Night Shift
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Praise for Annelise Ryan and her Irresistible Mysteries
DEAD OF WINTER
“Rich and multilayered... [Ryan] has a real gift for creating memorable characters and storylines, and not letting the several satellite stories overwhelm her central one. I also found following a death investigator, a job I’d never heard of, to be interesting. There’s plenty to enjoy in this novel, and I imagine, plenty to enjoy in this long series.”
—Mystery Scene Magazine
“The freezing weather and the ominous scenarios Mattie encounters make this a chilling tale of twists and unforeseen happenings, as well as the unrelenting duties Mattie faces while dealing with a normal life. An independent, stubborn, yet feisty protagonist, Maggie is a character others can relate to and acknowledge a kinship with.”
—New York Journal of Books
“Fast-paced... Series fans won’t be disappointed.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The indomitable heroine overcomes a crazy quilt of stories and threads to tackle the problems of everyday practical living along with the high-profile crimes she’s trying to solve.”
—Kirkus
“Riveting to the end, DEAD OF WINTER is highly recommended.”
—Midwest Book Review
NEEDLED TO DEATH “Exciting... A provocative page-turner.”
—Kirkus
“Needled to Death is the riveting first book of a new mystery series that combines crime, humour, and a Golden Retriever.”
—Modern Dog Magazine
“A good blend of humor, mystery and intriguing characters.”
—Parkersburg News & Sentinel
The Mattie Winston series
“The funniest deputy coroner to cut up a corpse since, well, ever!”
—Laura Levine, author of Killer Cruise
“A puzzler of a mystery. Annelise Ryan has created a smart and saucy heroine in Mattie Winston . . . What a thrill ride!”
—New York Times bestselling author Jenn McKinlay
“Has it all: suspense, laughter, a spicy dash of romance.”
—New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen
“Entertaining... Another winning mystery.”
—New York Times bestselling author Leann Sweeney
“Sassy, sexy, and suspenseful.”
—New York Times bestselling author Carolyn Hart
“[Ryan] smoothly blends humor, distinctive characters, and authentic forensic detail.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The forensic details will interest Patricia Cornwell readers... while the often slapstick humor and the blossoming romance between Mattie and Hurley will draw Evanovich fans.”
—Booklist
Books by Annelise Ryan
The Helping Hands Mystery Series:
Needled to Death
The Mattie Winston Mystery Series:
Working Stiff
Scared Stiff
Frozen Stiff
Lucky Stiff
Board Stiff
Stiff Penalty
Stiff Competition
Dead in the Water
Dead Calm
Dead of Winter
Dead Ringer
Books by Allyson K. Abbott (who also writes as
Annelise Ryan):
A Mack’s Bar Mystery
Murder on the Rocks
Murder with a Twist
In the Drink
Shots in the Dark
A Toast to Murder
Last Call
Night Shift
A Helping Hands Mystery
Annelise Ryan
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
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 30
Acknowledgments
Teaser chapter
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Beth Amos
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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ISBN: 978-1-4967-1944-7
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1946-1 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-1946-8 (ebook)
For Joyce and Bill
Chapter 1
“He’s coming. He’s mad and he’s coming for me! Help me! Please!”
The man before me, his huge, blue eyes ablaze with fear and panic, is pacing back and forth, wearing a path through dingy shag carpeting. His hands hang at his sides, one opening and closing into a fist with each step, the other clutching a triangular box from the local Quik-E-Mart. The shape of the box is a dead giveaway, but the tangy smell of tomatoes, oregano, and melted cheese leave little doubt that there’s a slice of pizza in that box. It’s almost midnight, and the Quik-E-Mart is the only place in town to get any food at this hour. Despite their small size, the stores make very tasty breakfast sandwiches, hot dogs, brats, pizza, and soups. The aroma of the pizza makes my stomach growl loudly, and I hope no one can hear it over the rants of the pacing man, because this is neither the time nor the place.
The man’s dark hair stands out from his head in what looks like a cartoonish testament to the fear he’s displaying, though this is often what his curly, unkempt hair looks like. I know this because I know him. His name is Danny Hildebrand and he knows me, too, though you might be hard put to prove it right now. If eyes truly are the windows to the soul, one look at Danny’s makes it clear that reason and sanity have left that particular building. At least for now.
I take a step closer and the police officer standing next to me, grabs my arm. “Hold back, Hildy,” he warns. “This guy is twice your size.”
This is a bit of an exaggeration, though not much of one. I barely hit the five-foot mark and Danny is around six-four. He’s a big guy, no doubt about that.
