Money Back Guarantee
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YOUR MONEY BACK OR YOUR LIFE . . .
Protect America’s shores with your very own nuclear submarine! Constructed from durable fiberboard material, this submersible is large enough for two kids! Sail off into imaginative international intrigue for just $1.99! If this toy doesn’t float your boat, return it for a full refund!
With her son’s heart set on piloting his own nuclear submarine, Rosemary Lanchester orders the craft advertised on the back of a comic book. What arrives is more substandard than submarine, but her son loves the cheap piece of cardboard. Until he and a friend nearly drown when they take the sub for a deep sea dive in the swimming pool.
Enraged, Rosemary reports the toy’s manufacturer to the Better Business Bureau. The company’s customer service center retaliates with threatening phone calls. Then her son and husband mysteriously disappear.
To save her family, Rosemary tracks down the company’s headquarters with the help of her brother—a survivalist with enough toys of his own to wage an all-out war.
And she still wants her $1.99 refunded.
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Books by Hunter Shea
The Jersey Devil
Tortures of the Damned
The Montauk Monster
Just Add Water
Optical Delusion
Money Back Guarantee
Money Back Guarantee
Hunter Shea
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Shea Hunter
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First Electronic Edition: October 2017
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0281-5
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0281-9
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
For Ginger, one cool chick with mad skills
Chapter One
1982
Edensbury, New Hampshire
Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” played for the millionth time on the radio, a crisp spring breeze tickling the back of Rosemary Lanchester’s neck while she sat at the kitchen table calculating her take from last night’s haul. It had been a hell of an evening. Her best so far.
“Almost better than robbing banks,” she said. “Except much safer.”
She paused and considered changing the station. “Eye of the Tiger” normally irritated her, its constant presence on both AM and FM bands this side of water torture. But the radio was across the kitchen on the fridge, and at this moment she thought, I do have the eye of the tiger.
She couldn’t help but think of the Virginia Slims slogan, “You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby.” Sure it was borderline sexist, but it drove the point home. She felt a brief shudder when she thought about how things could have gone for her.
“And they said I couldn’t be domesticated,” she said with a chuckle.
Now she craved a cigarette. But that wasn’t going to happen. She’d quit a year ago, and despite countless urges, she hadn’t picked up a single Slim since.
Gavin’s leaden footsteps bumbled about upstairs. He’d be down any minute now, ready for his Sunday grapefruit and coffee. Rosemary couldn’t wait to show him.
“Little hobby, my ass.”
“Huh?”
Her son, Dwight, waltzed into the kitchen as silent as a stalking panther, sleep crust in the corners of his eyes, hair standing on end as if he’d jammed his finger in an electrical socket…again.
“Oh, nothing. You want some cereal?”
He eyed the paperwork scattered atop the table.
“Can I eat Sugar Pops in the living room? Scooby-Doo is on.”
She poured him a bowl, added the tiniest splash of milk (he refused to eat cereal once it got soggy), and brought it to the coffee table in the living room, along with a cinnamon Pop-Tart and a glass of orange juice. He jammed his spoon into the center of the Sugar Pops, shoveling it in as fast as he could, eyes already glazed over from the sugar high while he watched Shaggy steal Scooby’s snacks.
Gavin lumbered down the stairs in his brown yard-work slacks, itchy sweater that was so stained she wondered why she even bothered to wash it anymore, and battered Hush Puppies. It could be a hundred degrees and he had to wear that sweater to work on the yard. She swore he suffered through heat exhaustion just to embarrass her.
“Morning, babe,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. He followed her into the kitchen. She took the grapefruit out of the fridge, cut it in half, and cleared a spot for him to eat.
“What’s all this?” he said, working at the grapefruit with a serrated spoon. A squirt of juice splattered on his sweater. The old rag just absorbed the splotch, melding it with the others.
Rosemary imagined the other blemishes chanting, “One of us,” as they accepted it into the family of filth.
She poured them each a cup of coffee and sat next to him, unable to keep her smile reaching from ear to ear.
“Those, my dear, are my sales slips from last night’s Tupperware party.”
He shuffled through the orders between sips of coffee. “What’s this number here?”
“That’s my commission for each sale. You want to know how much it adds up to?”
Gavin grinned. “I have a feeling no matter what I say, you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“Sixty-seven dollars!”
“Whoa. Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. And that’s even with me taking out the money I spent on the fondue and snacks for the ladies. How do you like that?”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I love it. Being sequestered in our bedroom all night was definitely worth it. Sounded like one hell of a hen party.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes. “That hen party was the sound of business.”
