Heir to the Alpha: Episodes 1 & 2: A Tarker’s Hollow Serial

by Black, Tasha

  He pointed to the two puncture marks on the creature’s neck, unable to speak.

  As Ainsley studied the marks, Erik’s stomach dropped at the thought of his missing pack members.

  “Was that done by a…” Ainsley began, then trailed off. It seemed she didn’t want to believe what she was seeing any more than Erik did.

  “I’m not sure what did it,” he said. “But we need to warn the others.”

  Chapter 13

  Grace awoke to the harsh rays of the early-morning sun peeking through the motel blinds.

  It took her a minute to remember where she was, but then it all came back.

  She thought back to the night before. Although she had been dreading it, the party had turned out to be pretty fun.

  And Glenn was actually a really nice guy. She hadn’t hit it off with someone like that in a long time.

  She sat up quietly, so as not to wake Cressida.

  “Did you hear that?” Cressida’s voice made her jump.

  Apparently, Cressida was already awake.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Grace said. “You’re up early.”

  “Ugh, I’ve been up all night,” Cressida sighed. “My stomach was killing me. I’m starting to feel better, now though.”

  That was odd. Grace had never known her friend to be sick in any way. She’d always figured it was a wolf thing.

  “Did I hear what?” she asked, remembering what Cress had said first.

  “The siren,” Cressida said.

  “No,” Grace replied, suddenly grateful that she didn’t have Cressida’s wolf hearing.

  “An ambulance,” Cressida said, sliding out of bed. “Headed into town. But I didn’t hear it leave.”

  Oh.

  There was only one reason the EMTs turned off the siren on the way back to the hospital - when they weren’t in a hurry anymore.

  “Maybe it was a false alarm,” Grace ventured, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

  “Or somebody’s dead,” Cressida pointed out.

  “So much for breakfast,” Grace said, hopping out of bed. “Grab your camera, in case we need to play reporters.”

  They got ready quickly and hurried into town.

  Predictably, it wasn’t at all hard for Cressida to find the source of the trouble. She just stuck her head out the open window and pointed out the way. She was better than a police scanner.

  The trail led them to a wooded hill on the outskirts of the town.

  Grace parked, and they got out of the car and started climbing. She began to feel the worry bubbling up. What if someone had found the moroi? Would she be able to take it down?

  As they reached the top of the hill the pine trees thinned out and a mansion was revealed. The massive stone structure seemed to be leaning under the burden of its slate roof. It spread wide across the whole top of the hill, practically blotting out the sun.

  Grace got a bad feeling, but tried to tell herself it was just that the house seemed out of place after all the bright white clapboard bungalows of the little beach town below.

  A crowd had gathered on the lawn, and a young deputy was hanging familiar, yellow police tape across the door.

  “What’s going on?” Grace asked one of the women standing outside. “Whose house is that?”

  “It’s the Monroe place,” the woman said matter-of-factly, like Grace was silly for even having to ask.

  “What happened?” Cressida asked.

  The woman swallowed hard, then answered.

  “Joshua Monroe is dead.”

  ***

  Keep reading for a sample of the next installment: Heir to the Alpha: Episode 3.

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  Heir to the Alpha Episode 3 (Sample)

  A thousand questions flew through Grace’s mind, but the dose of adrenaline that turned her blood to ice had her pushing her way to the door of the mansion instead of asking them.

  The deputy looked up as Grace jogged up the front steps, flashing her badge as she reached the top.

  “Uh, the sheriff said not to let anyone in,” he said.

  “Look,” Grace glanced at the badge on his shirt, “Officer Swanson. Do you want to have to explain to the sheriff why you kept the forensic specialist waiting outside while the evidence got cold?”

  “Oh, um, oh,” he stammered.

  Grace raised her eyebrows at him.

  Swanson quickly lifted the tape up for her.

  Grace nodded at him and then ducked under and headed inside.

  “Crime scene photographer,” Cressida said, pursuing Grace under the tape without waiting for Swanson to respond.

  They followed the sound of voices up the huge center staircase. Grace noted the pristine mahogany rails and wainscoting. Someone dusted here and used wood polish regularly. The smell of it made her think of Sunday school.

