Shadow Tag, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  Eli nodded and Fadiya perched on the side of his bed. “My brother told me everything you did to protect me. I want to extend my gratitude for your bravery.”

  “Ah… I did not do anything,” Eli stuttered and his face flushed crimson as he sat up straighter.

  “You did,” Fadiya said. “You all did. You believed Aazar.”

  “Did Emily discharge you?” Sam asked.

  Aazar laid his arm protectively across his sister’s shoulders. “Yes, and we’d like to ask a favour.”

  “What’s that?”

  Fadiya reached across the bed and took Sam’s hand. “It would honour me if you’d agree to be my therapist. With your help, I believe I can leave Bueton behind.”

  “Dr. Armstrong thinks it’s a good fit,” Aazar added. “Fadiya can work with you at the clinic on an outpatient basis.”

  Sam had resigned from the clinical practicum. Dr. Armstrong hadn’t chosen her for the position because of her academic achievements or her skills as a therapist. Sam didn’t want to gain her hours under the tutelage of a mentor who didn’t believe in her. However, Emily had refused to accept the letter of resignation, asking Sam to wait until after her wedding to make a final decision.

  Now, Bethany and Fadiya needed her. The decision was easy.

  “I’d like that,” Sam told Fadiya.

  Fadiya looked at Eli. “You bought the land that belonged to Mussani’s cult. Is that right?”

  He nodded. “It is a horse ranch and a camp for kids with autism and Asperger’s.” He pressed his lips together and gave the elastic around his wrist an enthusiastic snap. Sam suspected he was worried about nervously rambling on about his charity.

  “I’d like to visit,” Fadiya said and turned to Sam. “If you think it would help, and you’d agree to go with me.”

  “We’ll talk about it,” Sam said, realizing that Fadiya had referred to Bueton as a cult. It was a very positive step toward recovery. “But I think it might be a good idea.”

  Fadiya placed her hand on her abdomen. “I’m keeping my baby,” she announced with a brilliant smile. “An angel has breathed the soul into the fetus and has written down its provisions. If it’s Allah’s wish, the stem cells will save Aazar,” she said. “This life is a blessing and brings me joy.”

  Sam’s gaze flickered to Aazar. She assumed that Fadiya would not be able to donate a lung lobe until after the baby’s birth. Aazar didn’t look well enough to survive six more months. His best chance would be the umbilical cord stem cells, although there was no guarantee that it would put his disease into remission. The likelihood of Aazar surviving long enough to finish his research seemed slim, but there was an aura of peace around him now that his sister was safe.

  The familial love Sam witnessed between them was inspiring. She wondered if she had the capacity to share such unconditional, selfless love. For most of her life, her mother had acted as if Sam’s mere existence was a hardship to endure. Once Grace had accepted that she couldn’t change her stubborn daughter, she’d avoided Sam’s company. Maybe the elaborate wedding plans were her mother’s way of making amends. Maybe extravagance was the way Grace expressed love.

  Reece was right, it didn’t matter where they got married or what sort of an event it was. Her mother was making an effort. The least Sam could do was to deal with the pomp and ceremony for one day. After all, how bad could it be?

  EPILOGUE

  SAM

  “THIS IS HELL,” Sam grumbled to Reece. “Why didn’t we elope?” She tugged at the front of her sleeveless, V-neck dress. The simplicity of the silk sheath with its mermaid skirt and cowl back had been elegant and luxurious in the air-conditioned fitting room. She hadn’t considered the effect of the clingy material in the stifling August heat. By the time they’d wrapped up a ridiculous amount of photos in her mother’s pristine gardens, the afternoon sun was beating down from a cloudless sapphire sky. Perspiration pooled between her breasts, and her inner thighs were slick with sweat. She was miserable and uncomfortable.

  Reece’s eyes gleamed with admiration. “I can’t believe we’re finally married. You are so damn beautiful.”

  “You’re only saying that because you know I’m a heart-beat from running upstairs and putting on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt,” she grumbled. “God, here comes Mother and she’s on a mission.”

