Caught Dead

by Patricia Mason

  Caught Dead

  By

  Patricia Mason

  Copyright 2016

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Copyright

  Publisher’s Note

  Dedication

  Social Media

  More by Patricia Mason

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  The Banshee and the Linebacker

  About The Author

  Description

  Sometimes death isn’t the end…unfortunately.

  Jonah Morrison is a loner and an outcast in his small Georgia hometown and not only because he's the caretaker for their cemetery. He's been a bit weird ever since his parents were slaughtered by a serial killer. Jonah has a secret life his neighbors don’t suspect.

  Belinda Cruz is drawn to Jonah. To her, the slightly geeky misfit is the human embodiment of the stray cats she tries to rescue. It doesn't hurt that he looks like he could model for an underwear ad.

  Not even Belinda knows what Jonah’s hiding on the cemetery's ancient oak tree or how he’s connected to the recent string of gruesome murders plaguing the town.

  Belinda could be Jonah’s salvation. But the revelation of Jonah's secrets just might cost Belinda her life and her soul.

  Copyright

  Copyright 2016 by Patricia Mason

  No part of the publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Publisher’s Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locations and public names are sometimes used for artistic purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to business, companies, events, institutions or locales is completely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Andrea Domanski, a great friend and a fantastic author. Thank you for forcing me to finish this book!

  Social Media

  website: www.patriciamason.net

  facebook: www.facebook.com/PatriciaMasonAuthor/

  twitter: @prmason

  Amazon Author page: http://geni.us/Mason

  More by Patricia Mason

  In Deep Shitake http://geni.us/InDeepShitakeMason

  A Girl, A Guy and A Ghost http://geni.us/GGGMason

  Entanglements http://geni.us/EntanglementsMason

  Confucius Cat Says http://geni.us/ConfuciusCatSaysMason

  A Very Shitake Christmas http://geni.us/MasonShitakeChristmas

  Prologue

  Eight years ago.

  Low and to the outside, the baseball came toward twelve-year-old Jonah Morrison. He swung the bat, and the weight of the wood pulled at his arms, fully extending them. The force of the swing would hurt, if he didn't connect...but he would connect. He knew it.

  At the crack of impact, Jonah smiled and then watched the white streak of the line drive whiz past the third baseman and into left field. As Jonah sped toward first, his buddy, Derek Devoe, his face a blur of chocolate skin under a red ball cap, was already headed around third. Derek at ten years old might be two years younger than the rest of his teammates, but he ran twice as fast. The other team's outfielder never even got a glove on the ball before Derek crossed home with the winning run.

  Jonah's smile widened when he saw Austin Lawrence on the pitcher's mound, his freckled face twisted and redder than his hair as a stream of f-bombs poured from his mouth.

  Oh man. Austin's mother would thump him harder than she thumped her Bible if she heard him from her seat in the bleachers.

  Jonah had lived here for only a few months, but Mrs. Lawrence's Christian convictions were legendary in the town of Ambrosia, Georgia, that is if anything could be legendary in a town with a population of less than seven hundred.

  Dad had moved Jonah and his mom to podunkville from Atlanta last year because Grandpa and Grandma needed them. Pfft. Hardly. Jonah's grandparents did just fine. Sure they were old—in their fifties—but the two were fit. His grandma grew organic vegetables on a nearby plot of land and his grandpa was the sole caretaker of the small cemetery. More like Dad thought Atlanta was too fast-paced and dangerous.

  One day, during a crime segment on the local television news, Dad had slapped the arms of the chair, risen up and said, "That's it. We're moving. We'll go to Ambrosia."

  The town was something out of the black-and-white TV sitcoms his mom loved. A nice place to visit but a kid couldn't be caught dead there for longer than two weeks and still have any kind of street cred.

  "But, Dad. I don't want to leave my friends, my school. What about little league?"

  "You can play there, son. There are two teams in the area." His Dad ruffled Jonah's shaggy brown hair before putting a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, if I'm not working such long hours, I can come to more of your games." Dad had been spending most weekends working at some kind of advertising job for a radio station. The idea his Dad might be around more had shut down Jonah's objections.

  As Jonah rounded the bases, he glanced over at the stands. No sign of Dad. So much for coming to more games. No Mom today either. She, unlike Dad, hadn't missed one until today.

  Jonah crossed home plate and then he high-fived Derek. Their teammates emptied the bench and ran towards him and Derek, but somehow Jonah didn't feel much like celebrating without his Mom and Dad there.

  Belinda Cruz, with her long brown hair trapped in a ponytail down her back and her big brown eyes gleaming, reached him first, landing just in front of him with a huge hop.

  She'd been up to bat next and was probably disappointed she didn't get a chance to score. The coach rarely put Belinda in the game since her father had forced the local league to allow her to play on the boy's team.

  "Great job, Jonah," Belinda said with a wide smile that touched him.

