by Jeff Shelby
Cut and Died
By Jeff Shelby
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cut and Died
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2017
Cover design by Alchemy Book Covers and Design
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Books by Jeff Shelby
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY ONE
TWENTY TWO
TWENTY THREE
TWENTY FOUR
TWENTY FIVE
TWENTY SIX
TWENTY SEVEN
TWENTY EIGHT
TWENTY NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY ONE
THIRTY TWO
THIRTY THREE
THIRTY FOUR
THIRTY FIVE
THIRTY SIX
THIRTY SEVEN
THIRTY EIGHT
THIRTY NINE
FORTY
FORTY ONE
FORTY TWO
FORTY THREE
FORTY FOUR
FORTY FIVE
FORTY SIX
FORTY SEVEN
FORTY EIGHT
FORTY NINE
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Books by Jeff Shelby
The Joe Tyler Novels
THREAD OF HOPE
THREAD OF SUSPICION
THREAD OF BETRAYAL
THREAD OF INNOCENCE
THREAD OF FEAR
THREAD OF REVENGE
THREAD OF DANGER
THREAD OF DOUBT
The Noah Braddock Novels
KILLER SWELL
WICKED BREAK
LIQUID SMOKE
DRIFT AWAY
LOCKED IN
IMPACT ZONE
The Moose River Mysteries
THE MURDER PIT
LAST RESORT
ALIBI HIGH
FOUL PLAY
YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL
ASSISTED MURDER
DEATH AT THE DINER
The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)
STAY AT HOME DEAD
POPPED OFF
FATHERS KNOWS DEATH
The Rainy Day Mysteries
BOUGHT THE FARM
WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS
CRACK OF DEATH
PLANTING EVIDENCE
ONE BAD EGG
BALE OUT
LAST STRAW
CUT AND DIED
Novel for Young Adults
PLAYING THE GAME
Short Story Collections
OUT OF TIME
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ONE
The weather outside was frightful, and the inside of my house was pretty awful, too.
It was a Sunday night in the middle of January and the wind was raging, snow coming down fast and furious. Inside, I was finally working on putting away the last of the holiday decorations. Christmas lights, crèches, holiday baubles, Christmas stockings—all of it was spread out on the coffee table, couch, and floor. It looked like a holiday boutique had vomited in my living room.
Laziness hadn’t stopped me from getting it done sooner. Well, maybe lethargy had had a little to do with it. Mostly, though, I’d fallen into a sort of funk after Luke and Laura had left after Christmas, and those post-holiday blues coupled with dreary weather had left me moving in slow motion. With a house that only I lived in, what did it matter when the holiday decorations would be put away? Who would care?
I found out really quickly that no one did.
Except me.
And if I decided at the end of the night that it didn’t matter if I put it off one more day, no one questioned that decision.
But after a couple of weeks, I’d grown tired of looking at the stockings still hung from the mantle, at the snowmen and Santas adorning bookshelves and windowsills, at the twinkling lights that framed the living room windows. I’d even gotten a little tired of seeing my beloved crèches.
So I knew it was time to get moving and do something about it.
I wrapped a string of Christmas lights around a piece of cardboard and set it in the box at my feet. Only five more strands to go before I could move on to the crèches. Those would require some time and patience, since most of them were fragile and I considered them my most treasured holiday decorations.
I had just finished wrapping up the last of the lights and was fitting the lid on the box when there was a loud knock on the front door. I glanced up, startled. It was a sound I was not expecting. It was almost nine o’clock, well past visiting hours for even the most social of Latney’s residents, and the snowstorm outside would have deterred even the hardiest of them. At least I thought it would.
Maybe I’d imagined it, the sound of someone knocking. The wind was strong enough that something could have dislodged—a branch or something—and made contact with the door. Or maybe something had just hit the side of the house, rattled by a strong gust. My snow shovels were out there, as were some other odds and ends I hadn’t gotten around to moving to the barn or garage.
The knock sounded again, this time louder and more insistent.
Was it Gunnar? He had been known to swing by unannounced, usually to check on me or offer some kind of help. But unsolicited, and during a snowstorm? This seemed like a bit of a stretch, even for him.
I turned away from the storage box and made my way to the door, my sock-covered feet sliding a little on the honeyed wood floor. Apprehension spiked through me, and the fact that I was alone in the house flashed like a neon Vegas sign in my mind. What if it was a murderer? A kidnapper? Someone who wanted to do me harm?
But then I remembered where I was.
Latney, Virginia, which was about as small town as small towns get. And even though I’d seen my fair share of mysteries in this community, it wasn’t as if the town was crime-infested...despite what my daughter, Laura, might say.