  Grace marched across the grass to where they were hiding by a large maple tree. As she drew closer, Sam noticed with distress that her mother’s facial features were scrunched together. It appeared she might cry.

  “Samantha, who is that woman standing with the tall dark-haired man?” Grace was short of breath from traversing the yard on her tiptoes, in an effort to save the heels of her Christian Louboutin stilettos.

  Sam glanced to where her mother’s diamond encircled finger pointed. “The man is Bryce Mansfield. That’s his new wife, Alice. Why?”

  “I believe she stole one of the Waterford shot glasses,” Grace said anxiously. “I saw her eat the crab salad and then the glass vanished.”

  Sam rolled her eyes. “Bryce is the head of the homicide squad. A police inspector’s wife wouldn’t steal something right under his nose.”

  She refrained from pointing out that she’d specifically asked her mother not to serve the fancy cocktail food in over-priced serving vessels. Her eyes skimmed over Eli and Danny. Eli was rolling around getting grass stains all over his Kiton tuxedo. Pepin was happily barking and nipping at the fifty-thousand-dollar pant cuffs. Sam watched Danny scarf down a lobster roll in a single bite and drop the vintage china plate on the grass, an inch from where Eli was about to roll.

  Sam stepped to the other side of Reece to block her mother’s view. “I’m positive Alice isn’t a kleptomaniac,” she said to comfort her mother. Sam wasn’t positive. She’d only met Alice a few times, which had been enough. All she knew about Bryce’s second wife was that she was twenty years his junior and had the intellect of a squirrel.

  “I’m certain she stole the glass, and I caught her wandering around inside the house,” Grace said, growing more agitated. “Goodness knows what she took! There’s an original Van Gogh painting in the front room.” A tear trailed down Grace’s cheek.

  How Alice would lift a priceless painting, trot out to Bryce’s car—a Mini convertible, no less—and manage to hide a giant oil painting was a mystery to Sam.

  “Bryce is coming over,” Reece said gently. “I’ll speak to him about your concerns. Enjoy this fantastic party. You’ve done so much for us, and we’re both very grateful.”

  Her mother visibly relaxed under Reece’s doting attention. “I was certain you’d know exactly how to handle it.”

  Reece steered Grace in the direction of the stairs to the elevated patio, where guests mingled around multiple bars lined with top-shelf liquor. “Oh no,” he said dramatically. “The Ontario Premier has Harvey cornered.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Oh good lord! He’s fundraising again. Harvey will gift him a substantial donation just to get rid of the insufferable man.”

  “You better intercept them before Harvey empties the vaults.” Reece leaned into Grace’s ear and whispered in a conspirator tone, “I’ll investigate the case of the stolen Waterford glass.”

  Much to Sam’s amazement, her mother giggled. Grace kissed her new son-in-law’s cheek and tottered over to the sweeping staircase that led up to the enormous patio.

  “You’re embracing therapeutic lying,” Sam said to her new husband. “That isn’t the Premier. It’s my dad’s old partner.”

  Reece laughed. “I know, but now Grace and I have officially bonded as family.”

  Bryce left his child bride at the stairs that led up to the patio and strolled over to greet them. After he shook Reece’s hand and kissed Sam’s cheek, his expression turned serious.

  “Sam, did you leak Blu’s journal?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t think so. So
rry I asked.” He shaded his eyes against the sun and peered up at the patio. His face tightened at something he saw and he turned away, pulling on a pair of sunglasses. “We’ve received a tip that over the next twelve weeks an anonymous online site is publishing the journal in its entirety.”

  Sam had read Blu’s story multiple times and had felt a confusing sense of compassion. As authorities ruled more sudden-death cases as homicide, she’d had to tell herself repeatedly that murder was never excusable. What Blu had done to her grandfather, the victims she’d killed in Toronto, and Mathias Beauregard was inarguably first-degree murder, which made her one of Canada’s most prolific serial killers. What troubled Sam was how it started.

