Be Mine Dead Valentine

  It is a cold, snowy February in Crescent Falls and Adelaide McBride is enjoying the new excitement in her life as two attractive men vie for her attention. But, her joy is short-lived when two murders occur within days of each other, both obviously the work of the same killer who left a Valentine card on each body. When a third victim is found barely alive, it becomes obvious that a serial killer is on the loose.

  Once again Adelaide’s son, Chief of Police Daniel McBride, finds his ability to do his job called into question when there isn’t a speedy arrest. All three victims were young, attractive women and one suspect immediately emerges, but Adelaide believes the man is innocent and decides to start her own investigation.

  Unexpected twists and turns, including an out-of-town murder and an attack on a local attorney, lead the police and Adelaide down a treacherous path in search of a methodical, cunning killer, whose identity shocks and saddens all the residents of the small, close-knit community.

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  Be Mine, Dead Valentine

  Copyright © 2014 Carol A. Guy

  ISBN: 978-1-77111-870-5

  Cover art by Latrisha Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Devine Destinies

  An imprint of eXtasy Books

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  Be Mine, Dead Valentine

  Crescent Falls 2

  By

  Carol A. Guy

  Chapter One

  Adelaide McBride sat at the kitchen table in her 1930s retro-style kitchen on this cloudy February first, staring out the window as she nibbled on a cranberry croissant and sipped at her tepid green tea. In her mind she was trying to envision what this, the shortest month of the year, would have in store.

  For one thing, she knew she must make a trip to the hairdresser. A quick glance in the bathroom mirror this morning had reflected back at her a head of auburn hair that badly needed a trim. Her normally bright green eyes had been a little bloodshot also—the result, no doubt, of late nights spent reading because she couldn’t get to sleep. In turn, the sleepless nights were the result of stress brought on by the nightmares she still had regarding her ordeal in December, when she’d been held captive in her own basement by a deranged killer. The broken wrist she’d suffered on that night had long ago healed, but it still ached on days like this, when the clouds hung low with unshed moisture and the temperatures dropped below thirty degrees.

  January had been bleak and basically uneventful, but now that February was here, she knew her good friend, Reverend James Preston, would probably be leaving Crescent Falls. He’d chosen to come out of retirement in December when their pastor at the Crescent Falls United Methodist Church had been relieved of his duties because he was a suspect in the murder of a parishioner. Adelaide was sure that the ensuing scandal resulting from that murder would have ruined the church had it not been for James’s strong leadership. But that wasn’t the only reason she hated to see him go. During that ordeal, James, a widower for several years, had made it perfectly clear he had a personal interest in Adelaide.

  She felt her stomach flutter a little as she thought of Vernon Dexter, another suitor. Might as well just come out and say it. Vernon. Dear, dear Vernon. How I treasure our friendship that began while he, Albert and I were still schoolchildren. Now, Vernon wants more.

  As always, her thoughts turned to her beloved late husband Albert. She still missed him every day. She knew life moved on and he would want her to find happiness again. But was she ready to begin a romantic relationship with someone else? Vernon had been in love with her since high school, this she knew. James, on the other hand, hadn’t made his interest known until recently. Both were wonderful, caring men who any woman would be lucky to have. “Well it may be a moot point anyway, as far as James is concerned. He’ll be going back to his home in Columbus sometime this month and I have no intention of maintaining a long-distance relationship,” she said. A bold knock on her back door caused her to almost jump out of her chair.

  She glanced at the kitchen clock. “Who could that be at eight in the morning?” She got up and went to the door, only to find James Preston standing on the back stoop.

  “It’s going to snow again,” James predicted as he stepped inside. He pulled the knit cap off his head and stuffed it into the pocket of his wool pea coat.

  Adelaide studied him for a moment, taking in the dark hair now standing up at odd angles from static electricity. His face, as always, was a little ruddy, his kind brown eyes twinkling with humor. She’d noticed over the past month or so that his paunchy mid-section had slimmed a little. The gray slacks and blue sweater he wore today fit him very nicely.

