Dangerous Daddy Box Set

by Blake, Zoe

  Your goal is to get past the lunatic and fight the scary powerful king to learn the secret behind the mad monk murders.

  Be careful not to fall under the king’s seductive spell or you may lose your life!

  Good lord! Perhaps the monk wasn’t the only one who was mad around here.

  Chapter 6

  “What about the blood?”

  “It will be messy but I think it will be worth it in the end.”

  Standing outside her classroom door later that same morning, Phoebe listened to the conversation of the midshipmen inside, horrified. After leaving Amber, she had raced to change and make it to her first class. Thoughts of the witch’s tree and that ominous rock clouded her mind, competing with thoughts of murder and satanic symbols, and now…now this!

  “I want to hear it scream…like really scream.”

  Phoebe dropped her shoulder bag and turned to run down the hallway. She needed to find Michael. Now was not the time to wonder why her first thought was to run to Michael for help but she did. At this very moment, all she could think about was running to him for help. He was big and strong and honorable and she wanted to feel his protective presence while they decided how to proceed.

  “Professor Pringle.”

  Stopping, she hazarded a look over her shoulder. “Yes?” she asked, her voice sounding weak and hesitant.

  “I see you overheard our plans. You might as well come in and hear all the gory details.”

  The midshipman picked up her shoulder bag and waited, expecting her to follow. Taking a deep breath, knowing she would never be able to outrun the midshipman, she had no choice but to enter the classroom. All the men turned as she walked in.

  “Professor Pringle, you are just in time. Do you have any good quotes from Shakespeare about murder or death?” asked Thomas.

  “Men, whatever it is you’re planning—”

  “I don’t think Shakespeare would be appropriate. It should be something from a Native American author,” offered Chris.

  “No. You both have it wrong. It has to be something from the Bible, that makes more sense,” piped up Joe.

  Several classmates called out their agreement to Joe’s idea.

  Phoebe couldn’t take it a moment longer. Without another thought to her own safety, she cried out, “You have to stop! Please! You can’t do this!”

  “But, Professor Pringle, it’s tradition,” complained Thomas.

  “Tradition! Murder is tradition?” What the hell had she gotten herself into?

  “Well, yeah,” said Chris. “Every twenty-fifth of October.”

  Raising her hands protectively in front of her, Phoebe took a step back. This was insane. This couldn’t be true. “You murder someone every twenty-fifth of October?”

  “Well, in effigy,” corrected Joe.

  “You are all mad. You need hel— Wait. What?”

  “We murder someone in effigy. The Mad Monk.”

  * * *

  Forcing them all to close their eyes, Phoebe took a quick swig from the flask of whiskey she kept in her shoulder bag. It had been a gift from Henry. He said every true journalist should always have something strong on hand to help a source loosen their tongue when necessary…it also came in handy for other things…like thinking your entire class was involved in a heinous murder plot.

  After getting over her shock, Phoebe learned the details of the Mad Monk tradition.

  * * *

  The Order of Saint John monks arrived in Buzzards Bay in the spring of 1665 to convert the local tribe of Algonquian Indians, the Wampanoag to Christianity. In the fall of 1666, Brother Phineas and Brother Godfrey headed deep into the extensive woods to seek out the winter camp of the tribe. Although misguided, they thought they were doing god’s work by converting the savages.

  They never arrived at the camp.

  Weeks later, Brother Phineas was found, naked, covered in blood, crouching over the partially consumed body of Brother Godfrey. Phineas’ emaciated appearance and wild ravings led the tribe’s shaman to declare he had become a wendigo, an evil spirit. Mythos among the Algonquian was that anyone who became lost in the woods and resorted to cannibalism forfeited all their humanity. They became violent creatures who brought death and decay with them along with an insatiable hunger for more human flesh. The only way to kill the evil spirit was to burn the wendigo alive and scatter its ashes to the four winds.