“I’m only kidding. I’m really proud of you. Maybe I should take up selling Tupperware and be my own boss.”
She stood and ruffled his hair. “Stick to your computers. You don’t have the connections to make it in the Tupperware biz.”
“Did Mom really make sixty-seven dollars?” Dwight said, startling her again. He had his empty bowl in hand. There must be a commercial on, Rosemary thought.
“She sure did,” Gavin said.
“Stay right there. I wan
na show you something.” Dwight turned tail and ran upstairs.
Rosemary leaned against the sink and saw her husband get grapefruit juice on some order sheets. “Hey, be careful.”
He held up his hands. “Don’t blame me. It’s the damn grapefruit.”
She gathered everything up and moved the pile to the counter. She’d finish her paperwork after breakfast.
Dwight returned carrying a comic book. Rosemary saw it was the new issue of Spider-Man he’d begged for at the stationery store last week. He opened the comic to a page near the back.
“Since you have a whole lot of money now, can we order this? I promise, if you buy it I’ll do all the chores around the house for a month.”
“Hmm, I’ve heard that before,” Rosemary said, taking the comic.
“If we get it soon, I can bring it to Jimmy’s pool.”
Rosemary had to stifle a chuckle. At nine, Dwight was a bundle of boundless enthusiasm. She knew that if she gave in to him, he would hold true to his promise about doing the chores … for the first few days, at least.
“What is it this time?” Gavin said, slipping his plate into the dishwasher.
Rosemary looked at the full-page ad for a six-foot nuclear submarine. There were a ton of exclamation points touting all of its amazing features, including a working periscope, interior lighting, real control panel, and not just two but four torpedoes that a child could fire from his or her incredible nuclear submersible.
She showed the ad to her husband, who did not hold back his own laughter.
“Where are we supposed to keep a six-foot submarine?” he asked.
Dwight was quick on his feet. “The garage! We could put it over by the rakes and stuff.”
“And you plan to do a lot of deepwater exploring?” Gavin said.
“Oh, yeah. And it fits two people, so Jimmy can come with me.”
Rosemary read about the pride of ownership of a nuclear submarine, the most feared fighting ship in the high seas. Each sub went through rigorous field testing and would provide not just hours but entire days of fun and excitement.
“You know, I won’t let your dad buy a microwave because I worry about radiation. This seems kind of dangerous.”
Dwight sputtered, “But it’s just based on a nuclear sub. They can’t actually give nuclear stuff to kids.”
“Oh, I see. That makes sense.”
Gavin patted her ass when he walked by, heading toward the back door and a morning of mowing. “I’ll let you guys decide this one. It would be kind of nice having our own submarine. You never know when it’ll come in handy. I just hope it’s better than those thousand army men that turned out to be thinner than paper and unable to stand up.”
Dwight pointed at the ad with his slender finger. “Those army men were cheap. This is five dollars.”
The sincerity in his conviction made Rosemary’s heart ache.
She was feeling so good today, how could she say no? After all, she did have sixty-seven dollars that she hadn’t had yesterday.
“Plus,” Dwight added, “it has a money back guarantee. See, it’s right at the bottom. Not that we’ll need it. It’ll be too awesome to give back.”
Rosemary crouched down so they were eye level. “I’ll tell you what—you go upstairs and get me an envelope and one stamp. I’ll fill out the form and write a check and you can put it in the mail.”
His eyes lit up and he draped his arms around her neck. His breath smelled sugary sweet.
“Thank you, Mommy! Thank you!”
Rosemary got her pocketbook out of the closet while he rooted around for an envelope. His excitement even had her heart beating a little faster.
Yep, she had the eye of the tiger today.
Chapter Two
Tuesday nights were slotted for ceramics class with her friend Linda. Rosemary was currently working on a cute little Christmas tree with slots for colored cones of plastic that would look like lights once she turned on the twenty-five-watt bulb she’d install in the center of the hollow tree. It would look so nice on the radiator cover in the living room, the centerpiece of her Christmas village.
It was a little hard thinking of Christmas when the thermometer read ninety degrees. Rosemary had planned three more Tupperware parties between July and October. She’d earn enough extra money to make it the best Christmas the Lanchester abode had ever seen.
“You taking Linda or is it her turn to drive?” Gavin asked, helping to clean up after dinner.
“It’s her turn. Why do you ask?”
“When I was coming home, I saw her stumbling out of the Dew Drop Inn. I don’t think she was selling raffle tickets for the church relief fund.”
