Psycho Hill (JP Warner Book 3)

by Derek Ciccone

  It was logical, as this was the most Dickensian of days for me. On this same Saturday, one year ago, my life changed forever when my brother Noah was murdered—the worst of times.

  But it also served as one of the great days of my existence, as it was also the moment that Gwen Delaney returned to my life.

  As if sensing my inner conflict, she grabbed hold of my hand as we strolled passed booths and exhibits. We waved at longtime town doctor, Dr. MacDougal, who once again had set up shop at the fair, offering free blood pressure readings and flu shots, as he’d done for the last thirty years.

  Next to Doc Mac was the exhibit for the Rockfield Historical Society, anchored by my mother, and her soon-to-be successor, my sister-in-law Pam. This year’s theme was the infamous Rockfield Flood of 1898. There would be no repeat this year, since we were in the midst of the worst drought in town history, without even a hint of a raindrop since late July.

  We continued on our way, not really headed anywhere specific. “Are you okay?” Gwen asked softly.

  “How could I not be?” I replied, and breathed in the unmistakable smell of barbecued chicken mixed with cow shit. “I’m spending a beautiful day with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. It don’t get better than that.”

  And I wasn’t embellishing. The sun seemed to have a special shine on her, highlighting her shoulder-length raven hair, and the body-accentuating sundress that showed off her tanned arms; the result of our recent trip to Rhode Island. What was supposed to be a romantic weekend turned into sharing a beach house with her father and brother, Tommy, but it was still good to get away.

  She smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, Warner. But I was checking to make sure … the ceremony was very emotional.”

  “It’s hard to believe it was my father’s last time giving that speech as first selectman,” I said, referring to the speech that traditionally opens the fair each year. “Although, it shouldn’t be a surprise—it’s not like this is his first retirement.”

  “It was a great speech … as usual. But you do know I’m referring to the tribute to your brother, right?”

  “I know—I was trying to avoid the subject.”

  “You used to be much more adept at it.”

  “I think the small town life is starting to wear off on me. Everyone is so straightforward and honest here—I miss the deception of the news business.”

  Her smile grew impatient, which meant it was time to spill it. The relationship with Gwen had lived up to all my expectations, even the unrealistic ones, but the whole “sharing my innermost feelings with another person” thing was still a work in progress for me.

  “The Noah stuff doesn’t bother me any more than normal—it hurts every day, not just some circled day on a calendar. I thought the tribute was well done, and deserved.”

  Part of the tribute was to rename the Lisa Spargo Memorial Award—given to the resident who does the most to combat drinking and driving—to include Noah. It fit, as Lisa and Noah always belonged together. This year’s recipient was police chief Rich Tolland, who basically put his career on the line to help me get justice for Noah.

  They also rescinded last year’s award, which had gone to Kyle Jones, who was found to be an imposter named Grady Benson. It was re-gifted posthumously to the real Kyle Jones.

  We continued along a strip of brown grass—it appeared that the fair didn’t get the same sprinkler treatment as the golf course during the drought—passing the always popular pie-eating contest. I suddenly stopped in my tracks, leaving Gwen with a puzzled look.

  I pointed to a spot about ten feet away. “Go stand right there.”

  “What are you up to, JP?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “That’s a very complicated question,” she said, but for the first time for as long as I’ve known her, she actually listened to me. She made her way to the spot and looked back at me with curiosity.

  I checked my watch and waited for the second hand to make two more clicks. “Gwen Delaney—at 4:38 p.m., one year ago today, we stood in this exact spot, in what was not only a life-changing moment for me, but a life-saving one. It was when you reentered my life, and suddenly the time that felt like it was rushing by, stood still, and it has stayed that way ever since.”

  We stared awkwardly at each other for a long moment, before Gwen flashed her brilliant smile, and naturally tried to deflect, “Are you referring to that tender moment when I kicked your ass?”

  “I believe you kicked out my cane, and I slipped on the grass.”

  “That’s your story?”

  “And I’m sticking to it.”

  Gwen’s guard came down, and I think I detected a tear roll down her cheek. She began walking toward me, then started to jog, and she didn’t stop until she wrapped her arms around me.

  But I wasn’t done. I pulled out a box and handed it to her. She looked unsure, so I urged her to open it.

  What she found was a white gold necklace with a heart-shaped amethyst pendant. Amethyst represented the 33rd anniversary, and since we met when we were five years old, that was our true anniversary.

  She just stared at it, mesmerized. “I love it, JP. But I didn’t know we were doing gifts, or I would have …”

  “Every day I’m with you is a gift, that’s all I ever need or want,” I said. I then helped her put it on, and asked, “Surprised?”

  She ran her hand over the pendant and looked almost relieved. “You always surprise me, but for a brief moment I was worried that you were actually going to propose.”

  Worried? I was thrown off by the statement, but didn’t push it. This was too perfect a moment for even me to ruin.

  We returned to our stroll. And when we turned a corner, it was just me, Gwen … and me again. We were staring at one of Bobby Maloney’s campaign posters. Since he couldn’t possibly have something positive to say about himself, he decided on a strategy of going after an opponent who wasn’t yet his opponent.