  “Thanks, Bunny,” he said with a grin.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to call me that silly nickname?” The gleam in her eye when she said it told him she kind of liked it.

  “Then stop jumping around like one.”

  “Grrrrr,” she growled. “I like Tiger better.”

  “Nope,” he said, chuckling. “Tiger doesn’t fit. You’re too cute to be a tiger.”

  Belinda’s smile slipped away and she peered at him with wide eyes.

  Way to go, he thought with an inward groan. Stop the conversation completely dead. Now she’ll know you like her.

  They continued to stare at one another and Jonah struggled to think of something else to say to break the awkward silence. Finally, Belinda spoke again.

  "Your face looks kinda red. You might’ve got a burn."

  At her comment, Jonah glanced down and stared at the ground as if the clay beneath his feet fascinated him while trying to figure out what to do with his arms. At times like this he wished he wasn't so awkward, with the pale lankiness of Skeletor. Then his face wouldn't show every blush.

  "Yeah. I should've put on sunscreen,” he murmured.

  As the celebration broke up and the crowd began to disperse
, Jonah saw Austin stomping toward them.

  "You were lucky, dickwad." Austin bumped Jonah hard with his shoulder as he passed by.

  Jonah stumbled but managed to stick a leg out to trip Austin. The bigger kid went down hard on one knee.

  Austin jumped to his feet. “I should pound your face in, shithead.”

  “You can try, ass face. But since you pitch like a toddler, your punch’ll probably suck too.”

  “Austin,” his mother called from a few yards away. “Let’s get going.”

  “You’re lucky again, booger mouth.” Austin sneered.

  “Go run along to Mommy,” Jonah said. “You can cry at home.”

  “Why you—”

  “Austin! What did I say?” his mom called again.

  ”Loser,” Belinda yelled after Austin as he walked away; then she turned to Jonah. "Want me to report him to Coach? He hit you deliberately."

  "No."

  "But he should be suspended for the next game."

  "No. It was nothing. Let it go.” Jonah’s smile widened. “I’ll just drill one directly at him next game.”

  “Okay, good plan,” Belinda agreed. “Try to hit him in the face.”

  “No. I’m thinking crotch shot.”

  They both laughed.

  Unable to think of anything else to say, Jonah finally mumbled, "Gotta get home."

  "Yeah, me too."

  Should he offer to walk her there?

  "I'm going that way," he said pointing to the west.

  The smile fell off her face. "I go that way." She pointed in the opposite direction. I just live across the street. So I don't have far to go."

  "Oh. Right," Jonah said. "Okay... Well... See you at school."

  "Bye," Belinda said.

  He watched as she wandered off the field. When she got to the street, she turned again and waved. Jonah waved before he found his backpack and changed his shoes. With no sign of his parents, Jonah began walking.

  Once he reached Main Street he spotted a familiar beat-up green Jeep—its roof and doors detached—parked outside Ramsey Grocery and Feed. His grandmother, her long white hair fashioned in a braid over one shoulder and wearing a gauzy white dress over sandals, came out the front door with a cloth bag in each hand.

  "Grandma," Jonah called as he trotted up to her. "Can I get a ride home?"

  Her eyes lit at the sight of him. "Sure, honey. Just help me with these." She thrust the bags into his hands before rummaging in her purple crocheted purse. "Don't know where I put those keys."

  Jonah chuckled. "Maybe you gave them to Sir Fluffybottom."

  Grandma glanced up from the depths of the bag. "What?"

  Smiling, he inclined his head at the Jeep where a black, long-haired cat sat perched on the seat pawing at the key ring dangling from the ignition.

  "Shit," Grandma said.

  "Not shit. Keys."

  "Smartass." She ruffled his brown hair. "Get in."

  She hopped into the driver's seat. "That mop is so long it would do a great job cleaning my kitchen floor."

  "Mom said she'd cut it later."

  "By the way, don't tell my daughter I said shit in front of you. She already thinks I'm a bad influence."

  "What'll you give me?" Jonah joked as he rounded the back bumper and then jumped into the Jeep beside her. "I'm not above bribery."

  "Hmmm." She backed from the parking space before gunning the engine. The Jeep shot forward accompanied by the roar from the hole in the muffler. "I'll give you two hugs and five kisses."

  "Ugh," Jonah groaned.

  "How about five hugs and two kisses, then?"

  "How about five bucks? I can use the cash."

  "Hugs and kisses are my only bribery currency."

  "Oh, all right," Jonah complained. "But make it one hug."

  "And one kiss."

  Jonah suppressed a smile. "Deal."

  The Jeep passed the small cemetery on the edge of downtown and then entered a neighborhood populated mostly by modest turn-of-the-century houses.

  "I can't wait to tell Mom and Dad my team won the game," Jonah said. "I hit the winning run."

  "You did?" Grandma shot him a glancing smile before turning to the road again.

  "Derek really won the game for us. He ran the bases so fast. Just like Rickey Henderson."

