by Becky Durfee
Betrayed
(Book two of the Jenny Watkins Mystery series)
Becky Durfee
Copyright 2013
Dedication
Once again I’d like to thank my husband Scott for his never-ending support in this process, which is taking up more and more of my time with each passing week. My children/step-children continue to be my inspiration: Hannah Durfee, Seneca Durfee, Evan Fish and Julia Fish—I could not have done this without you. And please take a note of what can happen when you take a chance and follow your dream…
I’d also like to thank my Beta readers: Sam Travers, Sue Durfee, Bill and Sarah Demarest, and Felicia Underwood (look at me throwing around the jargon!) You all catch things I never would have noticed, and you point out where my writing doesn’t exactly make sense. My stories are better because of you!
Another shout-out goes to my daughter Julia, my cover model, who had to sit in a black sweater on a hot summer day as I took a million pictures that all looked pretty much the same. My graphic designer/husband Scott spent a good long time getting the letters to look just right on the cover, and I appreciate that as well.
A final thank you goes to all of the people who have supported me, friends and strangers alike. I was overwhelmed by the response that Driven received. I never thought in a million years that I’d sell over 50 copies, and I have far exceeded that. Longtime friends (notice I didn’t say “old” friends, LOL) have reached out to me, showing their support, and people I’ve never met have taken time out of their day to tell me how much they enjoyed my book. I have to be honest--that never gets old. Thank you all so much…I can’t tell you how much it means to me.
I hope you all enjoy reading Betrayed as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 1
Someone, somewhere, had been strangled.
Jenny felt the firm grip of hands around her throat as she tried to gasp for a few precious breaths. She punched her gloved hands at the man dominating her, desperate to get away, pinned helplessly to the ground by the attacker’s heavy knees. He was filled with such anger, squeezing and shaking her neck, grunting with exertion. But what had she done to him? She didn’t even know him. What could have filled him with such rage?
She tried to pry his hands away from her neck as she felt her consciousness fade, aware that this final attempt at survival was going to be futile. This was it. This was how she was going to die…strangled in the middle of the night in a remote area where even if she managed a scream, no one would hear. She thought of all the things she hadn’t done yet—the prom, graduation, a wedding—all things she would never do, simply because she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She looked up into the unmasked face of her killer, illuminated by the headlights of his car. She studied his face, trying to memorize it, hoping to be able to identify him if she did manage to survive. Sadly, she knew that was unlikely. Despite her strong will to pull through this, she felt herself becoming lifeless. Her hands lost their ability to fight, and her eyes closed for the final time.
Jenny sat up straight with a gasp, looking around to make sure this had only been a vision. She was relieved to discover she was sitting at the edge of Lake Wimsat, her easel in front of her, just as she had been before that horrible contact. Unnerved, she recalled the contours of the killer’s face, committing them to memory: the pronounced chin, the short sandy hair, the piercing eyes. She realized she would have to be the one to identify this person on the victim’s behalf if the time ever came; since she had been contacted, she knew strangulation must have been fatal.
Reaching into her pocket and pulling out her cell phone, she hoped for reception. Relief washed over her when she discover she had the ability to make a call, and she immediately dialed her friend Zack. He had been instrumental in helping her solve her only other similar mystery, and she had promised to let him help with cases going forward.
“Hey, Jenny! How’s it going?” he asked upon answering.
“Okay, I guess.” Jenny’s voice was somber. “I just had a vision.”
“For real? It’s about time. What was it?”
Jenny swallowed. “Someone’s been strangled.”
“Oh.” Zack’s zeal immediately faded. “Who?”
“That’s just it,” Jenny confessed. “I have no idea. I saw it through the victim’s eyes, but I don’t know who she was.” After a moment she added, “Or he.”
“Did you see who did it?”
“Yes, that much I did see. I could definitely identify the guy in a line up, but I don’t know what good that does me if I don’t know who the victim was. Or where it happened. Or when. For all I know, this happened twenty years ago in Timbuktu.”
“Well,” Zack reasoned, “let’s see if we can figure out any clues. Did anything happen in the vision that might give you an indication of what we’re dealing with?”
Jenny let out a sigh. “The victim had to be young. They were upset about never being able to go to the prom.”
“Then the victim is a girl—a privileged one.”
“How do you know?”
“A dude wouldn’t be upset about missing the prom,” Zack noted. “A young guy would probably be more upset about dying a virgin.”
Jenny gave the notion some thought, and it made sense to her.
“And I assume she’s privileged—or at least not under-privileged—because the prom is a middle class concern,” Zack added. “If she was from a low-income bracket, I’d think she’d be more concerned about who was going to take care of her family—who was going to watch her younger brother or care for her ailing mother, that kind of thing.
