She'll Never Tell
The Albany Beach Murders
Book One
by
Hunter Morgan
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ISBN: 978-1-61417-957-3
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Table of Contents
Cover
Prologue
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
Meet the Author
Prologue
Marcy glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard glaring accusingly in green and groaned; she was going to be late picking her daughter up from band practice. Katie would be in a sour mood by the time Marcy got there. The rain would have turned her hair to frizz and her taxi service was late again.
Of course, these days, it didn't take much to put Katie in a sour mood. Marcy just couldn't do anything right for the thirteen-year-old. Jake said Marcy was making too much of the teen's mood swings. It was better just to ignore her. But Katie didn't put it to him the way she put it to Marcy. Katie wasn't ashamed of Jake. She didn't ask him to pick her up at the corner so no one from school would see her get into the car with a fat woman.
Not that Marcy could blame Katie. She might have felt the same way if her mother had been this overweight. Marcy's mother, Elizabeth Seibel, had never had an ounce of fat on her, nor had Marcy's absentee father. And her sister Phoebe? The skinny, beautiful bitch. Last week she'd actually said something to Marcy about needing to drink protein shakes to put on a couple of pounds.
Marcy tucked a damp lock of her blond hair irritably behind her ear and switched the windshield wipers to high. It was raining so hard that she could barely see the gray pavement against the gray December sky, surrounded by the lifeless trees of the woods line. She gripped the steering wheel of the new minivan a little tighter with one hand while she reached for her biggie Coke with the other.
A pile of burger wrappers and a jumbo-sized French fry carton lay discarded beside her on the seat. Dropping the drink into the cup holder, she began to stuff the greasy, wrinkled papers into the plastic trash bag that hung from the cigarette lighter. She'd have to hide the evidence before she got home: two double cheeseburgers, a large fry, an apple pie and a super-sized soda were not on her diet.
Not that it was any of Jake's business, but she wasn't up for the healthy eating/healthy living diatribe tonight. She'd had a lousy day at work; payroll was due tomorrow and she was way behind on the end of fiscal her boss at G & A Construction was waiting on. She'd have to work all weekend to get them in by Monday morning.
A yellow diamond-shaped sign, warning of the impending curve in the road and the single-lane bridge ahead, rattled in the wind on the side of the road. Marcy squinted, gazing out through the foggy windshield. She turned up the defrost fan. The rain was coming down harder, pummeling the minivan roof. The sound was earsplitting. Criminy, not hail, she thought. It would ruin the finish on the new car.
Marcy touched her brakes gingerly, knowing she had to be careful on pavement this slick. To her disbelief, the minivan didn't respond. She tapped the brake pedal again, this time making sure her sensible shoe met the rubber squarely.
Still the minivan didn't slow.
A sense of panic fluttered in Marcy's chest. The moment seemed surreal. The driving rain. The old wooden bridge looming ahead. The hum of the defrost fan.
She was going too fast to make the turn.
She hit the brakes hard. Gripped the wheel with hands that had suddenly turned sweaty.
She felt the wooden slats of the bridge, irregular beneath her tires. Heard the thunderous crash as the railing gave way. She gripped the steering wheel as the door flew open, blasting her with cold wind and rain.
It was funny the thoughts that ran through a person's mind in the last moments of life.
Marcy wished she had buckled her seat belt.
She wished she'd thought to stop and toss the remnants of the fast food in a trash can. When they found her dead, she'd be floating in a sewer of greasy burger wrappers.
The windshield exploded. Horrific pain enveloped Marcy as she felt herself hurl forward, out of her seat. Then no pain, only blessed darkness.
Who said there wasn't a God in heaven?
Chapter 1
Six months later Albany Beach, Delaware
"Hey, there." Patti walked up to the car as he rolled down the window.
"Hi." He grinned.
He had a nice smile. And he was sweet, really. He never came on to her the way a lot of guys did. Like he thought she was trash or something.
"What are you doing walking home alone this time of night?" he asked. "It's really not safe, a pretty girl like you."
She took one last draw on her cigarette and dropped it, grinding it out with the ball of her foot. "Car's been in the shop for a month. Two-fifty to fix it."
He winced. Nodded. "Everything's so expensive these days."
Patti glanced up the dark road and down it. There weren't any other cars in sight, though it wasn't that late. Just after eleven. Her feet hurt from the cheap high-heeled sandals she'd bought at the shoe mart, and she was coming down off the beer buzz. She'd missed work again, and she knew she was in danger of being fired and then what?
All she wanted now was to crawl into bed.
She turned back to the driver, resting her hand on the sleeve of his shirt as she gave him her best smile. "So, you going to offer a girl a ride home, or are we going to just stand here and shoot the breeze all night?"