  "I'm sorry I wasn't there," Grandma said. "I thought the game was tomorrow."

  "Apparently Mom and Dad forgot too." Jonah turned away.

  "That's odd." Grandma turned the Jeep around the corner and onto his home block. "They must've been working in the yard and lost track of time."

  He faced her again and saw her brows knit in a furrow, mouth pursed in a frown.

  "You know. If I had a cell phone I could call them right now."

  "A cell phone is just a government tracking device. Besides, they give you brain cancer."

  "Do not," Jonah said. "Every kid at school—”

  "Your mom said no cell phone and I agree. No cell phone."

  Jonah knew there was no use arguing the point. He'd have to think up some excuse, like he needed it for a school assignment. He might be able to get Dad on his side.

  Jonah forced a smile to change the mood. "I'm hungry."

  Grandma's frown cleared. "I bet your mom has dinner started."

  "She always makes my favorite on Saturday.”

  "No. Yuck. Don't say it," Grandma said, shaking her head.

  "Cheeseburger with peanut butter, pickle and onion."

  "I just lost my appetite."

  She pulled the Jeep to a stop in front of a well-maintained brick bungalow with a neatly clipped yard. A row of pink and white flowers bordered either side of the walkway leading to the entry door.

  Jonah hopped from the Jeep and ran toward the house, taking a small leap over a skateboard midway up the sidewalk.

  "Slow down, Jonah," Grandma called as she climbed out.

  Jonah threw open the unlocked door and rushed inside. He stopped in the living room and shouted, "Mom! Dad! We won!"

  No response. No sound even. No smell of dinner preparations.

  He bounded into the kitchen, but stopped short just over the threshold, his eyes darting around the compact space. Nothing...except...on the floor...two legs protruded from behind the breakfast bar—wearing his mom's pink sneakers. Jonah inched forward, eyes wide and breath clogged in his throat. What he saw made no sense at first. Images like scattered puzzle pieces he finally put together into a complete picture. His mother lay spread-eagle on the floor. The pool of blood around her head was a circle of red atop the black-and-white-checkered tile. The gash in her neck gaped. Her wide blue eyes gazed up at him without focus...lifeless.

  "You left the door wide-open, Jonah," Grandma called from the other room. "Now who's forgetful?" Then as he heard her footsteps behind him, a small sound burbled from Jonah.

  Grandma's scream sliced through the quiet. She gripped Jonah by the shoulders, twisted him around and hugged him to her, hiding his eyes against her shoulder. But not before he'd seen through the kitchen window to the backyard where his father's blood-soaked body lay slumped over the grill, his head hanging from a branch of the nearby hackberry tree.

  * * * * *

  Five blocks away, a shadowed figure gently lifted the girl's bedroom window.

  I'll have to be quick.

  He'd been interrupted with the woman. But even though he didn't have time to place her on the tree beside her husband, that was just decoration. She'd played her part before the boy burst in.

  I could have easily taken the boy and the old woman, he assured himself.

  But they weren't part of the cycle.

  The girl, on the other hand, occupied a key place of honor.

  Because, I deem it so.

  The girl sat at a desk with her back to the window absorbed in a computer game. The glow from the computer monitor shone around her head. Her blonde head of curls bobbed this way and that as she played. The clicking and banging and explos
ions of the game covered the slight "swoosh" of the sash and the sound of clothing rubbing against the wood frame as he climbed through the opening.

  From another room, a man’s voice called out, “Jessica, stop playing video games and get ready for bed.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” the girl replied.

  A creaky floorboard gave away his approach as he stepped toward her. The girl whirled around in her chair. She had only an instant to see the knife in his hand. He was on her before a scream fully escaped, covering her mouth and lifting her in one motion. The desk chair clattered to the heart pine floor.

  Chapter One

  The present.

  Jonah, T-shirt beneath jean overalls, stood in the shade provided by the canopy of the huge live oak at the cemetery's center. A dozen glass ornaments hung from its lower branches, the soft inner glow of each muted in the daylight. Jonah took a black bandana from his back pocket and rubbed at a smudge marring the surface of one, heightening the glow within. Then, leaning against the handle of the shovel, Jonah used the bandana to swipe at the droplets of sweat running down his forehead and stinging his eyes.

  Twenty feet away some two dozen mourners assembled around the open grave, the casket already sheltered in its depths. Two women on either side of a sobbing third seemed to be almost dragging her to within reach of the casket. The third woman lifted her left hand heavily swathed in bandages and wiped at her tears.

  The funeral home director, Harold Sumner—a wizened seventy-something with a hunched back—spoke in the ear of a small man Jonah recognized as the pastor of the First African Baptist church. The pastor nodded before moving to the head of the grave, next to the easel displaying a portrait of a good-looking teen with a wide smile.

  "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust...Derek Devoe has been called home."

  As the pastor spoke, Sumner made his way to the cover of the cemetery tree.