Rosemary draped a dishtowel over her shoulder. Linda was having a rough time with her divorce. Vito wasn’t making things easy. He was constantly popping by the house to buy their kids’ affection, refusing to sign the final papers, and, when he’d had a few, threatening her over the phone. Or worst of all, that time he tried to break into the house at one in the morning. As far as Rosemary was concerned, Linda had every right to have a few at the Dew Drop Inn.
However, not at the expense of driving them into a tree. She grabbed Gavin and kissed him.
“I love you, you know that? Thank you for always looking out for me and Dwight.”
He pulled her in for another kiss, his hands massaging her back, fingers slipping under her bra strap. She stepped away before things got too hot and heavy with their son in the next room.
“It’s what I’m paid to do,” he joked. She swatted him on the ass with the dishtowel.
The bell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Dwight sang out from the living room.
“A little early for ceramics,” Gavin said, looking at the clock on the oven.
“Mom, Dad, can you come here?”
They hurried to the front door, bolstered by the strange tone in Dwight’s voice. A deliveryman stood on the porch holding a clipboard.
“I just need someone to sign for this,” he said. His shirt was dark with sweat rings. Even his mustache had a few drops of perspiration nestled in the short hairs. Rosemary quickly took the proffered pen and scribbled her signature on the delivery confirmation.
“Thank you. I’ll be back in a sec,” the sweaty postman said.
He shuffled to his truck, slowly getting a handcart out from a compartment in the back, and strapped a tall box onto it. It seemed to take him forever to wheel it to the porch.
Rosemary dashed to the kitchen and poured a glass of cold water from the tap. By the time she returned to the foyer, the deliveryman was unstrapping the box.
“You look like you could use a drink,” she said, offering the glass.
“Thank you. I ask and ask for one of the new trucks with AC but I keep drawing that old jalopy.” He guzzled the water, sighing with relief, and gave the glass back to her. “You all have a good night.”
Gavin and Dwight carefully laid the box on its side.
“Is it heavy?” Rosemary asked.
“Not at all,” Dwight said.
“What the heck can it be?”
Gavin bent down to read the shipping label. “It’s from AdventureCo in Tegan’s Mill, South Carolina.”
Dwight started jumping up and down, cheering as if his Little League team had just won the championship. “It’s my sub! It’s my sub!”
“Your sub?” Gavin said, getting his pocketknife out. The pocketknife had been a gift from his late father. He never went anywhere without it.
“Yeah. The nuclear submarine Mom ordered for me!”
Rosemary smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Of course. It was so long ago, I forgot all about it.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Dwight said, on his knees watching his father run the knife along the edge of the box, slicing through the thick brow
n packing tape.
“Give me a little room, bud. I don’t want to accidentally cut you.”
Gavin had to saw away at the tape in some spots, followed by much heaving and ho-ing as they reached into the box and extracted the contents. Bits of Styrofoam and straw littered the floor. Rosemary bristled, each tug spilling scads of crud, which meant more sweeping and vacuuming when all was said and done.
“Huh,” Gavin said, eyeing the long, flat slab of gray-colored cardboard. Dwight scooped up a folded sheet of paper that had fallen out of the box.
“It says some assembly required,” he said, little of his zeal lost at the cheap appearance of his nuclear submarine that was currently flatter than a flapjack and looked like it would be as sturdy as … well, a cardboard sub.
“I’m assuming I won’t be needing a screwdriver or hammer,” Gavin said, scratching the back of his neck.
Rosemary held her tongue. There was no sense denigrating the cheap piece of crap. Not when her son was so excited about it.
“Do you need my help?” she asked.
Dwight’s brow was knit in deep concentration as he pored over the instructions. She looked over his shoulder and saw the poor artist’s rendition of how the sub was supposed to, as it said at the top of the page, “Come to life with just a few simple steps!”
“Can you go back there and hold that part?” Dwight said, pointing to where he needed her to go without looking up from the page.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she replied, ruffling his hair.
“And Dad, you grab over there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rosemary hoped Dwight wouldn’t be too disappointed once everything was put together. Better yet, she prayed his imagination would win out over corporate greed and hucksterism, reimagining this obvious piece of crap into the wonder sub he’d been waiting weeks to get.
“Okay, when I say pull, you each tug on your end. The middle will pop out and I’ll fold down the supports. You got it?”
“Got it,” Gavin said with a wink.
Dwight paused for a moment. Rosemary thought she could see his little heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings through his Incredible Hulk T-shirt.