Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  “Why the hell not?”

  “She was extremely upset about the petition and her daughter just had a baby.” I spoke in a whisper, touching my tender neck. “It was in the heat of the moment, and I’m sure she didn’t actually mean to hurt me.”

  “In the heat of the moment is how most people get murdered,” said Ruby. “It’s called manslaughter.”

  “Your grandmother’s right. I don’t care how upset she was, she had no right to attack you,” said Mom. “I’ve been upset many times in my life, but I’ve never choked anyone.”

  “There were times when I wanted to strangle Bert. The way that no-good bastard treated you, Marybeth, I would’ve gladly—”

  Mom cut her off. “Mom—not in front of Katy. Bert’s her father.”

  I wiped my snotty, sore nose on my sweatshirt sleeve. “I’m not a child anymore, Mom, so you don’t have to protect me. Besides, Kurt’s my dad, not Bert. He’s always been too busy racking up trophy wives to care about me. In fact, the only communication I’ve had with him in months is a Facebook friend request, which I turned down. So as far as I’m concerned, he probably deserved to be strangled.”

  “Amen to that,” said Ruby. “Thank goodness, you’re all right, sweetie. We could be at a funeral home right now, picking out your casket.” She was really worked up.

  “Maybe you should get a restraining order,” said Mom.

  “Oh the hell with that! How’s a piece of paper going to protect Katy? She should get a shotgun!”

  They were really freaking me out. “She doesn’t know where I live, but if anything else happens, I promise to report her. And remember, I have a security alarm system that Pop insisted I get when I moved in here. State of the art. So I’ll be fine.”

  “Is it set now?” asked Mom.

  “No. But when you leave I promise, cross my heart, I will set it.” I needed to change the subject. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Goodies.” Mom looked past me into the living room. “Looks like you got yourself all set up in there. What’s Daisy doing?”

  She was guarding my bowl against any would-be “yogurt thieves” that might be lurking. My guess would be Tabitha.

  “I was about to watch an old movie. Rebecca. Want to join me?”

  “Ahhh…Lawrence Olivier and Joan Fontaine. One of my favorites,” said Ruby. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched it and it never gets old.”

  Mom led us into the kitchen. “Ruby, how about pouring some wine, while I unload this bag and set up a tray. I don’t want the ice cream to melt.”

  I looked hopefully at her.

  “Mint-chip for you and chocolate for us. Today, my iPhone told me the meaning of life is chocolate, so we’ve got plenty, and dark chocolate pairs well with cab.”

  “Shaky hands do not pair well with cabernet, so I’ll stick to chardonnay.” I was feeling weak-kneed again and leaned against the counter for support.

  “Come on, kiddo.” Ruby guided me to the couch, then went for the wine bottles and glasses.

  After we settled in, we raised our glasses, and I squeaked out a simple, heartfelt toast. “I love you guys.”

  “I love you too, honey.” Mom turned to Grandma. “I love you, Mom.”

  “Right back at ya both. Bottom’s up.” She flicked a stray tear away and said, “Now start the movie already.”

  I pressed play and we all recited the opening line together. “Last night, I dreamt I went to Manderley again...”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG

  1996

  Tuesday, May 21

  ~part two~

  After an intimate midnight conversation with his fiancée, Jake had turned off his phone and then overslept, barely making his 11:00 class. Afterward, he grabbed a cheeseburger at a café on campus and parked himself under a shady tree to enjoy it.

  A surge of pure joy flowed through him. Erik was dead, and he was free to move on with his life. Yes, his parents would be disappointed if he didn’t finish college, but they’d get over it when they held their first grandchild. He decided to call Heidi and ask her what she thought about a fall wedding.

  He grinned, anticipating his sweetheart’s warm, sexy voice as he turned on his cell phone. Before hitting her speed dial number, he checked his voicemail. He had messages from his mother, Heidi, and Phil.

