Psycho Hill (JP Warner Book 3)

by Derek Ciccone

  Allison held up her bandaged hand and laughed. “You might as well just give in, JP—he’s like a pit bull. You should have seen him when I skipped out on an appointment for my hand—felt like I was being sent to the principal’s office.”

  “Treating patients is just like life—80% of it is just showing up,” Will said with a smile.

  The herd began to break off. The carpool made up of Allison, her children, and Dr. Will headed for the parking lot. Tommy requested a candy apple from Gwen, and they went off to the nearest stand. Ella announced that she needed to find her dad and ran off.

  Eliot barely noticed her, as he was staring so hard at Gracie walking away that I thought he might break his glasses.

  “You do know you’re completely over your head, right?” I said.

  “It never stopped you,” he replied, not breaking his stare.

  Good point.

  Moments later, Eliot’s mother arrived. “I’m so glad to hear you’ll be coaching the team again this year, JP. Eliot got so much confidence from working with you,” she said.

  Maybe a little too much, I thought. “I’ll let him coach this year if he stops beating me in basketball shooting games,” I said with a laugh.

  “Now that’s something I thought I’d never hear,” she said with a laugh of her own, before they left for Saturday night synagogue, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And of course, my thoughts went to where they usually go—to Gwen.

  As I watched her with Tommy, acting more motherly than big-sisterly, with the sunset in the background, I decided that it was one of those moments that needed to be framed and hung in a gallery. But those moments rarely seem to last.

  “Hello, John Peter,” were the words that desecrated the painting.

  Chapter 8

  I closed my eyes, holding them shut for a few seconds. But when they opened, she was still there.

  Lauren Bowden.

  My former colleague at the cable news network GNZ, my former girlfriend, and my current rash that just won’t go away.

  She showed up at last year’s fair with Cliff Sutcliffe, attempting to woo me back to GNZ, wearing an outfit that would have fit in nicely at a fashion show in Milan. So she learned from that experience and came dressed more fair-appropriate this year … sort of. She wore what I would term the sexy cowgirl outfit, with boots, Daisy Dukes, and a colorful flannel that she’d strategically tied up to show off her flat abs. It was a similar, yet less Western, clothing choice that caught my attention at the GNZ summer party a few years back, and led to a yearlong hot-mess of a relationship. But I was a much stronger person these days.

  “Love the outfit … but there’s something missing,” I said.

  “I was going to wear the hat, but I’d just had my hair done at Renée’s,” she said in her southern accented voice, flipping her magnetic blonde hair to accentuate her point.

  “No, it’s not the hat,” I said, as if still thinking and snapped my fingers. “I know what it is—Cliff. Where is he?”

  The spray tan almost slipped off her face. “Cliff? Why would I be with Cliff? He’s just my co-worker, it’s not like we’re in some relationship,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  She was a little quick on the trigger with the defense. “It’s just that he’s always with you when you show up to woo me back, so it feels a little strange without him.”

  “I’m hardly wooing you, John Peter—I think you have things backwards.”

  I looked for Gwen, but she had her back to me. Since we had such special connection I thought I could send her a telepathic message. But either it didn’t work, or she was ignoring my SOS. I was all on my own.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure then?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, John Peter—you know I’m here to do a story on the anniversary of your brother’s death.”

  Suddenly the footing under me shifted. “I’ve never agreed to do a story about my brother.”

  She shook her head like a disappointed mother. “You most certainly did. I sent you numerous messages. So you are well aware that I plan to do a story on a victim each month, leading up to the trial next spring. I’m starting with lesser players like your brother, and going to build up to the more famous victims like Senator Kingsbury.”

  I seethed. Lesser player? “I erased all those messages. I never even listened to them.”

  “As I clearly stated in the message, if you were unable to fulfill your obligation, you were to let me know. And since I never received a call back, you obviously had no issue with the interview. Plus, to show my appreciation, I was willing to trudge up to this glorified hoedown to make it easier for you. So what do you say we stop playing these silly games, and get down to business?”

  I much preferred the silly games. I looked deep into her fake blue contact lenses, and said, “You need to get out of here before Gwen sees us together.”

  Her look turned superior. “I don’t fault her for her jealousy—as my Mama always told me: you don’t want to be the one to replace the legend, you’re better off replacing the person who replaced the legend.”

  If I was following correctly, she was the legend in that scenario. It was her humility that I missed the most. “I’m serious. You need to go before it’s too late.”

  “Gwen is just going to have to understand that two of the world’s leading news personalities—despite your recent downfall—won’t be able to avoid having a working relationship.”

  “It goes beyond jealousy—she will really kill you if she sees us together.”

  “You’re always so dramatic, John Peter—if you recall, I was the one who saved her life. If you save someone’s life, they are not allowed to threaten yours. It’s just simple etiquette.”

  As bizarre as it might sound, accidentally or not, she really did step in front of a bullet headed in Gwen’s direction last St. Patrick’s Day, and the network has been referring to her as the World’s Most Courageous News Anchor ever since. I still haven’t got my mind around that one.

