Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  Betsy crossed her arms in front of her and scrutinized the young woman. Silence reigned for a minute as Betsy floundered with what to say. “Umm, about last night …”

  “Yeah, life’s rough. What can I say? I am a working girl as we say, in the world’s oldest profession. Sally’s been runnin’ this place for years. I ended up here as a runaway two years ago. No money. They took me in and one thing led to another. Do I like what I do? No. Do I like the money I make? You bet. It’s putting me through South College. Once I get my B.S. in Legal Studies I can quit this and become a paralegal, and not a day too soon.”

  Betsy didn’t know what to say.

  “So, you here to join the stable?”

  Betsy’s eyes widened. “What? Me? I-I …”

  “Hey, you’re not going to offend me. Trust me. I’ve heard all the names and taken a few licks from some of the johns. If you can get away without getting involved, more power to you.”

  “Hey, Jennie.”

  Betsy heard a new voice from outside. Two more girls peeked around the door into the room. The dark haired girl in the chemise last night stood on the left dressed casually like Jennie now.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Sally’s gonna hafta work on this one. Got some weight to lose. But she’s got the tits for the work.”

  “Hey, be nice, Billie. Her name’s Betsy and she’s not here to work.”

  “Yet.”

  Betsy frowned at the dark haired girl named Billie and stood erect, riled and ready to prove her mettle.

  “Don’t pay her no mind, Betsy. She’s just jealous of girls with better curves.”

  Billie put her hands on her hips and her lips formed a pout. “Jennie, you know I’m not like that.”

  She stared at Billie for a minute. “You’re really pretty. Why be jealous?” Betsy made the compliment in naïve honesty but saw in an instant how it changed the mood of the moment. Billie’s hostility vanished and Betsy realized she had learned an important method of dealing with people.

  “Thanks. Have you had breakfast? We’re going out to get some and you can join us, if you want,” replied Billie.

  The third girl stepped into the room. “I’m Joan. C’mon and join us. My treat. But, you ought need to change your top. You’re all wet.”

  Jennie looked closer at Betsy. “Wet? What? That’s … you’re nursing? Oh man, where’s the baby? Don’t tell us Sally let you stay here with a baby.”

  “Baby?” Billie spurted out. “Don’t you let Sally –”

  “Don’t let Sally what?” The three girls’ eyes bugged at the voice of their madam and they stepped back to let her enter the room.

  Betsy heard Billie take an audible breath. Her heart started to race at the uncertainty of what was about to happen?

  Sally faced Billie and said, “Go ahead. Finish what you were about to say.”

  Billie swallowed hard and nodded toward Betsy. “Ask h-her,” she stammered.

  Sally turned back to Betsy, brow raised and started to speak but pulled up short as her gaze caught Betsy’s predicament. She sighed.

  “Okay. Do you have the baby with you? It’s obvious you’re leaking milk and there’s only one reason for that.”

  Fear caught Betsy in its swell for the third time in just over twenty-four hours. “I … yes, um no … I …” Betsy’s shoulders sagged and she plopped down onto the bed behind her, crying. “H-he’s not with me. I-I …” Deep sobs filled her being.

  Sally’s demeanor changed to one of concern as she sat next to Betsy. “Hey, hey. Calm down. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Betsy looked at Sally and then at the three young women standing to one side. Sally followed her gaze and spoke to the others. “Why don’t you go on and get some breakfast. Bring it back here.” She held her arm out and flipped her hand up and toward the door three times to shoo them out. “Go on. Get.”

  How much did she want to share with this woman, a total stranger? And the owner of a whorehouse at that. Jennie and Billie seemed friendly enough, but could she trust any of them? Whom could she trust? She realized she knew no one in this city. She had limited resources. These women were likely to have connections she could never make on her own. If she had any hope of finding her son, she had to start by trusting someone.

  Betsy watched them inch out the door, but heard only one pair of feet leaving. She suspected one left to get food while the remaining duo lingered by the door to hear whatever she had to say. A fleeting shadow across the opening confirmed the presence of at least one individual outside. She took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully. “Y’all might as well come in and have a seat. It’s okay. Really.”