  “Why’s Phil calling?” he muttered aloud, feeling a pang of anxiety. He listened to the message. “Jake, it’s Phil. Listen, man, I’m really sorry about this, but I’m going to tell my parents. I can’t live a lie anymore. I’m so sorry.”

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Jake slammed his forehead repeatedly with the closed flip phone.

  Students nearby stopped talking and watched his meltdown.

  “Sounds like you got bad news,” said a boy, sitting with a group of friends.

  Jake scrambled to his feet and set off at a dead run to his car.

  “Dude!” shouted the kid. “You forgot your backpack.”

  Jake kept running. He was reacting with no plan in mind. When he got to his dusty green Nissan, he fumbled with his keys, dropping them three times before getting the car door open. Inside the hot, airless car, he leaned his head against the steering wheel and tried to think.

  Phil had called over two hours ago. He’d be confessing by now. What next? They’d come to the frat house looking for him, so he couldn’t go there. What next? Phil would take them to Lindsay’s body.

  He leaned back against the leather seat, not feeling the searing heat burn through his thin t-shirt. “Think, you stupid fuck!” He pounded on the steering wheel.

  His mind raced. What to do? The minute they find her body it’s all over. But what if there is no body? He forced himself to concentrate on that thought. No body. No crime.

  He checked his watch. He still had a chance. Slim, but better than none. He hadn’t come this far to give up now. He started the car and tore out of the campus parking lot. A few minutes later he was on U.S. 101, driving north.

  Once he topped the long grade going north out of Santa Lucia, it was only a few miles to the Santa Sicomoro exit. Like that other day, he was mindful of the speed limit. This was his last chance. If he blew it now because of a stupid speeding ticket, he would have to run for it.

  Jake glanced in his rearview mirror. No cops. A few more miles and he passed the general store and then the saloon where they had called the tow truck. He realized he’d missed the turn and drove past the saloon again and turned at the first road on the left.

  He’d been sitting in the backseat the last time he was on this road. What if I can’t remember? The pavement gave out to dirt and he pressed on. Ahead was a shallow creek bed. As the car dipped through it and began to ascend the other side, everything felt familiar. Jake could hear Lindsay’s voice in his head. “Please tell me what you want from me.”

  The hill was steep and he drove slow to avoid sliding out of control like the last time. “Gun it and get up this hill!” Erik ordered from beyond. Jake slowed instead. He crested the hill and remembered Phil stopping there, refusing to continue. As usual, Erik had controlled the decision and Phil had knuckled under.

  Jake saw the bend up ahead. “It’s just around that bend,” Jake whispered Erik’s words and felt a chill. He was sure he was close to the crash site. Halfway through the sharp curve, he pulled over, got out, and walked along the road, searching for flattened bushes and tire tracks. When he found the break, he listened for approaching cars. He went back to his car and drove half a mile past the break and parked out of sight.

  Staying alert to oncoming cars, he jogged back to the bushes and slid down the hill to the boulders that had halted Phil’s careening SUV.

  The grove was twenty or thirty yards from the rocks. He ducked behind the granite boulders and again listened. When he felt safe, he dashed for the trees. Near the edge of the forest, he crouched in a clump of sage to gain his bearings.

  “God, where is she?” Jake said, visually
searching the area. He looked back to the boulders and mentally drew a line. “There.”

  He stepped out into the open and sprinted to the point of entry into the grove, then zigzagged through the dry leaves. He worried that if anyone were approaching from the road, they’d hear the crunch and snap of the dry woodland clutter under his feet from as far away as the boulders. And then he heard flies buzzing and his heart shifted to warp speed. He eased towards the sound and he picked up a rank odor mingled with the cloying, medicinal aroma of the eucalyptus. He recognized the sick-sweet smell from when he’d found a rotting cow carcass in a gully back home on the farm. He batted at the swarming flies as he bent and cleared the debris.

  Flies attacked his exposed skin and the fetor of decaying human flesh sickened him as he fought back involuntary gags. “I can’t do this!” He clamped a hand over his mouth. Hot vomit spewed through his fingers and dribbled down his forearms.

