Pieces of January

by Ronald Paxton

  PIECES OF JANUARY

  by

  Ronald Paxton

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  Published by

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

  Copyright © 2018 by RONALD PAXTON

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-68299-291-3

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Kristian Norris

  Editor: Katherine Johnson

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Grant

  Chapter 1

  Bo Carson leaned over the steering wheel and strained to see the nearly invisible road through the whirling snow. The county snowplows wouldn’t be out tonight, not on New Year’s Eve. They might not come at all. Winter was a dead time at the lake, and the meteorologists were predicting one of the coldest years on record for most of the eastern seaboard. All the tourists, summer people, and weekend fun seekers were long gone and wouldn’t begin to reappear for another two or three months. The local economy was improving, but jobs were still scarce. The Shenandoah County budget was tight. Bo figured the Board of Supervisors might just decide to limit deployment of the plows to emergency situations. That would save the county a pretty penny. Never mind the fact that it would antagonize and inconvenience the taxpayers who were year-round residents of Shenandoah Mountain Lake.

  He probably should have listened to Krista and settled in for a quiet night with his family. Salem had built a roaring fire, and Monday had the Monopoly board out. There was hot chocolate, popcorn, and the promise of champagne at midnight. It had been tempting, but the thought of having nobody to kiss when the clock struck twelve had been enough to send him out into the storm. Bo had spent too many nights alone in the empty years after Martha died.

  The drive to the seedy motel where Melissa lived normally took about thirty minutes. It was going to be closer to an hour tonight. There was already a foot of snow on the ground, and angry sheets of white continued to whip across the road.

  A sudden gust of wind rocked the car. Bo jerked back in his seat and instinctively hit the brakes. The coppery taste of fear flooded his mouth as the tires locked up and the vehicle began to spin. It was too late to fight the slide, but Bo kept pumping the brakes like a man administering CPR to a heart attack victim. The woods on both sides of the road flew past as the car completed its first three hundred and sixty degree turn and started a second one. He glanced at the speedometer and watched the red needle move past forty.

  Bo released the wheel and waited. Seventy years was a decent run. It wasn’t the eighty-five or ninety he had begun hoping for ever since he met Melissa, but seven decades was nothing to complain about. His only regret was the idiotic decision to drive across the lake during a blizzard. It was the kind of thing he might have done when he was sixteen years old and drowning in hormones.

  Seventy years old, and you’re still thinking with your little head. Congratulations. Maybe you’ll have an erection when they bury you.

  The car clipped a snow bank on the shoulder, careened back onto the road, and skidded to a stop.

  “Fuck,” Bo whispered in a feathery voice.

  He unfastened the seat belt with trembling hands and stepped out into the storm. A fresh gust slammed the door shut and pinned him to the side of the car. Angry snowflakes pelted his face and covered his eyelids. The towering oak and pine trees on both sides of the road quivered and moaned as their smaller limbs succumbed to the storm and crashed to the ground. A pine cone sailed through the air and hit the back window.

  Bo pried open the door and tumbled into the driver’s seat. Somehow, the car was still on the road, and he was uninjured. He took a deep breath and dialed Melissa’s number again. There was still no answer.

  She was probably in the shower when I called before, or she might be with a client. It’s not like she didn’t warn me that New Year’s Eve is one of her busiest times. I guess that makes sense. Any guy that doesn’t have a woman in his life would hate to start the New Year with that reminder. Thirty minutes of make-believe with a naked stranger would be better than nothing. The weather doesn’t matter. I’m certainly proof of that.

  The engine was still running. Bo glanced in the rear-view mirror and gently tapped the accelerator. He had talked to Melissa yesterday. She knew he was coming. There was no rush. He wouldn’t be driving back home until tomorrow anyway.

  Visibility was still poor, but he was approaching the bridge that led to the lake’s western shore. The woods would be behind him, and the bridge had lights. He just needed to hang onto his wits and avoid doing something dumb.

  Bo shook his head in amazement. He knew better than to slam on the brakes when driving through snow. The last time he had done something that stupid was when he was fifteen years old and dating Molly Pratt. They had gone to the Shenandoah County Drive-In on a Saturday night in February. The roads were covered in snow that night, too…not as bad as tonight, but bad enough. On the way home, Molly had laughed and squealed with excitement when he hit the brakes and threw the car into a spin. He had told her it was good practice, so he would know what to do if he lost control of the car for real. Jesus, he had been so full of shit, but Molly had let him stick his hand inside her blouse when he kissed her goodnight.

  What is wrong with me? I haven’t thought of Molly Pratt in over fifty years. Whoever came up with that ridiculous phrase about seventy being the new fifty couldn’t have been over the age of thirty. I don’t recall what I had for supper last night, but I damn sure remember the Wind Song perfume that Molly used to wear. I remember the feel of her breasts and those deep kisses that tasted like Wrigley’s Spearmint.