  Brother Phineas, or the human shell of the man he once was, was seized by the Wampanoag. After burning him alive, his charred body was placed on the large rock in front of the tree now called the witch’s tree, the bones pulverized into dust and scattered.

  It didn’t work.

  The monk’s evil spirit continued to roam the woods at night on the anniversary of his death, claiming victims.

  The legend of the Mad Monk was born.

  Eventually, even the colonists began to fear the annual return of the monk’s evil spirit. So every twenty-fifth of October they began to recreate the shaman’s ceremonial killing of the wendigo by burning an effigy of the mad monk. When the military took over the monastery in the early nineteen hundreds and turned it into the Puller Academy, the midshipmen kept up the local tradition.

  Dressing in black robes and carrying torches, they ran into the woods to chase each other around. The idea being they were scaring the evil spirit, corralling it towards the waiting effigy. Then at midnight, they would light the specially prepared bonfire, complete with a stuffed dummy perched on top to represent the Mad Monk.

  Apparently, it was quite the celebration on campus and the highlight of the fall term. Their Halloween, really.

  This year the midshipmen were planning on using a more realistic dummy with a cheap speaker placed in its chest so it sounded as if the dummy were screaming in pain.

  One of the midshipmen approached the blackboard where he drew a strange symbol. “We are going to paint this on the dummy. Isn’t it awesome?”

  Phoebe couldn’t believe her eyes. It was the symbol carved on both women’s chests. The one the police file said was a pentagram, a satanic symbol. She had always had her doubts but had not been able to find anything on the internet that more closely resembled the symbol. “What does it represent?”

  “It’s the Wampanoag’s symbol for a wendigo.”

  And the symbol left on her door a couple nights ago.

  Chapter 7

  Phoebe quickly sprinted across the damp and chilly quad, careful not to slip on the slick flagstone path. She needed to see those student files and then get to the library to research the wendigo symbol. Her time was running out. Soon someone was bound to learn she wasn’t actually a professor named Pringle. There was no use denying she was worried about one person in particular…one handsome, arrogant, sexy-as-fuck person.

  Speaking of Michael, some of the teachers had thrown an impromptu welcome lunch for her in one of the outlaying buildings. She had overheard Amber complain she couldn’t get in to see the commander until the following morning because he was off-campus at a meeting all afternoon.

  It was an opportunity she didn’t want to pass up.

  These teachers were all so sweet and welcoming, Phoebe felt a twinge of guilt for lying to them, using them for information. It was strange: she hadn’t felt guilty when she took down the King of Chinatown or that time she spent working the front desk of the gym chain to expose their coercive contract practices.

  This just felt, different. She was actually enjoying being a teacher. She had forgotten how much fun it was to share her love of literature with someone. The debates on hidden meaning and symbolism. Chatting about the world events that were taking place at the time of writing that may have impacted the manuscript. The challenge of coming up with material that would engage and excite the midshipmen.

  She was also learning all about the fascinating hierarchy and rigid class system of the school. The fourth class were actually what she would call freshmen. First class were the seniors. It was daunting to learn that ma
ny would graduate and launch straight into a military career. The men chatted animatedly about what it would take to be accepted into the naval flight training program or signing their ‘2-for7s’. This was apparently a commitment document the Navy or Marines had each man sign in his second class, or junior year, committing to two more years of school and then five years of military service. When Phoebe thought back on what she was thinking about her junior year in college, she grimaced. Let’s just say it didn’t come close to committing her life to protecting her country. There were even rumors buzzing about campus of making the academy co-ed. The men, as would be expected, were excited over the possible change.

  It also gave her a whole new respect for Michael. She had learned over the last few days that he was a celebrated graduate of the Puller Military Academy and apparently one of the youngest Lieutenant Colonels in the Marines. The midshipmen talked with reverence whenever they mentioned the Commander. She had heard about his hair-raising battles in Afghanistan and close calls during two tours in Iraq. The men he had saved. The villages he had helped. The difference he had made in the world. Here she thought she was doing her part taking down corrupt business owners, and in a small way she was, but that was nothing compared to what he had done.