I took a deep breath as my hand closed over the door handle. It was probably Gunnar, just checking to see how I was riding out the storm.
I opened the door and the wind instantly whipped my hair into a frenzy, temporarily blocking my vision. Panic set in as I frantically wiped at the strands of hair covering my eyes.
But then the person on my doorstep spoke, and fear turned instantly to confusion.
“Rainy? I was hoping I found the right place.”
I knew that voice like I knew the back of my own hand.
It belonged to Mack Mercy, my old boss from Capitol Cases.
But why was he standing on my front porch in a swirling snowstorm a hundred miles from DC?
That was a total mystery.
TWO
“Mack?”
&n
bsp; The person standing at the entrance to my living room sounded like Mack, but he certainly didn’t look like him. The man in front of me was covered in snow and ice. There were snowflakes glued to his head and clothes, and tiny icicles had formed on his eyebrows.
“What are you doing here?” It was the one and only question that came to mind.
“Not freezing, now that I’m not outside,” Mack told me. “Finally.”
I rushed at him, helping him strip out of the sports coat he was wearing. He looked like he was dressed for a day at the office, not a trek through the snow. He wore black dress pants, a light blue button-down shirt, and the sports coat I was now holding in my arms. The melted snow puddling at his feet revealed a pair of shiny black loafers.
I was still in shock. Somehow, some way, Mack Mercy was standing inside my farmhouse in the middle of nowhere Virginia, completely unannounced and unexpected.
“How did you get here?” I asked. His discarded jacket was dripping in my hands and I draped it across the bannister, anxious to get the cold fabric away from my own skin. I could only imagine what it must have felt like to be wearing it.
“I was on my way home from a conference in Harrisonburg,” Mack explained. He’d moved toward the radiator and was now rubbing his hands above it, trying to warm his fingers. “Car skidded off the road because of the snow. I figured I might be close to where you live so I pulled up GPS and saw you were less than a mile away.”
“You walked a mile?” I was more surprised by this than the fact that he’d somehow been on a road nearby.
“Less than a mile,” he corrected. He smiled. “Felt like twenty.”
I had so many questions, but at that moment it felt like getting him warm was the most important task at hand.
“You really do live out in the middle of nowhere, don’t you?” he said, his head swiveling toward the window as if he could see what was outside.
“It’s not the middle of nowhere. It’s Latney.”
“Same difference.”
I bit back a smile. Mack Mercy had been back in my life for all of three minutes, and he was just the way I remembered him. Almost a year had passed since I’d last seen him, but he looked remarkably the same. Same dark hair, slicked back as much from the melting snow as the copious amount of hair gel he used, and same tanned skin that came more from genetics than time spent in the sun.
“There was a conference in Harrisonburg?”
He nodded.
“What kind?”
“PI,” he said. “What other kind of conference do you think I’d go to?”
I had no idea. It had been months since I’d seen him; maybe he’d taken up a new hobby or something.
“Why were you coming back this way?” I asked. I-64 was the most direct route back to the metro area from Harrisonburg; the two-lane country roads crisscrossing the part of Virginia I lived in most definitely were not.
“What is this, the third degree?” He frowned. “Freeway was shut down because of the weather. Accident, I think. I mapped out a different way home that just happened to bring me into your neck of the woods.”
Based on the way the snow was coming down, I could believe it. The interstate cut right through the foothills and the mountains, and closures weren’t unheard of when the weather was bad. It was far easier to shut it down for a few hours than to have emergency responders have to deal with the spinouts and accidents that would have resulted from keeping it open.
Mack’s fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt and he started undoing them.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “Taking off my clothes.”
I gaped at him. “What?”
“They’re wet,” he explained, motioning to the shirt he was peeling off. The fabric was so soaked, it left nothing to the imagination. “Want me to get pneumonia? ‘Cuz then you’ll have to nurse me back to health and I’ll be here even longer.”
The shirt was now on the floor and his hands had shifted to the button on his pants.
I swallowed. I might have worked for Mack Mercy for twenty years, but that didn’t mean I wanted to see him naked in my living room. The only problem was, I didn’t have anything for him to change into. He was almost a foot taller than me so nothing I owned would fit him. And there wasn’t a member of the opposite sex residing in this house.
My eyes landed on the quilt draped across the couch. I grabbed it and threw it at him just as his pants fell to the floor.
He chuckled. “Don’t want to see me naked?”
“Nope,” I told him. “Not now. Not ever.”
He held the quilt in front of him as he shimmied out of his boxers, and they joined the heap of wet clothing.