  Virgile Landry had perpetrated an unspeakable crime against Pearl. He had been a monster, protected by status and wealth. Sam was conflicted over the morality of exacting justice in a broken system that shielded the rich and powerful. People like Pearl were rarely allotted justice in the Deep South, not when they stood against an established family with old money. Yet, Blu had decided against killing Virgile. She’d wanted to walk away at the dogfight. He had been the one who had led her into a secluded area and had brandished the knife he’d used to slash Pearl. If Blu hadn’t fired her father’s gun, Sam was certain that Virgile and his father—whom Sam believed had been hiding in the bushes—would have raped and killed her. In her opinion, Virgile’s death was self-defence and Sam had no compassion for the vile young man. If she were honest, she didn’t have much empathy for the vigilante’s heartless victims either.

  Reece completely disagreed. In his mind, Ophelia’s vigilante murders proved she was a stone-cold killer who had invaded people’s privacy and stalked them mercilessly with a drone prior to executing them ruthlessly. Reece was adamant that without a societal-enforced judicial system, anarchy would rein. Regardless of how hard he was working toward tolerance, justice would always be black and white to him.

  Sam suddenly realized that Bryce and Reece were watching her with matching expressions that fused concern and disapproval.

  To break the uncomfortable silence, she said, “Readers might sympathize with Blu.”

  Bryce shrugged. “Murder is never for the greater good. People understand that.” He looked up at the bustling bar. “Let’s get a drink. We’re here to celebrate.”

  “Go ahead,” she told them. “I need a minute.”

  Reece and Bryce waved at Eli and Danny to join them. As the group went up the stairs, Sam gazed at the people on the crowded patio. Any of these strangers could someday feel compelled to exact vigilante justice against a mean and entitled society. That was exactly what Ophelia had warned:

  When I dwindle away like the grey mist that hangs above the bayou at dawn, some likeminded soul will materialize from the dissipating vapour. We are the omnipotent judges and executioners of the unworthy.

  Sam rubbed the chill from her arms and stood in quiet reflection under the giant old maple tree. For just a second, a fragrant scent of coconut surrounded her. She stared up at the dappled sunlight from the heavy green foliage of the towering tree, and tears stung her eyes.

  “Blu, I hope you made it o’er the bayou to Pearl.”

  THE END

  AUTHOR LETTER

  PEOPLE OFTEN ASK where I get my ideas. Usually, I can’t answer, because something comes to me and the seed grows on its own volition. A fan once wrote in a review that he wondered what goes on my head. I appreciate the fact he didn’t add the adjective ‘crazy’, although I wouldn’t have blamed him. You probably don’t want to know what goes on in my head, but I can tell you what motivated this story. One day I was shopping, and everywhere I went I encountered rude people. I told myself that their situational awareness was low and they weren’t being obnoxious and entitled intentionally. Then, a shopper came barrelling down an aisle and plowed into me with her grocery cart. Rather than apologizing, the woman glanced up from her phone and snarled at me to watch where I was going. As I stood rubbing my wounded shin, I wondered about the apathetic and self-absorbed tendencies of today’s society. It didn’t take long before I sensed Blu standing beside me.

  I was fortunate to live in the southern United States a long time ago. Here in Southwestern Ontario in Canada, I still keep a hurricane kit nestled in our basement, much to the amusement of my family. I visited Louisiana frequently and fell in love with the state, the rich culture, and the amazing people. If you haven’t visited the Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival, I highly recommend it. If you take a tour down the Bayou Teche, you’re likely to pass the inspiration for Blu’s home, assuming it’s still there. I took a bit of literary licence, but I tried to remain authentic to the unique beauty of the area.

  Mike Doyle is the graphic designer responsible for the amazing cover. This is the third cover he’s done—Red Rover and Frozen Statues—and Mike’s sheer brilliance in capturing the essence of my stories amazes me. Jennifer McIntyre handled the developmental edit for this novel. The newest addition to my editing team is Erin Hall, and she deserves the biggest shout-out. After a catastrophic mishap with the substantive editing of the final manuscript, Erin stepped up and took over the project with very little notice and a crushing deadline. I’m eternally grateful to her for her professionalism, loyalty, and support. She is a rock star.