  Oscar, Adelaide’s gray tabby cat, came through the doorway separating the kitchen and dining room and approached James, waiting for the cat treat he’d grown accustomed to when James visited.

  “I didn’t forget you,” James said cheerily, reaching into his jacket just before hanging it on the peg by the back door. Out came a small sandwich bag with several triangular-shaped treats inside. Oscar meowed loudly, weaving a path around James’s legs.

  “He’s impossible. Such a mooch. He acts like I never feed him,” Adelaide said. “You look frozen, James. How about some hot tea and something to eat? Or, I can put on a pot of coffee if you prefer.”

  Once Oscar was contentedly munching on his treats, James took a seat at the kitchen table. “I think a cup of tea would hit the spot. I don’t suppose you have any of those croissants left?” He nodded toward her plate, where the half-eaten pastry remained untouched.

  Adelaide warmed his croissant in the microwave. Although her stove was a thirties-style Magic Chef and her kitchen table, floor tile and cabinets also reflected that decade, she did have some modern conveniences. Then she brought it and his tea to the table. Sitting down at her place again, she said, “So, what brings you here so early this morning?” In her gut, she feared the answer.

  James eyed her across the table as he took a sip of the tea, then a bite of the croissant. Once he swallowed, he said, “I wanted you to be the first to know, Adelaide.” He hesitated a moment.

  Adelaide felt tears spring into her eyes. “You’re leaving. They’ve found a replacement, haven’t they?” She knew James deserved his retirement after serving many years in various pastorates, but she was just selfish enough to want him to stay.

  James smiled. “Well you’re half right. There will be a new minister coming on Wednesday. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ve decided to come out of retirement and resume my pastorate here.”

  Adelaide wanted to jump up and shout. She wanted to hug him and plant a big kiss on his ruddy cheek. She wanted to dance a jig around the kitchen. She did none of these things, of course. Instead she said, “Then why is a new minister coming?”
br />   “He’s an associate pastor, just out of seminary. In case you haven’t noticed, Adelaide, I’m not a spring chicken anymore. The district superintendent asked me if I’d consider staying on and I told him only if I had help.” He reached over and patted her hand. “I take it you think this is good news.”

  “Of course it’s good news. I’ve been holding my breath, dreading the moment when you would announce that you were leaving,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

  A wide grin spread across his face. “That’s not all of my news.”

  Adelaide felt a little exasperated. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, let’s have it.”

  “I’ve purchased the lot where the Hatfield’s house used to stand.”

  Adelaide felt stunned. All at once memories of that awful night when Susan Hatfield, widow of their slain parishioner, had almost died as her house burned down around her, came rushing back. The old Victorian structure had been one of the most beautifully kept homes on Hawthorne Avenue, just a half block away from her own.

  “I had no idea the property was for sale,” Adelaide said.

  “Actually, I contacted Susan’s son, Eric, and made him an offer. I’m going to rebuild on the site, a house in keeping with the neighborhood, of course.” James took another sip of tea.

  “A new Victorian house,” Adelaide commented.

  “You don’t approve?”

  Adelaide wasn’t sure how she felt. “I’ll reserve judgment until I see the finished product.”

  “I’ve already gotten the zoning board’s approval, so I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

  “You’ll be next door neighbor to the Henshaws,” Adelaide said, referring to Carl and Ethel, two of her best friends and fellow church members.

  Carl Henshaw, as town mayor, was on the small zoning board that also consisted of two other members: Rudy Engler, manager of the Church Coalition which oversees the community food pantry and thrift store; and Brie Hunter, owner of Brie’s Boutique on Main Street.

  James looked thoughtful. “I called the physical rehab center in Columbus yesterday to see how Susan Hatfield is doing. All they would tell me is that she is making progress.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t do any of us any good to reach out to Eric. He left here with a strong dislike for all of us at the church.” A feeling of sadness washed over Adelaide as she thought about the burden that young man must now carry. After a few seconds of silence she asked, “So what is the new associate pastor like?”