  He straightened and glanced wildly around. No one was coming. “I don’t have a choice.” He resumed the horrifying task.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Lindsay murmured in his ear.

  “I’m so sorry. Never meant for this, Lindsay. I swear to God.”

  The red and yellow plaid blanket peeked through the leaves and the reek overwhelmed him. His stomach reeled and bucked, but he didn’t stop. He cleared the area around her body and saw the blanket had been chewed through in several spots. Her exposed feet had lost several toes to hungry woodland creatures. He shut his eyes and fought to regain control.

  It would be impossible to drag her body through the leaves, so he would have to carry her. Breathing through clenched teeth, nervous sweat stinging his eyes, he knelt beside her and slid his arms under her shrouded body. The jostling caused her fragile bloated corpse to sigh gaseous sounds as the skin split under the blanket. Wet, noxious body fluids seeped onto his bare arms. The blanket fell away from her once pretty face, now consumed by flesh-eating maggots.

  “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!” he screamed over and over, as he jerked his arms away and fell backwards, clamoring away from the remains.

  Slimy, plump maggots squirmed over his arms and pants. Trembling violently and sputtering convulsive gasps, he swept them off while tiny, ravenous flies attacked his sticky flesh, digging at his eyes and crawling up his nostrils. His stomach shot its contents until he could no longer stand.

  “I have to do this. Please, please God, give me the strength to do this. It’s my last chance.”

  He crawled back to Lindsay.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG

  1996

  Tuesday, May 21

  ~part three~

  Following Phil’s confession, Officer Yee escorted him to a police car where they waited for Detective Yaeger. Several minutes later, she joined them, sitting in the passenger seat. Another squad car followed as they drove out of the station parking lot.

  Phil had already told them the route during his confession, so they rode in silence, occasionally broken by radio dispatches. He looked out the window, remembering the last ride north on 101 and wished he could go back in time and make different choices. If only he’d stood up to Erik and Jake the moment he saw them grabbing Lindsay at the school flagpole, he wouldn’t be leading the police to her corpse now.

  They took the Santa Sicomoro exit, and at the east end of the small town the county coroner’s van and two county deputies in a four-wheel drive SUV waited along the roadside. They pulled out as the squad cars passed by.

  Finally Angela said, “Up ahead is the Rusty Spur Saloon. Where do we turn?”

  Phil peered through the barrier separating him from the front seat. “Slow down. It’s just before the saloon, on the right.”

  “How far is it now?” Yee asked after making the turn.

  “We still got a ways to go.” Phil shuddered, realizing he was echoing Erik’s words.

  The asphalt ended, and they were driving on dirt. A few miles further, they passed through the creek bed.

  “We’re getting closer,” said Phil. “Keep going.”

  “This road’s in terrible shape.” Yee gripped the wheel. “Sure wish I was driving a four-wheeler like those deputies.”

  They reached the crest and Phil heard Erik’s voice in his memory. It should be just around that next bend up ahead. “There’s the bend in the road up ahead. Be careful,” Phil warned Yee, “it’s a really sharp turn.”

  She eased into the one-eighty degree turn. Angela found herself holding her breath, as she gazed fearfully over the edge into the steep ravine.

  Less than a minute later, he said, “I think we’re pretty close to where my car slid off the road.”

  Yee pulled to the side, and both women breathed a sigh of relief. They got out, leaving Phil locked in the car. The other vehicles parked and the Santa Lucia police officers joined them. Angela told them to find the location where Phil’s car had gone down. The two deputies from the county sheriff’s office, and the coroner and deputy coroner were approaching Angela when an officer called out. “Over here!” Approximately thirty feet away, a young male rookie stood pointing beyond the roadside. “All the bushes here have been crushed. I see tire marks in the dirt.”

  Angela told Yee to fetch Phil. When he was at her side, she walked him to the break in the bushes. “Is this the spot?”

  He answered through pressed, trembling lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay, everybody. Let’s go, but please take a wide berth and be mindful not to disturb the tire tracks,” said Angela.