  He checked his speed as he approached the bridge and eased back on the accelerator. The bridge was narrow, with no breakdown lane or walkway for bicycles and pedestrian traffic. The concrete retaining walls on either side were no more than three or four feet high. If his tires found some ice or he caught another blast of wind, Bo knew he could go right over the side. He’d been lucky before. There was no way he would survive a thirty- or forty-foot drop into a semi-frozen lake.

  There was no traffic, so he straddled the center line as he reached the bridge. The water below was invisible. Bo gripped the steering wheel with both hands and held his speed at fifteen miles per hour. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and spotted headlights a quarter mile back and closing fast.

  “Shit.”

  Bo edged over into the right-hand lane and checked his mirror again. A horn screamed, and the high beams from a Ford F-three fifty momentarily blinded him. Bo felt the road vibrate as the driver fish-tailed past him and splattered snow across his windshield. He watched the truck disappear into the night and wondered if the driver would still be alive to welcome in the New Year that was less than five hours away.

  He breathed a sigh as he reached the other side of the bridge and turned onto the lakefront road that ran
parallel to the western shoreline. The driving was easier on this side of the lake. The mountains served as a buffer against the worst of the storm, and the snow on the road was packed down from drivers on their way to a night out at the Channel Marker or Shenandoah Mountain Dock.

  The motel was just ahead on the right. The flickering Vacancy sign cut through the darkness, a wobbly beacon catering to those who were down on their luck and not particular about the quality of their accommodations.

  Bo turned into the lot and parked close to the entrance. Melissa lived in room number eight, near the middle of the motel complex. He dialed her number and waited…still no answer.

  There were two other vehicles in the parking lot, neither of them close to Melissa’s room. That didn’t mean anything. Anyone already staying at the motel would just walk over to room eight for their date. There were also apartments and a few older houses nearby. A person living that close to the motel might choose to walk to their appointment.

  The temperature was in the upper teens, but the wind chill had to be close to zero. Nobody would be able to walk far in this weather. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t try. Most men, married or single, would do almost anything to get laid.

  Bo peered through the windshield, looking for footprints leading to room eight. He didn’t see any evidence of pedestrian traffic. The snow that blanketed the parking lot was undisturbed, except for a few sets of tire tracks.

  He looked over at the motel office. The owner/manager, Bruce Patterson, lived on the premises and was probably one of Melissa’s clients. She could be in there with him now.

  This is ridiculous. I can’t sit out here all night. Melissa’s had plenty of time to call me back or at least shoot me a text.

  The wind whipped Bo’s face as he hiked across the parking lot to Melissa’s room. He knocked on the door and pulled up the collar of his coat. Snow dripped from his short gray hair and froze his face. He had forgotten to wear his hat.

  Bo knocked again and listened.

  She can’t be asleep this early.

  He tried the knob and stepped back in surprise when the door opened.

  “Melissa? It’s just me. I tried calling you.”

  The room was empty. Bo noted the rumpled sheets and the used condoms in the waste basket beside the bed. He spotted the sexy fire engine red nightgown on the bed, his favorite, and felt a pang of jealousy. The white powder residue on the bedside table suggested that Melissa had been partying with one or more of her clients.

  The bathroom door was open, and the light was on.

  No, please God, please no. I’ll do anything.

  She was naked and lying on her side beside a small pile of powder, probably cocaine, but maybe heroin or something else. The light caused the particles clinging to her nostrils to glisten.

  Bo stared at his girlfriend. White noise filled his head. He bent down and touched her arm. She felt warm.

  “Melissa?”

  Her mouth was slack. Bo pressed his ear against it. He couldn’t hear or feel any respirations. Without thinking, he grabbed her wrist to check for a pulse. His hands were slick and clammy with panic sweat.

  Bo backed out of the bathroom and dialed nine one one from the phone next to the bed. He spoke quickly and then felt the fear crawl down his throat and threaten to choke him as he listened to the operator’s reply. All EMS units were at the other end of the county and responding to calls. It would be several hours before an ambulance could make it to the motel.

  “Ma’am, I can’t wait that long. Please notify the hospital ER that I’m coming in with an unconscious and unresponsive white female.”

  He hung up before the woman could reply. Melissa’s life was in danger, if she wasn’t already dead. Shenandoah County Hospital was practically on the other side of the moon, and he suddenly felt about a hundred years old.

  The wind was whistling as he stepped outside the room. He couldn’t do this alone. Bo lowered his head against the storm and ran for the office.

  Chapter 2

  “Bruce!”

  The motel manager was nowhere in sight. Bo sagged against the counter and fought off a wave of nausea. Sweat dripped from beneath his arms as sharp, white-hot spasms pummeled his chest. It occurred to him that he might be having a heart attack, even though he was in good condition for a man his age. He went for his walk every afternoon and kept his weight between a hundred and seventy-five and a hundred and eighty pounds…not bad for a man two inches shy of six feet.

  It’s those hot dog baskets from Shenandoah Mountain Dock. I need to lay off that crap. My cholesterol’s got to be through the roof.