  Sally put her hand under Betsy’s chin and turned Betsy’s face toward her. “You sure?”

  Betsy pulled away and nodded.

  “Okay, girls. C’mon back in, like she said.”

  Jennie and Joan eased back into the room, pulled the wooden chairs away from the table, and sat down.

  Betsy once again launched into her story, but this time she started at the beginning with her boyfriend, JT. After a brief introduction, she stated, “JT joined the army and was about to head off for basic training. It was his last time at home and he begged me to share my body with him. You know, in case something happened to him, he’d always remember our last night together.”

  Joan huffed. “Like we haven’t heard that one a million times. Oldest line in the book.”

  Betsy offered a sheepish nod in reply. “So, I’ve been told. But, with JT, I’ll never know. He shipped off to Viet Nam soon as basic was over and was killed just over a month after arriving there. I received one letter from him, from Nam. Said it was rememberin’ that night and knowin’ he had a baby on the way what kept him going.”

  She told the women of her father’s reaction to learning she was pregnant, of how he shipped her off to a distant cousin of his as soon as she started to show, and of the way he’d treated her after she’d had Jimmy and brought him home. She finished with the details of the previous day and of how she came to arrive at the Rest Stop. The tears resumed as she described waking up to find her baby missing and the awful encounter with her father. By then, the two young women had joined Sally on the bed next to Betsy, trying to console her.

  Sally gave up a grunt of disgust. “Wretched man. Your father or not, he needs a good …” She inhaled sharply. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She stood and left the room.

  The others huddled closer to Betsy and peppered her with questions about the infant. Betsy answered honestly, and felt her heart lighten as she recalled her son. She found the girls encouraging and knew in her soul that she’d find her son.

  “Look,” she said. “Is there a pay phone around here somewhere? One with a little privacy? I need to call those folks what helped me last night. I told ‘em I’d give them a way to contact me.”

  Jennie fished out a business card from one of her pockets and handed it to Betsy. “That’s got the motel office number on it. Sally don’t mind you taking short calls there, but don’t ask her to let you make any calls out.”

  “Best pay phone for private calls is a couple blocks away. That way.” She pointed right. “There’s a phone booth on the corner by the bank.”

  Betsy nodded. “Thanks.”

  She stood up just as Sally returned.

  “Here. Call this guy and tell him I sent you. He’s a lawyer, and he’ll be able to tell you what actions you can take, and tell him his advice better be on the house ‘cause I pay him a big enough retainer.” She handed Betsy another business card.

  Betsy felt a rush of excitement at this positive turn in events. A lawyer. He’d get on her old man’s case and help her find Jimmy Bob. She walked to the head of the bed and grabbed her purse from under the pillow where she’d hidden it all night. She thought through her plan of attack. She’d walk to the bank, get change for the phone as well as break one of her larger bills into smaller ones, and then make her phone calls. With any luck, the lawyer co
uld see her today and she’d be back in time to find her way to Lester’s work yard to clean his bus that evening. Oh, and she’d find a hardware store to get a padlock of her own. She didn’t like carrying all of her money and important papers with her everywhere.

  She was about to leave when Billie arrived with four bags containing the same number of carryout breakfasts. “What’d I miss?”

  Betsy didn’t want to wait a second longer, but her grumbling gut won out. She ate while the two girls gave Billie an abbreviated rendition of Betsy’s story. In between bites, she offered her own colorful opinions, finally saying, “Guys can be such jerks. Don’t worry. We’re gonna help. Aren’t we, Jennie?”

  After wolfing down breakfast, she ushered the others from her room, changed tops, closed the door and locked it with the door key Sally had given her the night before. She hurried out to the street where she turned right toward the bank. Within minutes, she entered the limestone structure and stood in line behind a dozen patrons. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled the door of the phone booth closed behind her and retrieved both business cards, as well as the Umfleet’s number, from her purse. She first dialed zero to get the operator and then changed her mind, deciding to try the lawyer first.

  “Lessing, Costello, and Mathews.”

  “My name is, uh, Betsy Weston. I’d like to make an appointment with Mr. Mathews. Um, Mizz Sally, Sally Fleming, gave me his name.”