  The coroner, Janet MacDonald, stepped close. “Steve and I will get our gear and meet you down there.”

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Janet. I know how,” she paused, “overloaded—”

  Janet grinned. “You know you were going to say buried, right? Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

  “Sorry. I’m not very original, but I am surprised. I know you’re understaffed and our victim’s been dead for nearly two weeks now, so I assumed we’d only see Steve today.”

  “This one really got to me, Angela.”

  “To both of us.” Steve’s dark condemning eyes glanced at Phil for a split second. “I have a girl about the same age.”

  They spoke as if Phil were invisible. A nonentity. He stared at the ground, burning with shame.

  “I’ll head back to the van now.” Steve’s voice caught and he cleared his throat. “You’d think I’d be used to this sort of thing.”

  “I want two officers to assist Hobart down the hill,” Angela called to the other officers.

  Phil had not been arrested yet but understood Yaeger’s meaning; he had no intention of running. The rookie and Officer Danen took Phil’s arms and guided him down the hill. The dirt was loose and Phil’s trembling knees caused his feet to slip out from under him several times, but the officers kept him upright. Before they reached the boulders, Angela stopped the group. “Phil, are those the boulders where your car crashed?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where did Lindsay hit her head?”

  He nodded his chin. “Those boulders over to the right.”

  “Okay! Let’s get this area secure,” Angela said.

  Phil stood with his eyes bolted to the ground, too ashamed to make eye contact with anyone. He desperately wanted this day to be over.

  Several minutes later, Angela spoke grimly to Phil. “All right. It’s time to take us to Lindsay.”

  Phil lifted his head and pointed towards the eucalyptus grove. “Over there.”

  “You lead,” she said through tight lips.

  Officer Danen kept a firm grip on Phil’s arm. “Don’t even think about running.”

  “Would you kill me if I did?” Thinking that could be his escape.

  Danen realized that might be what the kid wanted. “No. I’d just make you miserable.”

  At the edge of the dark, densely wooded grove, they halted. “Now where?” asked Angela.

  Phil surveyed
the woods. “I didn’t bury her, but I think they would have gone towards the middle.”

  “Everyone! Spread out and step carefully,” said Yee. “Take your time.”

  Angela stayed with Phil on the edge of the trees, watching the officers step gingerly through the dead branches and leaves littering the ground.

  Officer Yee shouted from behind a wide, three-trunked tree. “Over here!”

  Angela called to the officer closest to her, the rookie, “Officer Walkin. Please stay with Hobart.”

  “It’s really bad,” Yee warned in a thin, quivering voice. “Really bad.”

  Danen stepped out from the multi-trunked Eucalyptus Globulus and called, “Over here, Detective.” His voice dropped, “Jake Werner is here, too.”

  Angela quickly worked her way around the massive tree blocking her view of the other officers. Halfway around, her nose caught the overpowering, noxious odor of rotting flesh.

  Seventeen years on the force hadn’t prepared her for the grisly scene she beheld. Jake was sitting on the cleared ground with Lindsay’s disintegrating corpse draped across his lap. The blanket hung open, revealing the putrid remains of nature’s recycling process. Maggots spilled from Lindsay’s body, squirming on Jake’s arms and legs, while flies poked his eyes and ants swarmed his entire body. And yet, the most frightening thing of all was Jake’s eyes. He was alive, but his eyes were dead.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG

  SUNDAY • APRIL 21

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Today, with a heavy heart, I put every scarf I own in a paper bag and set it by the front door to take to the Goodwill store. It wasn’t easy. I’ve been collecting scarves since high school and I have a color to go with everything, in an array of fabrics from nubby to silky. I’ll feel half-dressed without them, but they have to go. I cannot be wearing lethal weapons around my neck. If I ever have any second thoughts, and find myself being lured by a vibrant, multi-colored scarf that will go with absolutely everything in my closet, all I have to do is look at the photo of my semi-garroted throat in my phone.