He laughed and hit the switch on the power locks, unlocking the front passenger door. "Sure. Jump in. I'll have you home in no time."
Patti walked around the front of the car and blinked against the bright headlights. She opened the door and slid in, closing it behind her. A strange smell immediately caught her attention. "What's that—" Patti turned her head toward him. Saw his hand from the corner of her eye as he raised it to her face. A whiff of the strong-smelling stuff.
Then nothing.
* * *
Patti was groggy, half asleep, half awake. She felt sick to her stomach, like she was going to puke. She hadn't had that much to drink. Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to figure o
ut where she was... who she'd gone home with this time. Only her eyes wouldn't focus. She was sitting up in a chair... in a car maybe? It was dark except for a single bright light that hurt her eyes, even shut.
Had someone slipped her some of that date rape shit going around? She almost laughed. Like a guy had to drug her to get some. All he had to do was be nice to her, buy her a drink, maybe a burger. She wasn't a girl who was hard to—
Patti opened her eyes and she stared at a dark puddle on the floor. What the—
She lifted her sagging head to stare into her lap, where a clear plastic tablecloth or something lay neatly folded. She was tied to a chair... no, it felt like tape. Duct tape?
What kind of kinky thing had she gotten herself into?
The nausea rose in her throat again and she closed her eyes. Swallowed. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten here or who she'd come with. Her head was spinning... throbbing. She was so tired that she felt like just going back to sleep. Waiting for the beer and whatever other shit she'd taken to wear off. Waiting for the buzz to clear.
But she smelled something... maybe just sensed it. Something warm... A trickle of fear slid down her spine. What was going on here?
Then she remembered the puddle beneath her. Had she wet her pants? Her panties didn't feel wet, but right now she felt so weird... who knew?
Patti was only able to open her eyes part of the way to stare at the dark puddle. It was a dirt floor beneath her feet. No, sawdust. The puddle was widening. She began to shake, suddenly afraid.
A drop fell, hit the puddle creating little ripples, like on a pond. A drop of what?
God, she wished she hadn't had that last beer... But how many had she had? Four, maybe five? It took a lot more than that to tank her. Someone had to have slipped her something....
Her head hanging, she watched as another drip hit the puddle at her feet. It was like she was there, but not really.
Blood?
Shit. Shit. She jerked back in the chair, her eyes flying open despite the piercing pain of the bright light. It was blood! That was red, thick blood on the floor. She could go with a little kink on occasion, but this... this was...
Where was the blood coming from?
Patti still wasn't thinking clearly, but she knew that if this was blood, it had to be coming from somewhere. From someone.
Licking her dry lips, she turned her head that felt like it weighed a ton. Just ever so slightly.
Her arm was taped to the wooden arm of the chair. A wave of dizziness washed over her as she stared at the silver band of tape wrapped around her forearm, still not quite comprehending.
Her gaze shifted, lower along her arm. More blood.
A choking sob of terror rose in her throat as she stared at the cuts across the inside of her wrist. She hadn't tried to kill herself! She would never—
Not wanting to, unable to stop herself, she turned her head, let it droop and focused on the other arm, taped to the chair.
More blood.
Patti lifted her head and let out a scream, peeing her panties for real this time.
She screamed again, and her voice echoed overhead in a black abyss.
"Please don't do that," came a male voice out of the silky darkness.
It was a calm voice. Pleasant... even sexy.
Then Patti remembered who had picked her up on the road and she was even more frightened. More shocked.
He moved out of the darkness, something shiny in his hand. Light from the blinding lamp reflected off it.
"No," Patti murmured, tears running down her cheeks. She tried to pull back, to get away, but she couldn't. She couldn't move.
"I don't understand," she sobbed as he took a step closer, raising the sharp object to cut her again. "I don't understand."
"I know," he soothed. "I know..."
* * *
Leaning on the shovel, the Bloodsucker stood over the puddle of gore and stared at it with great interest He hadn't known blood could be so dark... so rich. The pool looked black to him, not red.
He wasn't stupid. He knew the iron in hemoglobin was what made blood red. But here, spilled in the sawdust on the floor, it was black... and exquisite in a way he knew few would ever be able to understand. He glanced at the dead woman in the chair, her shoulder-length blond hair covering her face. Her shame.
Patti's blood was black. He wondered if she had known.
She must have. She had not been a good person. Not by society's standards, at least. He had heard people talk about her behind her back, even the ones who had been nice to her to her face. Dated her. Slept with her.
They said she had been too free with her body. Too free with the substances she had consumed, smoked, drank. She had not appreciated her body the way she should have. They had said she was wasting her life, that she was too smart, too pretty to be working in a diner, picking up men she didn't know in bars on Saturday nights.