  “I see.” The receptionist’s tone of voice frosted the walls of the phone booth. “Well, Mr. Mathews is in court all day today and tomorrow. How much time do you think you might need?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Half an hour, maybe.”

  “The first slot I have is next Tuesday at one o’clock.”

  “Next Tuesday?” Betsy echoed. That was a week away. “Nothing sooner?”

  “I’m sorry. That’s the soonest I can give you that much time. I can ask Mr. Mathews and get back with you.”

  Betsy knew enough to work with the system. “Would you please? I’ll take that appointment for next week, but if I can get in sooner, it’s real important, Ma’am.”

  “May I ask what this is about?”

  “It’s about getting my baby back. My pa stole him from me and sold him.”

  “Excuse me? Is this a joke? We don’t have time for —”

  “Please, Ma’am. I’m not joking.” Her voice began to crack. “I had a baby two and a half weeks ago and my pa threatened that if I come home with him, he’d take him and sell him, and that’s just what he up and did, yesterday.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen, Ma’am.”

  “Where did this occur and did you notify the police?”

  “Frampton Corner, that’s in Jackson county, and I tried to tell the Sheriff but he don’t believe me. I ran away from home last night and I need help getting my baby back.”

  “Miss, I’m not sure –”

  “Please! I need the help of someone who knows this legal stuff.”

  “And you say Rest Stop Sally referred you?” Condescension oozed through the receiver. “Are you working for her?”

  “No, Ma’am. Please, I need help.” Silence commandeered the phone line. “I, uh … the bus driver took me there. Told me I’d be safe there and the rooms were cheap but clean. Last night I witnessed what goes on there, but, honest, I’m not a working girl.”

  “Look, can I reach you at the Rest Stop number?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. They’ll let me take a short call there.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk with Mr. Mathews and get back with you. In the meantime, I’ve penciled you in for next Tuesday, and if by chance the bus driver’s name was Lester, be real careful. Let me just say his reputation is not a good one. You hear me?”

  Betsy listened to the empty buzz of the phone line long after the law firm’s secretary hung up, and stared at the traffic passing through the intersection. What did the woman mean? What kind of reputation? This new quandary settled in as the latest in the growing list of obstacles facing her. She needed the money. His offer represented a job she could do easily and start right away. But now? Could she trust him to pay her? Or worse – could she trust him not to assault her?

  She felt her emotions roiling and forced her mind to end its ruminations. She had another task immediately before her and then she could tackle this new problem. She dialed “0” for the long distance operator and held up the Umfleet number for easy viewing. After a brief conversation and depositing a dollar-fifty into the phone, she heard the line ringing at the other end.

  A vaguely familiar voice answered, “Umfleet residence,” but Betsy couldn’t quite place its owner.

  “Is Mary there, please?”

  “I’m sorry. Can I ask who is calling?”

  Betsy felt a sting of anxious fear. “Um, I’m a cousin. Is Curt available?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Who is this?” Betsy asked.

  “Deputy Albritton, Ma’am. May I have your name please?”

  Betsy started to hang up in panic, but from somewhere deep inside she got the courage to continue, praying, fingers crossed, that the deputy did not recognize her voice. She added a bit more drawl to her speech. “I’m Mary’s cousin Sarah. I got word she weren’t doin’ well and thought to call and see what I could do to help.”

  “Well, Ma’am, Curt is with the Sheriff about a serious matter, and, well, I’m not supposed to say. But since you’re family, I’m sorry to inform you that Mary died in her sleep early this morning.”

  Betsy slumped against the side of the phone booth, her heart fallen. Mary was going to talk with the sheriff about her baby and now she would never have the chance. Would Curt remember? Under the circumstances, she couldn’t blame him if he forgot.

  Seven

  (Present Day)

  **********

  Myra closed the lid on her laptop, putting it to sleep. This day had been no more productive than the previous two, and she again felt drained. Her idea of three days ago had gained no traction. She had run out of legal pads, and her recycling bin was full of scrap paper wads. Her twelve-hour sleep of the dead of three nights earlier had also been a fluke, but one she wished she would repeat tonight. She could use such a night’s rest before driving to L.A. in the morning.