  “He could at least use a better photo of me,” I said.

  Gwen looked amused as she read the caption, He left you once—he’ll leave you again. Once a cheater, always a cheater.

  I would still be an upgrade over a spineless weasel like Maloney who once sent an innocent man to jail to save his own rear. But I guess that was for the voters to decide.

  “Not only has this campaign poster convinced me not to vote for you, but it’s causing me to rethink our entire relationship,” Gwen continued, a little too gleefully.

  “Can you imagine what he’d be saying about me if I was actually going to run?”

  “From what I hear, we might get to find out very soon.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You didn’t meet with Woodrow Hastings following your golf outing yesterday? I heard that you were ‘responsive’ to his inquiry.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Sometimes you seem to forget that I’m the best journalist in this relationship.”

  “I told him that I’d give it some thought. ‘Responsive’ would be a little strong.”

  “Maybe, but it’s a much different than your previous denials. That’s a story, and gives credence to speculation that you might.”

  “I was ambushed by Hastings and my father. I really didn’t know what to say, so I said I’d think about it. You’re reading too much into it.”

  “And why would your father be involved in this? He’s always gone out of his way to remain neutral when it comes to his successor.”

  “He said he owed it to Hastings, who supported him all his years in office, and never tried to use The Fund to influence him. He also believes that the casino will be harmful to Rockfield, and agrees with Hastings that I might be the last chance to stop it.”

  “Actually the best chance would be for your father to run for one more term. If he’s so concerned, why not throw his own hat in the ring? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d changed his mind on retirement for the good of the town.”
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  “He told me that being first selectman was still his dream job, but that I should know better than anyone that the dream girl always trumps the dream job, and he and my mother had plans they were no longer willing to put off.”

  Gwen smiled. “Good answer. So much so that I won’t bring up again how hypocritical it is for you to go off and see the world, as you did, but then take issue when your parents choose to leave.”

  There was no doubt I had been acting on the irrational side when it came to my parents’ upcoming retirement to Savannah. It just wasn’t part of the plan—at least my plan.

  “Will you vote for me if I run?” I asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no?”

  “Was there ambiguity in my reply?”

  “If I get caught in a scandalous affair, I promise that you won’t have to stand by my side like one of those robotic political wives. If that’s what’s holding back your vote.”

  “Oh, you won’t have to worry about that. And for the record, if you truly wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps, and be first selectman, I would support you with all my being. But you don’t—you’re only interested in keeping everything the way it was, in some neat little package, whether it's your parents moving away, or the town you grew up in. Progress isn’t always a bad thing, JP.”

  “Maybe you should think about starting a ‘Dear Gwen’ column in the Gazette. I think Rockfield would appreciate your free advice—why should I get it all?”

  “You want something more tangible? You don’t have the skills to be in politics. It’s a balance of consensus building and ass kissing, neither of which you’re very good at.”

  She had a point there.

  I grabbed hold of her hand and began dragging her in the opposite direction.

  “What are you doing, JP?”

  “Another thing that politicians never do—keeping my promise.”

  Chapter 6

  I led her to the area where the carnival games are located

  “Last year I promised I’d win you a stuffed animal, but you were too busy with your serial-killer boyfriend. Lucky for you, I’m both forgiving and a man of my word.”

  We passed the dunk tank where my brother Ethan was about to be sent for another swim, all in the name of raising money for Rockfield High athletics. There was a time when I’d be first in line to dunk my brother, but despite our philosophical differences about pretty much everything, our relationship has been on the upswing since my return to town. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t smirk when the buzzer went off, and Ethan splashed into the pool once more.

  I located the basketball toss—the same one where I’d won Gwen a purplish stuffed elephant five years running during our teenage years. And sure enough, the elephant was the last remaining prize this year. I handed my money to the teenager manning the booth. It was Shane Sullivan, who I had done a story on for the Gazette last winter when he won multiple state swimming titles for Rockfield High.

  He looked to my left and said, “Looks like you’re going to have some competition, little man.”

  I looked to see the bespectacled Eliot, who had served as my assistant last year when I coached the girls’ basketball team for Samerauk Elementary. At the time, I gave the ten-year-old a full makeover, including wardrobe. You’re never too young to dress for success, but even I would consider wearing a suit to the fair a little over the top.

  Eliot didn’t seem to shrink from the challenge. He removed his sports coat, and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He was surrounded by a pack of tweens, many I recognized from coaching.

  I decided to announce, just because, “I’m playing for the gorgeous and talented Gwen Delaney, and I will not be denied.”

  Shane looked to Eliot. “Will you be playing for someone, or do you just like cute stuffed animals?”

  Without hesitation, his squeaky voice exclaimed, “I’m going to win that elephant for Gracie.”

  The statement received a strong reaction from the pack, with a lot of oooo-ing mixed in. One person who didn’t appear overly thrilled by the unfolding events was pack member, and my niece, Ella. I waved to her, but got no response.

  “Last chance to back off without getting embarrassed,” I said to Eliot.

  “I was thinking the same thing about you,” he shot back. Game on.

