Skewed

by Anne McAneny

  Grandpa raised a skeptical yet friendly brow. “We’ll see about that, young lady. We’ll see about that.”

  And I knew Wexler was in for a grilling.

  Five minutes later Wexler skulked into the room, his face a handsome shade of rosy pink. “Your grandfather’s one tough old bird.”

  “I know. But he’s a lovable old bird.”

  Wexler sat on the edge of my bed and leaned in close. When his lips touched mine, I felt life starting over, a new chapter being written, and I couldn’t imagine a better opening line than a soft, honest kiss.

  “Tell me something, Perkins,” he said. “What kind of twisted world is it where I’m out saving Schwank’s ass but almost lose you?”

  “Nicholls texted me. Said you single-handedly got the perp.”

  “Of course I did. Now back to you, Perkins, where do I begin?”

  “Well, Alex, you can start by calling me Janie again.”

  “I can do that . . . Janie.”

  I wrapped my good arm around his neck and pulled him under the blanket with me.

  EPILOGUE

  My brother’s victory speech sounded sincere and heroic. He was once again the brother who’d teased me yet protected me, annoyed me yet loved me unconditionally. When he called me onstage to join him in front of the cameras, I stood proudly and embraced the endless flashes. For the first time, the Haiku Twins were being photographed and feted for something positive.

  Jack put his arm around my shoulders and kept it there as he waved with his other hand. Reporters scrambled and shouted, quickly turning their attention from politics to juicier topics, like murder and revenge. But it was okay. We were eager to keep cleaning up the mess of the past thirty years, though we’d never be able to whitewash it. It was our history, and ours alone, even if it was colored a permanent red.

  After the fifth question, my phone buzzed—a fresh crime scene, only two blocks away. I made my excuses and let the new attorney general shine where he rightly belonged.

  When I arrived at the scene, Nicholls turned, spit a sunflower seed on the porch, and feigned a pout. “I’m gonna miss you, Jane Doe. I really am.”

  “Maybe I’ll have you over sometimes and we can play quarters, Nicholls.”

  “Can I bring Sophie?”

  I smacked him. “No way! You’re an item?”

  “She thinks I’m funny, flawed, and devilishly handsome. Told me she might even put an etching of me on her fireplace, whatever the hell that means.”

  “I’m happy for you, Nicholls, but be careful—and don’t turn your back on her.”

  He smiled, up for any challenge his new lady friend might offer, then he gestured to the dilapidated bungalow behind us. “You sure you wanna leave all this behind? ’Cause you won’t believe what I got inside for you.”

  “It’s time,” I said. “Besides, I’m loaded. Jack and I got all of Grady’s money.”

  “Gross.”

  “Yeah, but I plan to do good with it. Already put a down payment on a shuttered building in town. Going to open an art studio with classes for the city kids. Maybe give them a positive way to express themselves.”

  “Paintbrushes instead of pistols?”

  “Worth a shot.”

  “Come on,” he said, “you’ve gotta see this corpse.”

  In the rear bedroom lay a male body, well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and wavy brown hair down to his chin. He was sprawled faceup on a queen-size bed, dressed in four-inch heels, a poufy white gown, and silk gloves. He looked, in all honesty, like a gorgeous princess in need of electrolysis.

  “Big-time coke dealer,” Nicholls said. “I heard he was a tranny, but I never believed it.”

  Nicholls headed out when he heard more cars arriving, leaving me alone with the victim and my camera. Next to the bed, on a tall nightstand, sat a green frog figurine with bulging eyes and bright red lips, the perfect prince for the princess on the bed. In a flash, I could turn this guy’s humiliating final chapter into a fairy tale worthy of my finest work.

  But some people’s stories ended in tragedy, and nothing conjured or imagined could change them, not even an altered image hidden away beneath a floor.

  I let things lie and did my job.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you first and foremost to the readers for allowing me to visit with their imaginations. It is an honor and privilege I do not take lightly.

  Thank you to my friend and fellow writer, Jack Matosian, for the inspiration and laughs.

  Thank you to Kjersti Egerdahl and the entire team at Thomas & Mercer for their expertise, enthusiasm, and guidance. I’ll always treasure the first email Kjersti sent me. Definitely frame-worthy.

  Thank you to Tiffany Yates Martin, a talented and astute editor, whose every contribution made this book a stronger work.

  I’d like to thank those people who helped me with police procedures, weaponry, forensics, crime scene photography, and aspects of law and religion. Please note that I take plenty of liberties, and my sources can only answer the questions I think to ask; any and all errors are mine.

  Thank you to Sergeant Jack Kilcomons of the Chesterfield Police Department in Virginia, for his thorough, professional, and timely answers, and to his wife, Kim Kilcomons, for introducing us.

  Thank you to Chesterfield County (Virginia) Senior Forensic Investigator Cory Chatham. His keen insights throughout the story—especially the ending—significantly improved this book.

  Thank you to Kathy Simpson for her boundless enthusiasm and for keeping me straight on terminology and titles.

  Thank you to MJM and Ellen Canepa for their perceptive editing, fervent feedback, and innovative ideas.

  Thank you to the Bird for allowing me to tap her legal mind, which is sure to produce an outstanding legal thriller in the near future.

  Thank you to my book-crazy parents, Dan and Pat, for their excellent advice; to Mimi and Danny for their unending support and for creating my early West Coast fan base; and to Spanish Award Winner Jack for his always-succinct and intelligent answers to my strange and random questions.

  Last, but never least, thank you to my patient husband and children for their love and encouragement, and for fending mightily for themselves when I’m in the midst of an editing frenzy.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Anne McAneny honed her writing skills as a screenwriter for many years before turning to novels. She lives in Virginia with her family, a spoiled puggle, and an overfed cat who showed up eight years ago. When Anne’s not writing, she enjoys exercise balanced by ample chocolate and cake, a scale that often tips toward the latter. You can find her at annemcaneny.blogspot.com or on her Facebook fan page: http://bit.ly/Books-by-Anne-McAneny. She relishes hearing from readers, so feel free to say hello or leave a comment. Be warned . . . she usually responds.

  Other books by this author:

  Raveled (Amazon bestseller, over 150 five-star reviews): A fast-paced mystery thriller that sends a jaded daughter back to the town and the deadly night that ripped her young life apart.

  Foreteller: A pulse-pounding mystery with a touch of the psychic that forces an archaeologist to dig through her own past in order to ensure a future.

  Chunneling Through Forty (Amazon bestseller): The humorous and heartening story of a woman’s tumultuous journey through forty.

  Our Eyes Met Over Cantaloupe: The uproarious tale of a cupcake shop and a female reporter’s exit from her half-baked state of existence.

 

 

 
(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share