  She walked to the dry bar across the room and claimed a glass from the overhead rack. The merlot, just a taste, beckoned. She poured the wine and took it outside onto the deck. The weather appeared to be changing, earlier than forecasted, and she could see a front approaching from the west across the water. The wind had picked up and shafts of rain were visible in the distance. That rain would be on her within the hour.

  She watched the horizon and pondered her dilemma. She needed a book idea. She considered the options and decided her brainstorming could continue as she drove the next day. Plenty of time to think then. Already, the wind carried scattered, cold, wet droplets to her face.

  She entered her home, prepared a light supper, and retired to her bed where she picked up her latest Rizzoli & Isles story by her friend, Tess Gerritsen. She preferred not to read other authors while actively writing, but on occasion she made an exception. Two pages later, the book dropped to her chest and a sonorous snore echoed within the bedroom.

  Myra glanced out the window of the limousine at the Village Theater Westwood and the cordoned area for the red carpet. After driving from Carmel to Beverly Hills, she had checked into her garden suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel and napped. The next day’s book signing went well but again she felt exhausted by the end of the day. This morning she did some shopping and had lunch with a friend who hemmed and hawed and tread softly around her concern for Myra’s health. Myra reassured her that she felt fine, but then she again had to nap for an hour before preparing to come to the premiere of “Sisterhood of Terror.” Maybe she would see her doctor after getting home.

  At that moment, she sat there thinking, “What in the world am I doing here?” She didn’t feel up to it and th
at thought surprised her. When hadn’t she felt up to a party before? Never. Yet, this was beginning to feel like some form of personal masochism.

  She glanced about to see aerial spotlights combing the sky, a live jazz band playing something indistinguishable over the din of the crowds, and heavy gold braid ropes cordoning off the red carpet stage where she now disembarked. She moved into ‘diva’ mode as a tuxedoed escort one-third her age approached and offered his arm, but she declined. Not that she disliked cavorting with the younger studs. She refused to let him hurry her past the crowds into the theater. She wanted to relish the experience.

  Plus, this young man didn’t even know who she was, and called her “Ma’am.” Not by her name or even by “Madam,” although that resounded too much of a southern brothel. Nope. Simply “Ma’am” with a Texas twang, like uninspired dialogue right out of a grade B western. The old mood ring dimmed from red-hot to sleepy blue. Mood ring? Gawd, even her thoughts betrayed her age.

  Too bad, too. He smelled great and looked even better. Probably gay.

  She waved to the crowd, but got few return gestures. The previous four premieres she had attended had been the same. She always hoped someone would be polite enough to wave back, but in reality, she would be surprised if she was actually recognized and her waves returned. Nobody ever recognized the author behind the book behind the movie. She had often wondered if anyone even knew, or cared, that someone’s book formed the basis of most movies.

  She smiled her best smile, one she thought might challenge the spotlight, but she suspected her eyes showed no thrill at being on the red carpet for her fifth time. Her fifth bestseller to become an expectant blockbuster. Her third time having sour grapes with a producer. Despite a contract that gave her final approval over the screenplay, this producer had found a loophole and bypassed her. The result? A mediocre interpretation of her bestselling novel yet. Sixteen weeks at the pinnacle of the New York Times list. Sixteen! This movie had an even chance of going straight to DVD the following week.

  Sure, it had great action scenes. Fantastic special effects went without saying. But, the steamy sex scene hit the cutting floor to extract a PG-13 rating, which was too bad because that was the strongest part of the whole, lame script. And character development? What was that? All in all, anyone who’d never read the book wouldn’t know the difference, and that’s what the producers counted on. That, and a casting coup already worth tens of millions in free publicity. Oh, the tabloid press saw a wormhole open to heaven with this one. Myra thought she wrote great fiction. Imagine the bold headlines and the phony stories when word leaked out that Jennifer Anniston had been cast opposite Brad Pitt. Rumors on the set said they never crossed paths during filming and all scenes of them together had been digitally spliced in the editing room. One gossipmonger went so far as to suggest they weren’t even aware they were in the film together until after final production.