  “Bo, what’s wrong? You look terrible.”

  “Get me some aspirin or Tylenol if you have it.”

  Patterson hurried away and returned a moment later with some Advil and a bottle of water.

  “This is all I’ve got.”

  Bo nodded his thanks and swallowed four tablets. He drank until the bottle was empty and then told him about Melissa. Patterson’s pale, jowly face turned another shade of white. He grabbed his keys and shot out of the office with Bo right behind him.

  The manager opened the door to Melissa’s room and followed Bo into the bathroom.

  “This is how I found her, Bruce. She hasn’t moved. I need you to help me wrap her in a sheet and carry her out to the car. Then I want you to call the ER and tell them I’m on my way. I told the nine-one-one operator to do it, but I don’t know if they’re allowed to make outgoing calls.”

  Patterson nodded. “You bring the car up to the door while I strip the blanket off the bed. That’ll be warmer than a sheet.”

  The manager was kneeling beside Melissa when Bo returned. He glanced up at Bo. “Jesus, Bo, I think she might be dead.”

  “And she might not be,” Bo snapped. “You’re not a doctor, and neither am I. Maybe she’s in a coma or something. Either way, I need to get her to the hospital.”

  Five minutes later, they had her in the car. Bo slammed the door shut, hit his flashers, and headed for the hospital emergency room. The pain in his chest was gone, for now at least. Melissa, unconscious and possibly dead, was stretched out across the back seat. A few hours from now, she would either be in a private hospital bed or the morgue. He wondered if this final night of the year would ever end.

  * * * *

  Monday Matthews yawned and studied the Monopoly board on the floor in front of the huge stone fireplace. The warm, hypnotizing glow from the fire made it difficult for her to concentrate.

  The game had started with five players, but was now down to just Monday and Henry. Diva had been disqualified almost immediately for cheating. The temperamental Siamese had been caught nudging her game piece away from one of Henry’s properties where she had landed. Monday had responded by taking away her cat’s remaining money and banning her from the game. Diva had not taken it well, scattering the game pieces before racing away to check her food bowl. Salem had been the next to go, after landing on one of Henry’s expensive properties and finding himself unable to pay. Krista met the same fate a few minutes later.

  “I need more hot chocolate, Mama,” Monday said. “It helps me concentrate.”

  Krista laughed and handed baby Anderson over to Salem.

  “You’ll need more than hot chocolate to beat Henry. I’ll get you a bottle of water. Too much chocolate will upset your stomach.”

  Monday looked over at her father. “Daddy, when do you think Anderson will be old enough to play Monopoly?”

  Salem smiled. “It depends on how long it takes him to understand the rules, sweetie. We don’t want him to be a cheater and a poor sport like Diva.”

  Krista returned with the water and a baby bottle. She and Salem were in the process of weaning Anderson, but still gave him a few ounces of milk at bedtime to help him sleep through the night.

  “I’ll take him up,” Salem said, reaching for the bottle. “He’s already half asleep. Maybe I’ll tell him one of my war stories.”

  Krist
a snorted. “Oh, that’s a good idea. That way none of us will get any sleep tonight.”

  Henry looked at Monday and started to whine.

  “It’s your turn, honey,” Krista said. “Henry’s getting impatient.”

  Monday rolled the dice and groaned as she landed on Park Place where Henry had one of his hotels. She glanced at the Yorkie and then began counting her money.

  “I’m sorry, Henry. I don’t have enough. You win.”

  The tiny dog was trembling with excitement. Henry extended his paw for a congratulatory handshake from Monday before bolting across the room to the door. The thrill of victory always affected his bladder.

  “I’ll take him out, Mama.”

  “No, ma’am,” Krista said. “You’re in your pajamas. Drink your water. When Henry and I get back, maybe we’ll start another game. I’ll make some more popcorn.”

  “Can we have some ice cream, too? I like the way Daddy churns it up in the bucket.”

  Krista laughed. “I think homemade ice cream will taste a lot better in about six months. We’ll stick with popcorn for tonight.”

  Henry turned away from the arctic blast that greeted him when Krista opened the door.

  “Come on, Henry. I’ve got you.”

  The side porch that she had swept earlier in the evening was once again covered in snow. The wind stung Krista’s face, and flakes clung to her eyelids as she carried the Yorkie across the porch and down the steps to the yard. Salem had cleared a small area beside Henry’s favorite bush. He would need to do so again first thing in the morning.

  Krista placed Henry on the ground and looked away. The little terrier had a shy bladder and couldn’t do his business if anyone was watching him.

  The wind whistled through the thick stand of trees that lined both sides of the long driveway. Krista could see nothing but white flakes tumbling through the wet darkness. She turned around and looked down the long hill leading to the water. The dock, the boathouse, and the lake itself were all invisible. Aside from the creaky protest of giant oaks and pines under attack from Mother Nature, the silence was perfect.