  Any mistakes are mine. I’m an insecure neurotic who fiddles after the final proofreading. I suppose this illustrates the duel personality trait of a Gemini, because I live in perpetual fear of typos. Regardless of everyone’s best efforts, typos slip through occasionally. I’m grateful to any eagle-eyed reader who lets me know. We fix them immediately. I write in Canadian English—which can be a bit confusing for some readers—but if you find any pesky typos, please email me at lori@lefraser.com. To thank you, I’ll send you a free Perdition Games e-book of your choice.

  Thank you for reading Shadow Tag, Perdition Games. I’m requesting a bit more kindness by asking you to write a review on Amazon and Goodreads to offer your honest opinion. Leaving a review, no matter how short, helps make it possible for me to continue to write for you. And as always, please connect with me on social media to hear about new releases and book promotions or just to say hello.

  QPP, your spirit is infinite.

  Lori

  www.perditiongames.com

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  WHAT REVIEWERS SAY

  “Readers who are looking for a fresh suspenseful thriller series will find what they’re looking for here.”—Awesome Indies Books

  “Breathtakingly brilliant.”—San Francisco Book Review

  “Sweeps readers along.”—Kirkus Reviews

  “Fast paced fiction.”—Readers’ Favorite

  “Deeply compelling psychological thrillers.”—Self-Publishing Review

  FROZEN STATUES

  Flawless Revenge is Art

  In the bitter cold of a Canadian winter, seven university freshmen vanish without a trace. Soon afterwards, police discover a ghastly crime scene—the victim is frozen solid and his eyes are missing, replaced with black stones. A week later, they find a second frozen statue at an identical crime scene.

  Toronto PI Samantha McNamara suspects a copycat is mimicking Incubus, the serial killer who brutally murdered her sister three years earlier. And when Incubus writes to her from a maximum-security prison, Sam is certain that the psychopath holds the key to saving the remaining students.

  But as the hunt for the young men intensifies, Sam is unwittingly lured into a lethal trap, intricately planned to destroy her. Haunted by the signature white lily that Incubus tattooed on all of his victims, Sam grows obsessed with uncovering the meaning behind the flower. Her partner and fiancé, former police Inspector Reece Hash, watches helplessly as Sam rushes headlong into destruction. With time running out for his fiancée and the abducted students, Reece m
ust unravel a psychopath’s twisted game. And do it before the serial killer poses his next work of art.

  Five young men wait in terror. Which will be the next frozen statue?

  GET IT HERE

  Frozen Statues, Perdition Games

  RED ROVER

  Death is the prize in a twisted game

  An ex-football player is murdered. A National Ballet dancer commits suicide. The only link between the two deaths is Dr. Roger Peterson, a famous psychiatrist and bestselling author.

  Toronto PI Samantha McNamara doesn’t want to believe her childhood friend is capable of the vicious murder or that he had a hand in the tragic suicide. But when her fiancé, ex-police Inspector Reece Hash, receives a suicide letter from the ballerina, Sam realizes that there’s a hidden side to her friend. As Roger’s unethical conduct is slowly exposed, a ruthless killer targets Sam and Reece. They’re plunged into a terrifying nightmare, stalked by a psychopath whose greatest pleasure is the game.

  The rules are simple: trust no one and stay alive.

  GET IT HERE

  Red Rover, Perdition Games

  SKULLY

  She can’t run fast enough to escape her past

  Six months after an unspeakable crime, Michigan police find a missing five-year-old wandering across the frozen surface of Lake Superior. Authorities discover her abductor brutally murdered in a wilderness cabin, but the child has no memory of her captivity or rescue.

  Thirty years later, Gabriella vanishes again after making a frantic call to 911. A gruesome crime scene shocks authorities and evidence of homicide leads to the arrest of her husband. To protect him from prison, Toronto PI Samantha McNamara and former police Inspector Reece Hash must unravel Gabriella’s haunted past. And the key lies in the ominous truth behind a thirty-year-old abduction.