“It’s okay, Devo,” I say in a side whisper, using Officer Patrick Devonshire’s nickname. “I kno
w the guy. He’s never been violent.”
“Still,” Devo says, “stay a safe distance back.”
I see Devo unholster his Taser and I give him a chastising look. “Please, give me a few minutes before you resort to that.”
Devo frowns at me, but he keeps the Taser down at his side.
“Danny,” I say, turning my attention back to the pacing man. “It’s Hildy Schneider, remember? You and I have met before at the hospital. I’m the social worker there who always works with you. I helped you figure out a problem with your medications just a few months ago.”
Danny doesn’t acknowledge me with any words or even a look my way, but his pacing slows almost imperceptibly. I count it as progress. I look over at the woman standing off in one corner, watching Danny with a heartbroken expression, chewing on her stubby fingernails. Her eyes are the mirror image of Danny’s, and I idly wonder which parent they inherited them from.
“He lives with you now, Allie, doesn’t he?” I ask.
She briefly shifts her gaze to me, nods spastically, and then goes back to watching her brother.
“Is he off his meds again?”
“No,” she says with a hitch in her voice. “I help him with them every day to make sure he takes them like he’s supposed to.”
The man standing next to Allie, a tall, slender fellow, thirtyish, with thinning blond hair, lets out a loud sigh. “He’s been doing really well lately,” he says, looking at Allie with a sympathetic expression. “We don’t know what’s set him off, but whatever it is, I don’t think he can stay here tonight. His behavior is too erratic. He’s clearly unstable and as much as I love the guy, I love you more, Allie. I’m worried for your safety.”
“I’m fine, Joel,” Allie insists with a look of annoyance.
Joel gives us an imploring look. I don’t know who he is, but he is clearly worried about both Allie and Danny, though his allegiance appears to lean more toward Allie. A boyfriend, perhaps? Could that be what’s set Danny off this time? I know he and his sister are very close. Could jealousy be playing a role here?
I’m guessing, grasping at straws, and Devo weighs in with his opinion in a whispered aside to me that is louder than I like. “This guy’s off his rocker. A total nutcase.”
Danny stops pacing and whirls on Devo, his hands clenched, his eyes wide with desperation. “I’m not crazy!” he yells, spittle flying off his lips. Then, in a quieter but still panicked tone, he looks at me and says, “I... I saw his ghost. It... it...” He squeezes his eyes closed, and his face contorts into a grimace, as if he’s trying to crush the memory into oblivion. “It came out of the tree,” he blurts out in a panicked tone, half sobbing. “Right out of the trunk!” He slaps his free hand on his forehead several times and stands there, taking huge gulping breaths. His eyes widen. “I saw him get killed and didn’t do anything. Now he’s haunting me!”
Danny suffers from schizophrenia, so bizarre claims and actions aren’t too far outside his wheelhouse when things flair up. He’s had these kinds of episodes before and I’ve seen and cared for him in the hospital ER during several of them, including one that happened just a few months ago. Though in the past he’s always been haunted by voices, never actual ghosts.
“You know,” I say to Devo, “I think this is a situation where Roscoe might be able to help. He’s been effective with Danny in the past.”
Devo stares at Danny for a few seconds, indecision stamped on his face. Then he looks at me and nods. “Yeah, okay. Go get him.”
I hurry out of the living room and through the front door of the house we are in. Outside, parked at the curb, is the police cruiser Devo and I came in. It’s an SUV, and my golden retriever, Roscoe, a trained therapy dog, is in the back. The hatch opens as I approach, no doubt from Devo hitting a button on the remote he has on him. Roscoe, contained inside a large carrier, thumps his tail with excitement when he sees me.
I open the carrier and hook him up to a leash that is kept in the back. Together we head inside and reenter the house without knocking. The tableau I left hasn’t changed much. Danny is now squatting on the floor, one hand still palm-slapping his forehead, the other clutching that triangular box. His body trembles and I hear periodic sobs emanating from him. The slapping speeds up and it’s almost as if he’s trying to knock the demons that are haunting him right out of his head.
I realize the pizza box will need to be dealt with lest it provide too much of a distraction for Roscoe. He’s trained to ignore food—or any other items he may encounter—and not eat anything unless he’s told it’s okay, an important bit of training for a hospital-visiting therapy dog who may come across food or pills in the course of his visits. But that smell is bound to be a distractor if he’s too close to it. When I reach Devo, I tell Roscoe to sit and stay, and he does both. Then I walk up to Danny, take the box from his hand—he offers no resistance, which shows me just how out of his mind he must be because I’d die before letting go of a box that smelled that good—and carry it over to a side table.