  I moved close to her, and whispered, “Don’t you find it strange that Gwen was standing right next to you when you were shot? Or that those fake cops knew right where to corner us, under that sidewalk shed?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, John Peter.”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Lauren—I know you’re too savvy of a reporter for that. We both know it was a setup.”

  “A setup?”

  “Don’t you get it? Gwen was in on it—she’s the one who led us there. Like pigs to a slaughter.”

  She looked bewildered. “In on what?”

  “She’s a CIA assassin! She doesn’t know that I know, and we need to keep it that way—it’s no coincidence that she suddenly showed up in my life after all those years. She’s waiting for me to give up the information, and then I’m a dead man.”

  “What information is that?”

  “If I tell you, we’re both goners. That’s why she can’t see you with me. You got lucky last time—wearing that bulletproof vest—but there’s no way you can possibly have any protection under that outfit.”

  For a brief moment I thought I’d convinced her to scurry fearfully out of town, but she planted her cowboy boots in the muck. “I’m not going anywhere, John Peter—I will be there for you.”

  “I appreciate it, Lauren, I really do, but all you’re doing is planning both our funerals.”

  She thought about it for a second, and then she screamed.

  Before I could locate the source of her fright, I was raised into the air.

  As the angry beast carried me off, I looked back to Lauren, and pleaded, “Save yourself—before it’s too late!”

  Chapter 9

  Once the coast was clear, the giant set me down.

  As happy as I was to be away from Lauren, there was still a lingering question about my escape. “What are you doing here?”

  “I think I was saving your life … again,” the giant responded.

  Standing b
efore me—more like hovering over me like a skyscraper, even though I was a shade over six-feet tall—in his usual sleeveless denim jacket and wraparound sunglasses, was the former professional wrestler Jeff “Coldblooded” Carter. He later became my scout, confidant, and yes, lifesaver, as we searched the most dangerous parts of the globe, hunting down the most elusive stories.

  He looked like an oversized puppy that wanted me to pat him on his shaved dome for a job well done. When he got no love, he began walking away. For some reason, I followed.

  “Thank you for coming to my rescue,” I finally said.

  “That’s twelve times I’ve saved your life, and twice from that crazy ex of yours.”

  “Glad to see you don’t keep score. But what about all the times you almost got me killed—doesn’t that even things out?”

  “Almost only counts in horseshoes and grenades. Fact is, you owe me numerous lives, and you just better hope I don’t decide to collect one day.”

  “So getting back to my original question—what are you doing here?”

  “You’ve always spouted off about how great the Rockfield Fair is, so I thought I’d come check it out for myself.”

  I heard a beep in my pocket, and I wasn’t sure if I was receiving a text, or my BS detector was going off. “Weren’t you supposed to be following your girlfriend around on her tour?”

  “We decided to take a break.”

  “From the tour, or each other?”

  “This is not about me—that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Then who is it about?”

  I followed his point to the man who was the third member of our old team—Byron Jasper. I always felt a piece of my heart chip away every time I saw him confined to his wheelchair, along with a jolt of guilt. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t sporting his trademarked smile. He was also holding a trophy.

  “He won the ‘Rockfield Fair Strongman Contest’—broke the record for the High Striker.” Carter grinned, before adding, “But I didn’t participate, or he would have been forced to settle for second place.”

  Byron might not have use of his legs any longer, but it seemed as if all the strength that once made him an All-American running back at the University of South Carolina, and later in the NFL, had transferred to his still-sculpted arms.

  “Isn’t he supposed to be in Charleston planning his wedding?”

  “Don’t let the smile fool you, he and Tonya were on the verge of killing each other—practicing for real marriage, I guess—so he needed to get away, and have a cooling-off period.” Carter wiped a handful of sweat off his brow. “But on second thought, I’m not sure this was the best place to cool off. It’s a couple of pointy buildings away from being Egypt here.”

  It appeared that my spaceship had landed in Bizarro World—one in which the couple that never fights needed “cooling off,” and Carter was the voice of reason.

  “I thought everything was going great.”

  Carter shrugged. “I try to tell people that the biggest cause of divorce is marriage, but they never seem to listen to me.”

  Byron wheeled up to us, and greeted me like nothing was wrong. I congratulated him on winning the strongman competition.

  He held the trophy in one hand, and one of Maloney’s campaign posters in the other. “You didn’t tell me you were going into politics, J-News.”

  “I’m thinking about being his campaign manager,” Carter interjected.

  “Talk about a bully pulpit,” Byron said.

  “What will our platform be?” I asked Carter.

  “I base all my politics on Teddy Roosevelt—walk softly, but carry a big stick.”

  “Well, one out of two ain’t bad,” Byron quipped.

  Carter nodded. “You’re right, I don’t walk that softly.”

  He laughed at his perceived wit, but then took hold of the poster, and his expression changed. “Isn’t Maloney the guy you saved from being killed by Grady Benson?”

  “That’s him,” I replied.

  Carter grew irritated. “That’s how people are these days—you sacrifice for them, and then you become their roasted lamb.”

