SHIVER: 13 Sexy Tales of Humor and Horror (44 page)

The loud rap sounded again, this time twice in quick succession.

“Do you know who shot you?”

Suddenly the room went crazy. Cabinet doors opened and slammed shut, books flew off the shelves, and a loud wind filled the room, blowing out the candle and leaving them in pitch blackness. The sound of a door opening and closing could be heard in the dark. The distinct smell of garlic and salami filled the room.

Finn dropped Zia’s hand and fumbled for the lighter. Before he could find it on the table, the candle relit itself, the wick sparking into a tiny flame.

What the hell?

The sound of a woman weeping sent chills down Finn’s spine. He looked around and realized it was Phyllis. She hadn’t let go of Edna or Zia’s hands, but her chin dropped to her chest as she wept quietly. “Morty loved meeting the guys down at Sal’s deli for lunch. It’s almost as if I can smell an Italian hoagie. It was his favorite sandwich.”

“Morty, are you still with us?” Zia asked, her composure calm and confident.

Two quick knocks on the table.

“Was it Stan? Was he the one who shot you?”

Another two knocks, and Edna gasped.

It seemed like a given that Stan would have been the one to shoot him. Happened all the time—partners in crime double-crossed each other.

A new sound filled the air, one that sent a different but just as chilling shiver down Finn’s spine. The sound of a gun being cocked.

The sound came from Finn’s right, and he turned to see a hand holding a gun at Zia’s temple. The rest of the hand’s body was swallowed up in the darkness of the room. Finn’s detective skills went on alert, observing every second, judging the assailant’s height by the direction of the gun. The scent of garlic and salami wafted nearer, and Finn guessed Morty wasn’t the only one who loved the Italian hoagie.

“It’s no surprise who shot him,” an unfamiliar male voice spoke from the darkness. “Why don’t you ask him the more important question—like where he hid the diamonds?”

“Stan! You rotten son-of-a-bitch!” Phyllis swore. She bucked against the table, but Edna held her hand tightly.

“Look,” Stan said, “I don’t want no trouble. I just came for the diamonds. I know Morty had ’em when he came in here last night, but I searched him after I shot him, and they weren’t on him. So they must be hid in one of these offices. Those diamonds belong to me.” He called out into the room, “Where’d you hide the jewels, you bastard?”

The room went into bedlam again, but ratcheted up ten more notches. Books and jars flew from the shelves, the wind howled, and the ceiling light flickered on and off. But those few seconds of light were all Finn needed to see Stan positioned behind Zia’s chair, the gun held high in his outstretched hand.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Finn flung himself at Stan, knocking the gun from his hand and tackling him to the ground. Within seconds, the lights flipped on, this time by a human hand, as Sunny stood by the switch. Jake, a.k.a. Batman, grabbed for the gun and held it trained on Stan.

“All right,” Stan wheezed. “Don’t shoot.”

The door of Zia’s office flew open and Officer McCarthy burst in, gun in hand. Another officer followed close behind, his gun also drawn.

“It’s okay, Mac. We got him,” Finn said. “But nice timing.”

Mac holstered his gun and gestured to the other officer, who bent at Finn’s side and slapped handcuffs on Stan’s wrists. “We located Stan and put a tail on him, but he lost us. We figured he was headed this way. I tried to call you to let you know, but your cell phone must be off. I had no idea you all would still be here.”

Finn turned to Zia, who shrugged and offered him a sheepish look.

“We heard him confess to shooting Morty,” Finn told Mac. “But I wish we knew what happened to the diamonds. That would tie him to the robbery and seal the conviction.”

The lights flickered again, a cold chill settled into the room, and a big glass jar slid off the counter. It shattered as it hit the ground and spilled colored velvet bags across the floor.

Sunny let out a shriek, but Zia bent to the floor, examining the bags. “The bags in this jar are full of crystals or herbs used for healing or love spells. I handmade all of them.” She held up a black velvet bag. “All except this one.” She pulled open the drawstring and tipped the bag up, spilling a cascade of glittering diamonds into her hand.

The cold chill left the air, and the group stared at the diamonds in silence.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Stan said. “That son of a bitch hid ’em right out in plain sight. I must have walked by that jar twenty times when I was tossing this place.”

Mac took Stan by the arm and led him to the door. “Hope they didn’t give your cell away to a new tenant, because you’re headed back to lock-up.” He passed him off to the other officer to drive down to the station while he stayed to take their statements. He shook his head in disbelief as they all told the same unbelievable tale.

Once finished, he offered Phyllis a ride home. Jake collected Sunny and Edna and told Finn he’d be back tomorrow to help him sort everything out.

The door clicked shut behind them, and all that was left were Finn and Zia. The previously close-minded detective and the sexy psychic.

He raised an eyebrow at Zia. “See, I was right. I told you a person had trashed our offices.”

She put a hand on her hip and sighed. “Is that really the argument you want to go with? After everything that happened here tonight? You’re still going to claim there are no ghosts?”

He laughed. “I didn’t say that. I just said I was right about the offices. After this crazy night, I need to be right about something.”

She slowly walked toward him, a smoldering look in her eye. “It seems to me you were exactly right earlier tonight when you had your lips pressed against mine.”

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. “I do enjoy being right.” Tilting her face up, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Happy Halloween.”