  It also helped Phoebe understand his demeanor towards her. It didn’t excuse it…her inner feminine warrior harrumphed in a fit of pique…but it did help her understand it.

  This was a man of focus, of determination. A man who did what needed to be done. Who took what he wanted. Who was accustomed to being obeyed.

  * * *

  “Good morning, Mrs. Ludtz,” Phoebe said with false cheer, watching the older woman closely. Phoebe wasn’t sure if Mrs. Ludtz recognized her as one of the people on the shore who witnessed her strange behavior the other day. If she did, it would make Phoebe’s task all that much harder. Mrs. Ludtz barely spared Phoebe a glance before returning to her typing.

  Well, that answers that, thought Phoebe, at least Mrs. Ludtz was back to her usual restrained appearance with a tight bun, no makeup and serviceable shoes.

  The woman gave her a scowl over her glasses as Phoebe tossed her shoulder bag on the ground and plopped down into a chair. She started to reach for some old-fashioned looking strawberry wrapped hard candies in a class bowl on the desk, but a disapproving glare from Mrs. Ludtz had her pulling back her hand.

  Phoebe had a definite feeling the woman didn’t approve of her. It looks like Amber was right. The woman clearly didn’t like other women who dressed fashionably, and with Phoebe’s penchant for high heels and bright red lipstick, she was definitely on that list. Today she was dressed more for a heist than the classroom. She had worn black form-fitting pants with black knee-high boots and a black V-neck sweater. She was on a mission after all.

  “How may I help you, Professor Pringle?”

  Phoebe thought she would try the direct approach.

  “I was just at a little teacher’s party,” she stopped as the bitter woman frowned in disapproval. Rushing on, she said, “And I was hearing some strange rumor that the murders could be connected to this crazy old tale of a mad monk! Do you think that could be true?”

  Mrs. Ludtz pulled a key from the center drawer of her desk and stood. Taking up a pile of paperwork, she walked through an adjacent door and returned empty handed. All the while Phoebe watched and waited.

  “I would focus on your duties here and not pay attention to idle gossip, Professor Pringle,” Mrs. Ludtz said stiffly as she replaced the key.

  “But I just feel so bad for those women,” needled Phoebe.

  Mrs. Ludtz sniffed. “Don’t. Neither of them were proper young ladies. They were lucky it was not a few hundred years earlier. Back then, they would have probably been burned for witchcraft given their loose morals, provocative dress and unmarried state,” sneered the woman as she gave Phoebe a knowing look.

  Phoebe’s eyes widened at that cruel and callous response not to mention the not-so-subtle reference to her similarity to the victims.

  “Was there something else you needed, Professor Pringle?” she asked, her agitation showing.

  “Yes, Mrs. Ludtz. Would you perhaps know if there is a local library in town? I looked online but didn’t see one listed. I thought perhaps it didn’t have a webpage.”

  Lifting her lips up in distaste, she asked, “Why would you need a local library? There is an exceptional one here at the school.”

  “Yes, I know. I just find myself fascinated by some of the local…foliage,” lied Phoebe, knowing a reference to local lore would remind Mrs. Ludtz of her interest in the mad monk tale and probably bring on another lecture about morals and the proper place of women.

  “There is one on Oak Street just off Main. Now if there is nothing else, Professor Phoebe, my day does consist of duties outside of entertaining your varied questions.”

  Recovering, Phoebe thought for second. “Yes. Knowing how you guard the traditions here, I just wanted to let you know I saw a few midshipmen out of uniform on the quad.” She leaned in close with a conspiratory gleam in her eye. “And I think they were wearing…jeans!”

  With a cry of alarm, Mrs. Ludtz sprang to her feet and ran straight out the door. The woman could certainly hustle when she thought her precious traditions were not being respected!