  I got the feeling the comment was directed to his girlfriend, or perhaps now ex-girlfriend, Mistress Kate, more so than Maloney. That was a story I needed to get to the bottom of.

  Carter attracted crowds wherever we traveled. Already, two adoring fans were approaching—my parents.

  They greeted each other with glee. My mother then looked to me with an accusatory look. “How come you didn’t tell me that Carter and Byron were coming?”

  They didn’t exactly give me much notice. “I guess I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “How long will you be in town?” my father asked.

  “It’s open-ended right now,” Carter said

  “Well, we will have to play a round of golf while you’re here,” my father said. And once again told the story about the golf outing with Byron during their visit to Charleston, and how he was the best player on the course, despite being relegated to his chair. It was at least the twelfth time I’d heard the story.

  “It saves me money on the cart,” Byron joked.

  Humor worked for him in dealing with his condition, but to me, it was anything but a laughing matter.

  “How are the wedding plans going?” my mother mercifully changed the subject.

  Byron flashed a fake smile. “Very well, but busy, so we thought we needed to get away for a little bit.”

  “That’s very smart of you two. And since you’ll be bachelor-ing it for a bit, what are you doing for Labor Day?” she asked. “We’d love to have you at Ethan’s picnic.”

  “If you got hot food and hotter chicks we’re in,” Carter said.

  My father looked to Byron. “Has JP given you a tour of Rockfield?”

  “We just got in a few hours ago,” Byron replied.

  Carter spun him around in his chair. “There, now you’ve seen it.”

  We laughed, and my father added, “We are small, that is true, but we do have a lot of hidden gems. Let me show you around the fair, and introduce you to some friends of mine—it will give you a firsthand look at our small-town hospitality.”

  As I watched my father lead my friends off on the three-hour tour, I realized he had that consensus-building/ass-kissing thing down, which was why he was so good at his job for so long, and kept the town heading in the right direction. I sensed things were really about to change in a big way around here. And it felt like it went beyond my father leaving office.

  Chapter 10

  I found an empty picnic table and did one of my favorite things to do each year at the fair—watch as the sun sinks below the trees in the distance, and darkness slowly settles in. I’d been all around the world, but rarely had found such pure, unadulterated beauty.

  Speaking of beautiful things, I was startled out of my gaze by her soothing voice, “Is this seat taken?”

  I smiled. “It depends—is that for me?”

  Gwen handed me a basket of barbecued chicken, along with an expensive cup of foam they try to pass off as beer.

  She took a seat across from me as I heartily dug in. “I ran into Byron and Carter a few minutes ago. Did you know they were coming?”

  “Not until Carter assaulted me.”

  “From what I heard, he saved you from an encounter with your old friend Lauren Bowden.”

  “Lauren Bowden is here?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I think I saw her, but when went to say hello, she ran away from me—I mean, sprinted, like an Olympic runner in heeled cowboy boots. What’s that about?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe she thinks you’re a CIA assassin looking to take her out.”

  “Seriously—why is she here?”

  “To do a story on Noah.”

  “And you were okay with that?”

  “Not really—it sort of blindsided me. The only retrospective on Noah I’ll ever endorse will be the one in the Rockfield Gazette. I kind of have a thing for the edit
or.”

  “As tacky as her timing is, it still explains why she’d come. Unlike Carter and Byron.”

  “I’m pretty sure Carter got dumped by Mistress Kate, while Byron and Tonya were in a pre-wedding meltdown, and needed some time apart.”

  Gwen didn’t seem as surprised as I was to hear this news. “Well, at least he didn’t take Byron to Syria, like when we took our time apart.”

  I was never going to live that one down. “Danger follows Carter, so I’m not sure it will make a difference where he goes.”

  She thought for a second, and seemed to agree. “So how long are they staying?”

  “Carter said it was open-ended.”

  I could see Gwen doing the math in her head—Allison and her two kids, her dad, my parents, now Carter and Byron. This might be our last moment alone in the next decade.

  And our current alone time ended when the police approached us. More specifically, the imposing figure of Rockfield’s police chief Rich Tolland. He was carrying a plastic cup that appeared to contain seaweed.

  “I hope that isn’t your dinner,” I said, pointing to the cup.

  “I got my blood pressure checked at Doc Mac’s booth today, and it was high. It was fine last year, I wonder what has changed since then.”

  He and Gwen both looked at me. But before I could defend myself, Rich let me off the hook, “As much as I’d like to blame it on you, I think it has more to do with the extra thirty pounds I’ve been carrying. So I decided if I had to sacrifice to see my kids grow up, I would do that. Starting now.”

  He took a sip of his concoction and winced.

  “I’ll bet it wasn’t an easy choice,” I said, and took a bite out of a chicken leg.

  Gwen smacked me on the arm.

  “This might not help with your blood pressure, but I just wanted to give you warning that Carter’s in town,” I said.

  “I’m a cop, Warner, I can smell trouble a mile away. That, and I just ran into him and his friend Byron. I’m considering declaring an emergency for all of Rockfield and neighboring towns.”