“Now,” Zack continued, “Were there any indications of when this took place? Or where? Was the killer wearing a different style of clothes or something?”
“I don’t know,” Jenny replied. “It was dark. His clothes were dark. I could see his face because it was lit up by headlights, but that was about it. Although, I did see trees. I was outside when I got strangled, but exactly I’m not sure where.”
“Well,” Zack concluded, “Hopefully you’ll get contacted again and get a little more detail.”
Jenny let out a breath. “I guess so.” She leaned back in her folding chair, looking helplessly at her half-finished painting of the lake. She didn’t like that answer.
“So what else is new?” Zack asked, sensing her disappointment. “How’s marriage counseling going?”
“It’s going,” Jenny replied. “I think the counselor is learning how stubborn my husband is.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah,” Jenny said in a melancholy tone as she brushed her hair out of her face. “It’s kind of what I expected; the reason we went to counseling in the first place is because Greg is very difficult to reason with. The counselor is not having any more luck getting through to him than I’ve had.” Jenny realized how negative she was being. “But enough about me…how’s the new boat?”
“Totally awesome,” Zack replied. “I’m on it every chance I get.”
Jenny smiled sincerely. “That’s good. I’m gl
ad to hear it. Anything else new?”
“Just counting down until the big three-oh. I’ve only got about a month left in my twenties. Then I’ll actually have to become responsible.”
Jenny laughed. “Yeah, you are pretty old. Thirty. I’ve got three good years left before I get there.”
“Yeah. Great. You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself, don’t you?”
“I do what I can.” After some more small talk, Jenny and Zack concluded their call. Jenny looked out at the lake as she put the phone back in her pocket, absorbing the implications of her latest contact. She hadn’t been sure if her first mystery two months earlier was going to be her only one, but here she was faced with another contact. Perhaps these psychic visions were going to be a way of life for her now. While she still felt saddened and shaken by the horrible nature of her vision, she had to admit she was excited by the prospect of another investigation.
Her first contact had started with the name of the victim, which at least gave her a starting point for exploration. Now she only had the face of a killer, which provided her with little more than an image to haunt her dreams. This murder could have happened yesterday or thirty years ago, in her hometown of Evansdale, Georgia or on the other side of the world. Jenny surmised that Zack’s conclusion was unfortunately correct; she would just have to wait for more insight before she could do anything to unravel the mystery.
No longer in the mood to paint, Jenny packed up her supplies and headed back to her car. She still had some time alone at the house before Greg got home from work, so she could enjoy a little bit of freedom before the tension of her failing marriage took over. She was always so much happier when her husband wasn’t around, a notion she knew didn’t bode well for her future with Greg.
As she mindlessly prepared dinner, Jenny contemplated the conversation she’d inevitably have when Greg got home. He was not at all supportive of her discovery that she was psychic; he had made that abundantly clear during her last experience. Although he had never voiced it, he was probably quite pleased that a couple of months had passed without any paranormal activity. Perhaps he thought those days of psychic visions were behind them. However, it now seemed like the biggest sticking point in their marriage was about to return.
Greg came through the front door without much fanfare. He set down his bag of ungraded papers and coaching notes, walking wordlessly into the kitchen.
“Did you have a good day?” Jenny asked.
“It was okay,” he replied. “Normal.” He sorted through the mail on the newly resurfaced kitchen island, deciding nothing was of particular importance. “What’s for dinner?”
“Ham,” Jenny replied.
Familiar silence followed. Jenny had grown accustomed to the long breaks in the conversation, although she hadn’t yet become comfortable with them. She was relieved when Greg went upstairs to change his clothes; the silence was only deafening when he was close by.
When he came back downstairs, Greg scooped food onto his plate as quickly as Jenny could put the dishes on the table. Once the table was full she sat down across from her husband, taking only child-sized portions for herself; she was simply too nervous to eat.
“I had a bit of an interesting day,” she began.
“Oh yeah?”
She cleared her throat. “I had a vision while I was painting at the lake.” She looked up and waited for a response from Greg which never came. She’d witnessed that same apathetic response from him a million times before, and the familiarity sickened her. It was hard to have a meaningful conversation with a man who refused to acknowledge any news he didn’t like. Undeterred, she continued. “Someone’s been strangled, although I don’t know who.”
Greg swallowed the food in his mouth. “That’s not really much to go on, is it?”
“No, it’s not. But it may be the beginning of something.” Jenny wished she was less nervous. “Maybe I’ll be contacted again…with a little more detail.”
Greg grunted to acknowledge that he’d heard her, silently taking a few more bites before adding, “My algebra class did well on their test today.”
Consumed with disappointment and disgust, Jenny quietly said, “That’s good.”