I stooped to gather everything up. “I’m going to go throw these in the dryer,” I said. And hope that they dried fast. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t see so much as an inch of naked flesh.
He smiled cheerfully. “And I’ll be waiting right here. Buck naked.”
I hurried through the living room and into the kitchen, then worked my way down the stairs to the basement where the washer and dryer were located. There was a load of towels still in the dryer, dry but ice cold, and I hauled those out and shoved Mack’s clothes in instead. I turned the dial and pressed the Start button, hoping the scant amount of fabric inside would dry faster than a load normally did.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like seeing Mack. I was happy to see him; we’d always gotten along, and his antics were usually more amusing than irritating. He was the brother I'd never had. He had the ability to drive me nuts, but also the ability to make me smile when others failed. While I didn't miss working, I did miss seeing him on a regular basis.
I just didn’t want him naked in my living room.
I hustled back upstairs, intent on starting some coffee or heating up water for tea. He’d looked as though he could use a good warming up, but I wasn’t in the mood to start a fire in the fireplace. A warm drink just might do the trick, though.
I stopped in the kitchen, contemplating what I should make, when I heard not one but two voices coming from the living room
Mack’s was loud, as usual. The other was softer, but definitely male.
I froze.
Because I recognized that voice, too.
I sprinted back toward the living room but skidded to a stop when my eyes landed on Mack’s bare behind.
He was standing near the front door, his back to me, his hands on his hips.
Gunnar Forsythe, my next-door neighbor and sometimes lover, was standing next to him, an unreadable expression on his face as he took in the naked man standing in my living room.
THREE
“I can explain.”
I grabbed the quilt Mack had inexplicably discarded and hurled it at him. It landed on the back of his head, but thankfully managed to cover up his backside, too.
“I already told him who I was,” Mack said, yanking at the quilt.
“Do not remove that,” I ordered.
My eyes found Gunnar’s. His expression was guarded, and I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.
“Looks like you’ve met Mack,” I said weakly. “My former boss.”
Gunnar nodded. “I was closing up the curtains when I saw him come up your driveway. Didn’t think you’d be expecting company in this kind of weather, so I thought I’d come by and check up on you. Make sure everything was okay.”
A wave of gratitude washed over me. This was how Gunnar was, always looking out for me, always willing to help. It didn’t feel overprotective or smothering; it felt...reassuring. Despite the fact that we were still in a sort of relationship purgatory, I appreciated the fact that he wasn't holding it against me.
“I’m fine,” I said. I forced a smile. “Can’t say I was expecting him to show up, but unexpected things happen sometimes.”
That felt like a massive understatement, considering where I lived and all that had transpired during the short time I’d lived in La
tney.
Gunnar lifted an eyebrow. “Yes. Yes, they do.”
I stole a quick glance at Mack, who was watching our exchange with interest. “His clothes were soaking wet,” I said. My words came out in a rush. “He’d walked a little ways in the snow. I...I don’t have any clothes for him to change into so I threw his in the dryer. That’s where I was just now. In the basement. With his wet clothes.”
“Where were you coming from?” Gunnar asked Mack.
The quilt loosened around Mack, dropping from his shoulders and settling on his hips. “A conference in Harrisonburg.”
Gunnar nodded.
“My car went into the ditch. Skidded off the road.” Mack made a face. “Cell service was spotty and I figured it would take hours to get a tow out here in the middle of nowhere, anyway. I was pretty sure Rainy’s place was close by, and when I pulled it up and saw it was within walking distance, I figured that was my best bet. Guess I’m lucky she was home, huh?”
“Yes, lucky indeed,” Gunnar said. He eyed Mack, his hazel eyes almost brown in the soft light. “I might be able to loan you a few things.”
Mack grinned. “Thanks, but I’m looking to get out of here as soon as my clothes are dry and the roads are clear.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that while his clothes might be ready in a couple of hours, the roads would likely take a while. This was rural Virginia, after all.
“I have plenty of room for you here,” I said instead. “You can stay the night, and we can go and check on your car first thing in the morning.”
“Morning?” he repeated with a frown. “Why morning?”
“Because it might take that long to clear the roads,” I explained. “Especially if it keeps snowing.”
He shouldered the quilt, bringing it back around himself a little tighter. “You really think it’s gonna take that long?”
“This isn’t Arlington,” I reminded him. “We don’t have dozens of snow plows and sand trucks.”
“Neither do they,” he pointed out.
“We also don’t have tons of traffic on the roads, melting the snow.”
He gazed down at the floor as he thought about this.
“I’ve got a couple of spare bedrooms,” Gunnar offered. “If you want to come over. I can get you something to sleep in and we can come by and grab your clothes in the morning.”