“Happy
crazy
Halloween. What a night.” She grinned. “Still think I put a spell on you?”

He shrugged. “Don’t care. If you did, I hope you don’t take it off. I like you and I like us together.”

“Can you handle our differences? Keep an open mind about my work and what I do?”

“Hey, I already tried a pumpkin spice latte and participated in a séance—what else do you want from me?”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid a kiss against his neck. In a husky voice, she replied, “Oh, you’ve only begun to see what I
want
from you.”

Oh boy.

“Is that a prediction of what’s in store for me?”

She gave him a suggestive look. “I don’t need tarot cards to read what’s in store for you.”

He liked the way she thought. In fact, he’d like to hear a few more of those thoughts. Except not in a closet with a dead body as an audience. It was time he took Miss Zia home and shared a few of his own predictions.

He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips before offering her a mischievous grin. “Well, I don’t have a crystal ball and I’m no psychic, but I definitely
see
you in my future. All of you.

THE END

About the Author

Jennie Marts
loves to make readers laugh as she weaves stories filled with love, friendship and intrigue. Jennie writes for Entangled Publishing and
s
he’s the Kindle Bestselling author of the Page Turners series, which includes the romantic comedies: Another Saturday Night and I Ain’t Got No Body, Easy Like Sunday Mourning, and Just Another Maniac Monday. Readers first met the characters in A Halloween Hookup in Book 1 of this series.

Jennie is living her own happily ever after in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, two sons, and two dogs whose antics often find a way into her books.

Jennie is addicted to Diet Coke, adores Cheetos, and believes you can’t have too many books, shoes or friends.

Jennie loves to hear from readers.

Follow her on Facebook at
https://www.facebook.com/JennieMartsBooks

Twitter at @JennieMarts, or
Goodreads
.

Visit her at
www.jenniemarts.com
and subscribe to her newsletter for the latest on new releases and to find out the current happenings with the Pleasant Valley Page Turners.

A cop with a pair of handcuffs and a dimpled smile can be frighteningly sexy

Dedicated to all the women who have ventured into Hooters because they love their man or the wings!

Copyright © 2014 Liv Morris

Digital Edition: October 2014 

Editing: Marla Esposito @ Proofing Style

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

“Damn, damn, damn,”
I screamed while pounding the steering wheel of my old beater. I coasted the car to the side of the road after the engine went silent. “Not now. I’m only a couple miles away!”

Adding to my already frayed nerves, my confined cat, Tommie, howled in his carrier sitting next to me on the passenger seat. I think he’s ready to be freed from this car. God knows I am too.

I can now add a broken down car to the crazy mishaps I’ve been lucky enough to experience during the last month. The first one led me to the unemployment line. The magazine I worked for in New York City decided to go belly up and notify their employees by securing the glass front door with locks and chains.

No sign or note was left for all of us stunned workers as we rattled the doors. Not even a thank you for showing up today, but we’ve decided not to.

I bought a gallon of Ben and Jerry’s on the walk back home to my apartment, and mourned my job loss by watching Bravo for a week straight. It helped to see rich and spoiled housewives who were more miserable than jobless me. I’ve always wondered one thing about those crazy reality shows… Don’t they know every bitchy thing they say about their friends is being recorded?

The week following my overnight unemployment, my Aunt Marge died and left her entire estate to me. It was amazing and very generous but came with one big condition… I had to move back to my hometown of Marietta, Ohio, and live for one year in her house.  Damn, I loved New York. And to make things worse, if I refused the estate would go to my derelict cousin, Lenny. His most recent mug shot with stringy blond hair and missing front teeth was posted next to the term “Meth Lab Owner” on Wikipedia. No lie!

Aunt Marge’s scheme worked, I had no job and there was no way in hell I could let my aunt’s hard earned money land in Lenny’s hands or on his meth boilerplate.

My aunt never married and was known around town as the “Spinster.” She taught creative writing at the local college and wrote romance novels under a secret pen name. She made her real fortune selling books written as Demi Duke, the bodice-ripping historical romance writer. It was only after her death that the hidden name leaked to her colleagues, and then the rest of the small town. I had no idea my aunt lived a double life until the estate lawyer’s contacted me.

After two hundred turns of the key in the car’s ignition, I gave up and flipped on the hazard lights. The sun had set a couple hours ago, but I didn’t feel any danger since the town of Marietta was sleepy, safe and as boring as a beige pantsuit. What a contrast from New York City. My cat seemed to agree as he begged to be freed.

“Come here, Tommie.” I flipped open the carrier’s wire door and inched my hands inside. I wanted to make sure Tommie had calmed down and didn’t show his claws. He bolted out of his confines and made a beeline for the back seat, by-passing my lame attempt to catch him.

After a howling meow, Tommie leaped on top of my head via my seat’s headrest. The entire tomfoolery took less than ten heartbeats. One might say fur was flying.

“For Pete’s sake, Tommie.” I tried to wrestle the cat off of my head without further scaring the animal. My once tightly pulled ponytail resembled a tangled mop of blond locks. I moved a few strands away from my eyes with a huff of breath.

“Meow.” Tommie repeated sounding more like a dying cow than a sweet little kitten.

I began rubbing between his ears. After a minute his whining turned to purring and I gingerly removed him from my head.

“Sorry boy,” I cooed while placing him back in his carrier, and hoped we both adjusted to our move.