  Gwen leaned in to my ear. “Please tell me that you’re really not going to steal a stuffed animal away from a ten-year-old.”

  “First of all, he just turned eleven. Secondly, nobody gets in the way of my girl and her elephant.”

  “I don’t even really want it.”

  I smiled. “Haven’t you learned yet—it isn’t about what you want, but what I want for you?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Shane handed me the ball, adding, “Age before beauty. Best of three.”

  The basket moved side to side. It went slowly on the first shot, and would increase speed as the competition continued. I took my first shot with perfect form and confidence. The only problem was that it clanked off the rim for a miss. This led to laughter from the tween pack.

  I still liked my chances. During our time coaching together, Eliot had proved to be an ingenious basketball strategist, but when it came to shooting one, he would struggle to hit the ocean if he were standing in a boat.

  But never underestimate a man who is motivated by the fairer sex. He looked at Gracie and she smiled at him—it was like he’d taken a shot of adrenaline.

  His first shot swished right through the hoop. His backers cheered, and began chanting El-i-ot! El-i-ot! I’m pretty sure Gwen was cheering along with them.

  It didn’t look good for me, but I wasn’t going to cower—I’d been in environments much more hostile than this. My second shot bounced around the rim, and then fell off. Another miss.

  If Eliot made his next shot, he would win. But he missed badly, to the collective groan of his followers.

  This gave me an opportunity, and I took it. Despite the increased speed of the basket, I embraced the pressure, and made the shot. Eliot would have to make his last attempt to win, but he missed again.

  I figured there would be an extra shot to decide this epic competition, but Shane handed the elephant to Eliot. “Tie goes to the younger kid,” he said.

  “That’s discrimination,” I argued.

  “Take it up with my boss—it’s Saturday and I got plans, which don’t include hanging out at this lame fair. My shift is over.”

  Eliot proudly handed the elephant to Gracie, and received a kiss on the cheek. The tween pack reveled in his victory. Except Ella, who looked like she’d eaten a bad hot dog.

  Gwen patted me on the head, and said in her most patronizing voice, “You tried your best, JP. That’s all that counts. And I really like my consolation prize.” She ran her hand over her necklace.

  As long as it wasn’t an engagement ring—the thought was stuck in my head.

  Chapter 7

  I walked away in shame from the carnival games. Gwen was still by my side, but was likely plotting a plan to trade-up for Eliot.

  We were met by an energetic Allison Cooper. She was with her son, Chase, and Gwen’s much younger brother, Tommy. The two boys had become inseparable this summer. A hostage exchange took place—Tommy was returned to Gwen, and Allison replaced him with her daughter, Gracie.

  Gracie handed the elephant to her mother, and rubbed more salt in my wounds. “Eliot won it for me!”

  It was a tie, but whatever.

  Allison was our classmate growing up in Rockfield. But she and Gwen became close friends during our college days in New York, and have remained so over the years. Their bond tightened even more last year when we were all thrust into what’s become known as the “Huddled Masses Murders,” with one of the victims being her husband, Marty.

  Gwen had suggested that Allison and her kids stay with them this summer, providing the opportunity to get away, and do their be
st to pick up the pieces of their shattered family life. It must have worked to a degree, since Allison decided to stay, and enrolled her kids in school here. She has also been volunteering at the Gazette, trying to bring us into the most recent century—no easy task. Terms like “online presence” and “page views” are becoming common, when six months ago we didn’t even have a working coffeemaker. Of course, my mentor, and the paper’s founder, Murray Brown, recently joked to me that her official title should be driver, since she’s been driving Gwen crazy. So I guess there’s a downside to everything.

  Appearing behind Allison, seemingly out of nowhere, was a man dressed in blue scrubs. He looked like he had stepped off the set of one of those TV hospital dramas. It was Dr. Will MacDougal, who also recently joined the “Return to Rockfield” club, and is working with his father at his practice. He rents the house next door to the Delaneys, so we’ve gotten to know him well this summer.

  “Hey neighbor—you ready?” Allison greeted him.

  I was intrigued by their chumminess. I looked to Gwen to see if she’d noticed, but she was focused on Tommy.

  “Big Saturday night plans?” I asked Dr. Will.

  He laughed. “Yes … sleep. Worked all night at New Milford Hospital in the ER, stopped home long enough to check my messages, and then came directly here to help my father with the blood pressure checks.”

  My Friday night wasn’t much more exciting. After returning home from the parade and the traditional high-school football game that kicks off the Rockfield Fair weekend—Ethan’s team beat Granbury for the seventh year in a row—I made a pro/con list concerning the possibility of entering the race for first selectman, and then fell asleep in a chair watching Blue Bloods. Dr. Will did have a certain do-gooder, too-good-to-be-true quality to him that I’m always very skeptical of. Such thoughts might confirm that I’m as big of a cynical bastard as people say, but it also has kept me alive on occasion.

  Before taking off, he reminded me of my follow-up appointment regarding my concussion symptoms, which resulted from a little disagreement I had with a couple of terrorist thugs during the “Huddled Masses Murders.” I had hoped that he’d forgotten about it, but no such luck.