With that done, I return to Roscoe, who whimpers a little, his head cocked to one side as he watches Danny sobbing on the floor. I undo his leash and quietly say, “Go to him.”
Roscoe drops down and does a belly crawl toward Danny, nuzzling his nose against Danny’s feet. Danny drops the slapping hand and looks at Roscoe with his tear-stained face. A hint of a smile forms on one side of his mouth. Roscoe sees it, too, and he gets up and sniffs around Danny’s face for a few seconds before gently licking one salty tear that’s about to drop from his jawline.
I’m not sure how Danny will react to this and my muscles tense. I’m ready to call Roscoe back if need be, but a moment later I see it won’t be necessary. Danny reaches up and strokes Roscoe’s furry head, eyeing him with affection. With one long, shuddering breath all the tension leaks out of Danny’s body. Roscoe thumps his tail, lies down, and rests his chin on one of Danny’s knees.
Devo holsters his Taser, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. As Danny strokes Roscoe’s head, I can see that his eyes look calmer and his muscles are more relaxed. After a minute or two, Danny lies down on the floor, stretching his body out alongside Roscoe’s.
I look past Danny to Allie and Joel and, with a sideways motion of my head, gesture toward the kitchen, which is just off the living room. I say to Devo, “Let’s talk to his sister. He’ll be fine, and we can keep an eye on him from the other room.”
Devo nods and we all make our way into the kitchen. Allie gestures toward a small table, the surface of which is nearly covered by a large bowl filled with fresh fruit—oranges, kiwis, apples, bananas, and grapes—and says, “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m fine here,” I say. There are only two chairs around the table, and I figure Allie and Joel might need to sit in them. “I want to stay where I can keep an eye on Danny.”
“Me, too,” Devo says, positioning himself directly across from me on the other side of the doorway.
Joel walks over to the fridge and says, “I’m going to have a beer. Allie?”
Allie shakes her head. “I’m on call. I’ll take a cream soda, though.”
As Joel removes the drinks from the fridge, I gesture toward him with a nod and give Allie a questioning look.
“Oh, sorry,” she says with an apologetic grin. “I should have introduced you.” She gestures toward Joel. “This is Joel Niedermeyer. He’s my fiancé.” She proffers her left hand and shows me the small diamond on her ring finger, smiling at it for a few seconds before continuing. “And this is Hildy Schneider, the social worker I told you about.”
“Congratulations,” I say to the two of them. “You are a lucky guy, Joel.”
Joel walks over and hands Allie her soda, then comes over to me and extends his free hand for a shake. “Don’t I know it,” he says with a smile. I take the offered hand, trying not to wince at the clammy wetness of his palm from holding the cold can of soda. “Allie has mentioned you. She says you’ve
been a big help to her and Danny in the past. We really appreciate that.”
“Well, that’s what we social workers do,” I say, using all my willpower to not yank my hand away from him. When he finally releases me, I quickly wipe my palm on my pants as surreptitiously as I can. What I want to do is run over to the sink and stick my hand beneath a full-running faucet with water as hot as I can stand and then scrub it with soap. It’s my OCD kicking in and I work at subduing the urge. I’m so focused, in fact, that I don’t hear any of the introductory exchange between Devo and Joel until Joel says, “Hell of a way to meet you folks.”
I try to keep my attention on the topic at hand, focusing on Allie’s hand instead of mine. “So, when’s the big day?” I ask her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, popping the tab on her drink can. “I need to get Danny straight before I can even begin to think about planning something like that.” She looks at Joel and smiles. “Joel is living here with us now, to help out.”
Joel reaches over and massages one of her shoulders, then he leans in and kisses her on the temple. “She doesn’t accept my help as much as I wish she would,” he says, looking at Allie with an adoring smile.
“Tell us what happened,” I say to Allie. “What led to you calling us tonight?”
Allie leans back against the counter in front of the sink and takes a drink of her soda, squeezing her eyes closed as she swallows. Joel walks over to the table and settles sideways into a chair, his long legs extended out and crossed at the ankle. Holding his beer in one hand, he raises it toward Allie and says, “Go ahead, hon, tell these people what happened. I would, but I’m not sure I fully understand it.” He looks at me and adds, “I didn’t hear or see the start of all this. I’m a nurse and I work the evening shift at the Sunrise Nursing Home. I got home right before you guys showed up.”