Watching her, he had wondered if she was just lonely.
The thought made him a little sad.
The Bloodsucker knew about loneliness. He knew what a big black hole it could be. It could just suck you up, or it could nibble at you, bite by bite, until it consumed you. Loneliness started with an empty aching, but it could turn mean. Hurt you. Kill you again and again, but not let you die.
He rubbed his inner arm absently. Studied the blood.
Granny said blood held evil humors, but she said a lot of crazy things. Maybe, in this instance, though, he wasn't giving credit where credit was due. Patti's blood did look evil lying there at his feet. Was it because of the men she had slept with? Because of the drinking? The drugs? The lying.
The Bloodsucker wondered if his own blood would be black if he dripped that much onto the floor.
Granny said he was evil. Said he was bad. A bad boy.
It was hard to understand, sometimes.
The Bloodsucker didn't have promiscuous sex. He tried not to masturbate. He knew that was bad. Weak and disgusting... maybe proof that he was unworthy. He didn't smoke tobacco or do drugs either. And he had made something of himself. He had a good job. People in the community respected him. Depended on him. Looked up to him.
He glanced at Patti again. The way her head hung. He was sad for her, but he felt good inside. Right now he felt strong. Powerful.
It was funny. Ironic really. He doubted that Patti had ever felt this good.
With a smile, he lifted a shovel full of fresh sawdust and threw it over the blood. It would sop it up, making it easier to clean. He'd already burned the plastic sheeting that protected against accidental spatter. In an hour's time, there would be no evidence left that Patti had ever been here. Had chatted with him.
It had been hard at first. Trying to get her to understand, but she had come around quite nicely. She had told him some interesting things. She had listened to him. Had realized what he was.
Patti had been a good listener.
He stared at the black blood again. He guessed being a good listener hadn't been enough to save her, though. Sometimes there just wasn't enough to save you. Enough of anything.
As the Bloodsucker threw another shovel of sawdust onto the floor, he glanced up at her still sitting. Waiting patiently. She was so beautiful that a heartbreaking ache came over him.
He shouldn't have done this. It wasn't intentional... not really. But still... he shouldn't have—
Then the Bloodsucker's gaze fell to the black blood once again. Black blood that was proof that she was evil. Proof that she was bad. There was no need for him to feel guilty. There really wasn't.
And it was silly to spoil his good mood with these foolish misgivings. He should treasure the moment. Take pleasure in this elation he had never known before, never realized how to tap into.
And he needed to get to work. He didn't have all night He'd have to dispose of her. She couldn't stay here.
But that wouldn't be hard, not for a bad girl like Patti. He set his jaw. He knew just where she belonged.
* * *
Marcy sensed she was awake before she was actually physically aware of it. It was as if someone had thrown on a switch in her head. One moment the light had been off, the next it was on. She heard the muffled sounds of soft-spoken voices. The squeak of a rubber-soled shoe on clean tile. She smelled floor wax. Her mind swirled, a jumble of confused thoughts.
Where was she, the kitchen? She didn't remember waxing the floor, and heaven knew no one in her house would have ever picked up a mop.
But she wasn't in her kitchen; she was lying down. Her bed? No, the sheets felt slightly scratchy. She always bought two-hundred thread count or better. The sheets didn't smell right, either. She'd used a different detergent, a different fabric softener. Downy Fresh..
Confused, Marcy felt her heart flutter with fear. Then she recalled feeling the same way just a moment ago.
She had been afraid.
All of a sudden she remembered the sound of the rain pounding on the van roof. The smell of the fast food she'd eaten that still lingered, mingling with the new car scent. She'd wrecked the new minivan. She remembered driving off the edge of the road, onto the bridge, through the railing. She must have totaled the van. Jake had to be beside himself. There was certainly no financial advantage to owning a brand-new vehicle five days before running it off the road into a river and totaling it. They hadn't even made the first payment yet.
Marcy felt her heavy lids flutter, but she was hesitant to open her eyes. Her head was swimming, her stomach gurgling, and she felt as if she'd been beaten with a tire iron. She wasn't in the mood to argue with Jake tonight. Not about wrecking the van or eating the forbidden burgers.
Slowly she opened her eyes. Startled by her surroundings, her gaze shifted from one thing to the next. She was in a single bed, tucked in neatly with white sheets and a white thermal blanket. The room was small, with subtle flowered wallpaper in yellows and greens. Sound caught her attention, and she glanced upward to see a TV mounted in brackets in the corner of the room. An afternoon soap opera flickered on the screen, but the volume was too low for her to hear it.
She'll Never Tell Page 1