked in a deep breath and bunched a handful of hair on top of my head, a habit I had when I was stressed or sad or angry. My hair was mussed a great deal of the time.
“Congratulations,” I said, but it sounded more like, ‘I want to rip your heart from your chest and feed it to you bit by cheating bit.’
“Thanks. I hope now you understand why I have to keep Tabitha happy. Once she’s more secure in our relationship, maybe after we’re married, you and I will talk about that promotion.”
“Aw, gee, thanks, Adam.” My voice oozed sarcasm. “You’re awesome!”
“Come on, Roe. Please just be patient with me. Hang in there.”
Then it hit me. Maybe what he and his future wife were hoping was that I wouldn’t hang in there. “Is she trying to run me off? Get me to quit? Are you?”
“No. I mean, I’m not.” He leaned slightly toward me as if to punctuate his sincerity. “Trust me. I want you here, Roe. I don’t want you to leave.”
“Why not? It’s not like you couldn’t easily replace me.”
He sighed. “I still care about you. I like working with you, and I know you deserve that promotion. I wish you’d hang in there with me, just a while longer, until I’m able to make it happen.”
I thought about that. I’d hung in with him for two years and where had it gotten me? Nowhere. I didn’t trust Adam, and he’d just shown me why. Again. My job at the Star was no longer available, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get some position there, or somewhere else. Anything was better than staying around here, letting Adam kick me around some more.
“This is bullshit, Adam, and you know it.”
He cocked a thumb toward the newspaper, still folded open to the obit. “You did screw up on that obit.”
I didn’t respond. He and I both knew that minor mistake wasn’t enough to keep me from getting that promotion. He was just being a dick.
“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he said, coming back around to sit on the edge of his desk. Leaning forward, he clasped my hand in his. “Just be patient, please?”
I stared down to where his fingers massaged the back of my hand. His touch warmed me, but at the same time, made me ache. Most of the time, I really thought I was over him. Then, at other times, the old feelings came flooding back, catching me unaware. This was one of those times.
Then I remembered the way he’d treated me—was still treating me—and the warm feeling went away with the speed of a NASA launch.
I jerked my hand away and stood, wanting to use all the curse words I knew—and growing up with three brothers, my arsenal was extensive—but I held back, deciding to practice a little decorum.
“Screw you, Adam.” I wanted to say ‘fuck you,’ so I still considered I’d handled it with class. “I quit.”
“What?” He stood and lifted his hands out to his sides in a pleading gesture. “You can’t do that. Please. Give me some time.”
I stared into his beseeching eyes, his heart-stoppingly handsome face and felt… nothing. I inwardly sighed with relief and slowly shook my head. “I’ve given you more than I should have, Adam. So much more. Consider this my notice.”
“Monroe, wait—”
I ignored his plea and stalked out of his office, forcefully slamming the door behind me. “Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath as I headed toward my cubicle and tried to still the quaking in my chest.
“What is? Your wardrobe? What’s the occasion?” My friend and co-worker, Asia Martin, stood near my cubicle, hands on hips, apprising my outfit.
“Occasion?”
“You.” She waved a hand out like one of those game show models presenting a prize. “All dressed up like that.”
I looked down at my black slacks and soft white sweater, which for me, was dressing up. It wasn’t exactly high fashion, but it was about as girlie and dressed up as I ever got. The first six years of my life, I hadn’t realized I was a girl.
Asia, however, was most definitely in touch with her feminine side. Although slightly overweight, she was gorgeous, and her wardrobe was that of a wealthy socialite rather than a newspaper employee. Today, she wore a bronze linen suit with a silky chocolate shell underneath the jacket. I was sure it was by some designer, but I didn’t know Gucci from Prada, so I had no idea which. The color suited her, setting off her caramel skin and the blonde in her stylishly braided hair.
I plopped down in my chair so that my view of Adam was blocked. The staff work areas were separated by chest-high partitions and Adam’s office overlooked our cubicles where he lorded over us in his glass-encased kingdom. “I just felt like dressing up a bit,” I said.
“For him?” She sneered and jerked her head toward Adam’s office.
“No, not for him. Just because I was in the mood.”
“Well now you seem to be in a pissy mood. So, what changed since this morning when you dug through your sweatshirts and Levis until you came upon this?” She plucked at the shoulder of the sweater.
“I’m not getting the promotion.”
“I knew it,” Asia hissed. “That son of a bitch. Who’s getting it?”
“I don’t know.”
“He probably doesn’t even know. As long as he can appease the bitch, he’s happy. You need to… to… Ah, hell. I don’t know what you need to do.” She clenched and unclenched her fingers. I assumed she was imagining Adam’s neck between them. “You need to quit. That’s it. No, wait. Then I’d be stuck here without you. Shit.”