  Phoebe did not waste a moment. Leaning over the desk, she opened the center drawer. Brushing aside a few prescription bottles of pills and a tiny, souvenir dreamcatcher, she located the key. Rushing through the door which she suspected led to the file room, she wasn’t disappointed. Placing the key in the slot on the side of the cabinet, she turned it, unlocking all the drawers. Tossing a quick look over her shoulder, she pulled each drawer open till she found one containing student files. Her fingers slipped over the tabs. Locating the files for Drake and Casey, the two midshipmen she had learned were repeatedly disciplined for troubled behavior, she hustled over to the copier in the corner. Casting another glance through the doorway to the receptionist’s area to make sure all was still clear, she began to copy the contents of each file without even risking a look at what they contained.

  Grabbing the warm stack of paper straight off the copier, she returned to Mrs. Ludtz’s desk to grab her shoulder bag and shove them inside. Now that her copies of the files were secured, she returned to the side room to put back the student files and relock the cabinet.

  Just as she was turning the key, she heard footsteps and a low, male voice just outside in the hallway. Knowing she would raise suspicion if she were found in the file room or lurking around Mrs. Ludtz’s desk without her near, Phoebe crossed the threshold and slipped into Michael’s office, pulling the door almost shut so she could hear but not be seen. If she were in luck it would just be someone dropping off something for Mrs. Ludtz. She was certain it wasn’t Michael as he was off-campus all afternoon according to Amber.

  The male voice came closer. They must be standing directly in front of Mrs. Ludtz’s desk. It sounded as if they were on the phone.

  Phoebe backed away from the door and leaned against the bookshelf. She tried to listen. You never knew what you may learn listening at keyholes!

  “It’s no problem. We will just reschedule for later this week.”

  Her hand flew to cover her mouth. Good god, it was Michael!

  And she was hiding in his office! This was so stupid of her, thought Phoebe. She should have just brazened it out. It would have been far easier to explain her presence in Mrs. Ludtz’s area than in the commander’s office! Dammit.

  “In the meantime, I will send you my report on the possible security holes which led to the murder occurring just off campus grounds and the ways I have rectified them,” he said as he continued his call. “I am also waiting on a more detailed report of the students once suspected.”

  There was a long pause.

  Then Michael continued, “I’m aware. Yes. Yes. You have nothing to worry about, sir. I will be discreet.”

  Her heart was beating so fast a
nd loud, Phoebe swore it would give her away. Clenching her fists to her chest, she leaned over and hazarded a glimpse through the thin slit in the doorway.

  Michael was standing in profile in front of Mrs. Ludtz’s desk on his cell. Looking sexy as hell in his dress blues, damn him. And damn the effect all men in uniform had on women, thought an agitated Phoebe.

  She watched as he ended the call then leaned over to write a post-it note which he left in the center of Mrs. Ludtz’s desk calendar. He then bent to pick something up.

  It was her shoulder bag.

  Phoebe thought she might faint as all the oxygen left her lungs. Michael’s brow wrinkled as, holding the shoulder bag, he scanned the empty receptionist area.

  There wasn’t a doubt in Phoebe’s mind that the observant Marine recognized it as hers.

  Please don’t look inside. Please don’t look inside. Please don’t look inside, chanted Phoebe inside her head.

  Getting caught stealing files from the King of Chinatown meant getting screamed at and possibly chased down the street by a man with a carving knife. She didn’t even want to think what getting caught by the commander meant.

  His intent gaze rested on his partially closed door. Phoebe jerked back, away from the narrow opening, uncertain if he saw her.

  She waited, holding her breath.

  She heard a rustling of paper and the scrape of a pen. Unable to help herself, she risked another glance through the doorway.

  He was writing what looked like another note. He then turned and started to walk out of the office area.

  Phoebe closed her eyes in relief. That was too fucking close, she thought.

  She heard the click of a door. Opening her eyes, she looked again to see if the coast was clear.

  Michael had closed one of the double doors. She watched as he adhered the post-it note to the front. He then closed the second door.