  They walked down one long hallway, and then another, thick Persian carpets absorbing the sound of their footsteps. Immense wooden doors and stern portraits of what could only be the Monroe family ancestors punctuated the journey like mile markers.

  The whole place reminded Grace of the buildings on the college campus back in Tarker’s Hollow, so large and formally decorated they were more like a castles.

  “It’s like something out of Scooby-Doo,” Cressida whispered reverently.

  She wasn’t wrong. And the occasional good luck charms and trinkets scattered among the finer furnishings gave away someone in the house as the superstitious type.

  At last they reached the source of the voices.

  Grace took a deep breath and then entered the room. It was large and bright with a fireplace, several sofas and a balcony. The Monroe family all seemed to be there.

  Except Joshua.

  Linc looked up at them as soon as they entered the room, while another officer handed styrofoam cups of coffee to his father and uncle.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said as she handed over each cup.

  A third officer stood with his back to Grace, talking with Zara, taking notes on a small pad.

  “Uh… Chief?” the coffee officer said when she noticed Grace and Cressida.

  The interviewing officer turned slowly.

  Grace bit back a sigh and cursed her luck.

  The man that answered to Chief was Glenn, the same one she’d danced with last night. Had had turned out to be a really nice guy, with a disarming smile. Now, his expression wavered somewhere between curiosity and anger. She could hardly blame him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You can’t be here. This is a crime scene.”

  She flashed her badge for the second time.

  “Officer Grace Kwan-Cortez, Tarker’s Hollow PD,” she said. “I’d like to help in any way I can.”

  “I thought you said you were some kind of writer,” Linc said from his place on one of the sofas.

  “I apologize for misleading you,” Grace said. “My partner and I are on the hunt for a potentially dangerous fugitive, and didn’t want to draw any undue attention.”

  Glenn studied her for a moment as Grace silently hoped they wouldn’t end their morning in the local jail. Barging in like that had been a bad idea.

  “I’ll have to call in on those credentials,” he said at length. “But since you were among the last people to see Joshua Monroe alive, it might be a good idea for you to stick around.”

  Grace nodded and Glenn headed off, presumably to make the phone call, as Cressida slunk over to talk to Linc.

  “Hey, I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything It was police business. Are you okay?”

  Linc walked to the window and Cressida followed him, giving themselves some space, but Grace could hear the cold quality of Linc’s voice from across the room. Not that it wasn’t justified, given the circumstances.

  The rest of the family stared openly at Grace. She tried to stand tall in spite of the awkward position she found herself in.

&n
bsp; “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” she said un-creatively, but with all the sincerity she could muster.

  There were nods and murmurs of acknowledgement. Grace studied each face carefully. She hated to admit it, but if there was foul play was involved in Joshua’s death, statistically speaking, the culprit was most likely to be someone in this room.

  Linc had seemed emotionless, his handsome face almost unrecognizable with such a flat expression - but that wasn’t uncommon with someone in shock.

  His father, on the other hand, sat on the edge of his seat, fingers clenching the cushion in barely restrained emotion. The easy smile he’d worn throughout last night’s party was gone, his jaw tight with anger now. Clearly he wanted someone to pay.

  Next to Harold Monroe, Linc’s Uncle Bill had removed his glasses to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. His wife, Zara, sat beside him, patting his thigh and leaning in to comfort him. She was dressed more modestly than last night in a simple black dress, but her hair was swept up in the same romantic chignon, held in place by a striking jade dragonfly pin.

  Glenn strode back into the room before Grace could make any further observations.

  “Well, Officer Kwan-Cortez,” he said. “I’ve just heard a very convincing, and very loud, testimonial from Officer Dale Evans of the Tarker’s Hollow PD.”

  Grace tried not to smile thinking of Dale shouting her recommendation into the phone. Ever since his hearing started to go, the elderly officer had the habit of talking to everyone like they had the same problem.

  “So, although it’s a bit unusual, I’ll say welcome aboard,” he continued, offering her his hand. “And not a moment too soon. This is a real puzzler. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  Grace stepped forward to shake his hand, impressed by the lack of ego it took for a local police chief to accept her help so graciously. She had worked with too many men that wouldn’t be able to do that, who would see it as a sign of weakness. Glenn was something different. That was good.