After the last of the dinner dishes had been washed and put away, Jenny wandered slowly into the living room, casually using the remote to turn on the television before she sat on the couch. She ignored the TV as she once again contemplated her vision at the lake. Were there any details she was missing? Something that would give her a clue about the victim’s identity? With a deep sigh Jenny wished she had the ability to summon contacts instead of just passively receiving them. Waiting had never been one of Jenny’s strengths.
At that moment something about the news caught Jenny’s full attention. She heard the reporter begin the story.
An Amber Alert goes out tonight for fifteen year old Morgan Caldwell, who disappeared from her home in Braddock late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning.
A photograph of the missing teen appeared on the screen, and every one of Jenny’s nerves tingled.
She knew this was her victim.
According to her parents, she had gone to bed as usual Tuesday night but was not in her bedroom when her mother went to wake her Wednesday morning. Police officials say there are no signs of forced entry or struggle in the home, but her parents insist she was unlikely to run away. Today at a press conference, her mother made a plea for her safe return.
The image on the screen went from a still photograph of Morgan to a recording of a tearful couple making a gut-wrenching statement behind a podium. Morgan’s mother could barely speak through her sobs.
Please. If anyone knows anything at all, please come forward. All we want is our Morgan back. And Morgan, if you’re watching this, please know we’re looking for you. We love you, honey, and we are doing everything we can to get you back. We won’t stop until we find you.
Jenny turned away from the screen, unable to look at the parents who had no idea their daughter was already gone.
Just as Jenny was about to succumb to overwhelming sadness, she remembered the advice of her friend Susan, a fellow psychic who had served as her mentor during the last episode. Don’t own it. Your job is not to deliver happy endings, but rather to make the unhappy endings make sense. She sat up straight and sucked in a breath, regaining her composure, realizing she had a job to do—she had to get these parents some answers and, more importantly, get a child-killer behind bars before he struck again.
“Morgan Caldwell,” Jenny said the second Zack answered the phone.
“Excuse me?”
“Morgan Caldwell. She’s the person who was strangled.”
“Isn’t that the missing girl from Braddock?”
“Yup,” Jenny confirmed, “That’s her.”
“How do you know?”
“Intuition,” Jenny replied. “When I saw her face on the news I just knew.”
At that moment the implication of Jenny’s words seemed to hit Zack. “Oh, God. That’s a real bummer. They’re still hoping to find her alive.”
“Yeah.” Jenny made a partially-successful effort to remain unaffected. “I know.”
“Have you called the police?”
“I just did,” Jenny confessed. “But it didn’t go very well.”
“What happened?”
“Well, I told them I know that Morgan had been strangled in a remote area in the middle of the night by a man I could identify if necessary. They asked me how I knew, and when I told them I am a psychic who had a vision, they told me I was about the fifth one to call that hour. It seems every lunatic within a fifty mile radius has called them up claiming to be clairvoyant.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, I should have known better. You know, I do remember Susan telling me she had a lot of similar problems before she made a name for herself as a reputable psychic.” Jenny put her hand on her forehead. “I don’t know what I’m going to have to do to get them to b
elieve me.”
“You’ll just have to come up with some earth shattering detail that no regular person could possibly know.”
“With my luck they’ll view that as evidence that I did it and I’ll find my ass in jail.”
“Oh, yeah, hadn’t thought of that. That would suck.”
“Indeed it would.” Jenny let out a deep sigh. “I’m going to go try to relax—see if I can inspire another contact. If that doesn’t work, I’ll go back to the lake tomorrow and paint some more. If neither of those things bring any answers, I’ll make a trip out to Braddock tomorrow night. Maybe being closer to the action will help.”
“I don’t have to work tomorrow night. If you do go out there, can I go with you?”
“That’d be great, actually. I’d love the company. Besides, I’d feel more comfortable with you there if there’s a killer on the loose.”
After a nice long bath, Jenny climbed into bed, clearing her head of all active thought to facilitate a contact. Unfortunately she was a little too elevated, making relaxation an effort, defeating the purpose. Eventually she did feel waves of sleep taking over, and during one of those waves she had a brief but very clear image in her head.
Chapter 2
The air around her had the distinct crispness of a beautiful fall evening, the type of night she’d always enjoyed in the past. But there was nothing pleasurable about this particular night. She felt pain in her face; she’d been beaten. Her cheek bones throbbed as she tried to keep her bearings, knowing her life depended on it, all the while wondering if this was really happening or just a horrible dream. Her hands were immobilized, presumably pinned under the weight of her attacker. The barrel of a gun was pointed directly at her, and just beyond that she could see that same man using his teeth and his free hand to open a condom wrapper. He was going to rape her. She knew that. But hopefully once he was done he would let her go and this would all be over.