  “Thanks,” she said. “And please, it’s still just Grace. What do you have so far?”

  Glenn smiled, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Come on,” he said, leading her to a desk in the corner of the room, where opened his notebook on it and pointed to his notes as he spoke. “Joshua didn’t come down for breakfast this morning. According to the family, Joshua was usually up with the sun for a morning jog. At approximately eight-thirty, his aunt Zara decided to wake him. When she didn’t get a response, she tried the door, and found it locked. At which point she called for her husband, who forced the door open. They found Joshua Monroe inside, on the floor.”

  “It was that horrible gift,” Harold Monroe moaned. “Esmerelda was right. It was cursed.”

  Well, at least the mystery which family member was the superstitious one was solved.

  “Thank you, Mr. Monroe,” Glenn said patiently. “We will take that information into account.”

  He gave Grace a raised eyebrow that Harold couldn’t see, then went back to his notes.

  “At that point, Mrs. Zara Monroe checked for a pulse, and when she didn’t find one, called 911. And that,” he flipped his notebook shut, “brings you up to speed.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” Grace asked.

  “Be my guest,” he replied. “But don’t touch anything. County forensics is on the way.”

  Glenn led the way down one hall after another, Grace by his side and Cressida trailing behind silently.

  “Here we are,” Glenn said at last gesturing to an open doorway.

  Grace examined the damaged frame.

  “That’s from the forced entry,” Glenn explained.

  Cressida snapped a picture of it.

  Grace nodded and hid another smile. Cressida had photographed evidence without being asked. She was doing a great job. She’d probably missed out on an incredible improv career.

  They stepped into the room. A big window overlooked the rear of the property. Framed portraits of the family were displayed near the bed. If not for the whole murder thing, it would have been quite pleasant.

  Joshua’s body was on the floor just outside the en suite bathroom.

  Grace tried to figure out if he had been going into the bathroom or coming out, but it wasn’t clear.

  As she moved closer, the feeling she’d had the few times before in the presence of the dead came to her. Though Grace was an experienced police officer, there weren’t exactly a lot of murders in Tarker’s Hollow. Something about being so close to a dead guy still creeped her out.

  She focused on gathering data to avoid the twist of her stomach.

  Joshua’s face wore a pained expression. There was dried foam around his mouth, an indication that he had likely been poisoned.

  Beside him on the ground was the mysterious box from the party. It was overturned and the snake statue was on the floor.

  Grace fought the desire to touch it and test its magic. Glen was right beside her and she knew she couldn’t make a false move if she wanted continued access to the investigation.

  Cressida leaned in to take a few more shots.

  Grace stood to get out of the way. She couldn’t help noticing Cressida’s nose wrinkling up. The smell must be terrible for the she-wolf. For once, Grace didn’t envy Cressida her superior senses.

  She moved to check the windows. Neither was locked, but they were two stories up.

  “Wow,” she said quietly. “It looks like an honest to goodness locked room murder. Like something out of a mystery novel.”

  “So what is your initial instinct here, Grace?” Glenn asked.

  “Looks like poison to me,” she said, starting with the obvious.

  He nodded in agreement.

  “Something from the party?”

  “Maybe,” she agreed. “Assuming we’re ruling out the cursed present theory?”

  She let the suggestion hang in the air between them. It was a test in a way. How much did he know about the true nature of the town he served?

  Glenn barked out a short laugh.

  “Um, yeah we’re ruling that out,” he said. “Unless you think the snake statue came to life in the middle of the night and attacked him?”

  She smiled back and rolled her eyes.

  So he didn’t know about the shifters and magic. Or he was doing a really good job hiding it. Either way, they weren’t going to be discussing anything supernatural.

  Something abut the body caught her eye. She bent and used her pen to push some of his long hair aside.

  “Snake seems pretty unlikely,” she said. “Although it’s going to be hard to find a better explanation for this.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Glenn whispered, squatting down next to her.

  Cressida stooped low to take a few pictures of the twin puncture wounds dotting the man’s neck.

  ***

  THE END of this sample of Heir to the Alpha: Episode 3.

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