  James smiled. “He’s going to be quite an asset. He’s especially interested in expanding the youth program. His name is Andrew Wallace. That’s all I’m going to tell you, Adelaide. I want you to form your own opinion when you meet him.” He got up and took his empty plate and cup to the sink where he rinsed them. Turning around, he went to the peg and retrieved his coat. “Andrew and I will be housemates at the parsonage until my home is built.”

  Adelaide got up and followed James to the door. “Have you heard anything from Douglas Underwood?” she asked. Their former pastor had left town after Jerry Hatfield’s real killer was arrested.

  James shook his head. “It’s like he dropped off the face of the earth. I hope wherever he is he has found some peace.” Donning his coat, hat and gloves, he hesitated by the back door. “Any plans for dinner tonight, Adelaide? We could go to the Dovetail Inn.”

  The hopeful look in his eyes tugged at Adelaide’s heart. “I’m sorry…Vernon and I…”

  James stepped outside. “Say no more. I should know better than to ask on such short notice. See you in church tomorrow?”

  “Of course,” Adelaide said, as she watched him walk away.

  Chapter Two

  When Chief of Police Daniel McBride entered Marty’s Pub at a little after one-thirty on Saturday afternoon, he found the owner, Marty Castro, behind the bar, along with Bob Jackson, full-time bartender, part-time Crescent Falls volunteer paramedic.

  He’d always liked Bob, in spite of the fact that Bob’s mother, Zelda Jackson, was one of the town’s most prolific troublemakers. He looked around the pub, taking in the enclosed, rectangular bar that afforded seating on all sides. Daniel knew from the old photos adorning the walls that when the pub was built, back in the early 1900s, the bar had been an arch-shaped mahogany affair. The update had been initiated shortly after Marty purchased it in 2007. Round tables took up some of the floor space opposite the bar. On the other side of a wall to his right, accessible through a wide archway, was another room complete with a large pool table, the restrooms and more table seating.

  “Hey, Chief,” Patty Regan, one of the barmaids, said as she passed him on her way out of the other room. Today, her blonde hair was gathered on top of her head and held in place by a colorful clip. Rumors had been circulating around town for a month or so that she and Bob were getting to be more than just friends and co-workers.

  “You here because of what happened in the parking lot out back last night?” Marty asked as Daniel leaned on the bar.

  Daniel nodded, then looked around at the only two patrons in the pub. Sitting at the end of the bar was Jeremy Rausch, owner of The Dovetail Inn. The man’s light hair was in disarray, his blue eyes a little bloodshot.

  Well, I guess now I should say half-owner, since his gambling addiction put him in debt to that loan shark who works at the Royal Aces Casino up in Columbus. Looks like Jeremy has traded one addiction for another. It’s early afternoon and he’s already hitting the booze.

  Daniel’s glance slid over across the bar to Rick Blanchard, the tall, burly owner of the Crescent Falls Tribune. He seemed deep in thought as he nursed his drink.

  “Not much business this afternoon,” Daniel observed.

  Marty smiled, focusing his cool blue gaze on Daniel. “Things will pick up. It’s early. So, tell me, why is the police chief following up on a simple parking lot ruckus?”

  “The customer has filed assault charges against your bouncer.”

  Marty rolled his eyes heavenward. “Again? How many times does this make? Three? Four? The guy comes in here, makes trouble, gets thrown out, then goes to the police.”

  Bob Jackson joined them. “I was working last night, Daniel. The guy provoked a fight, then yelled he was going to sue and press charges. I looked at his supposed injuries. He had a scrape on his cheek, which he got when he fell against the back doorjamb as he was being escorted out by the bouncer. Our guy never threw a punch. Paul was working the bar, too. He can back up my story.”

  Daniel looked around for Paul Carmody, who, like Bob, was also a part-time volunteer paramedic as well as a bartender. “You come to the station and make a formal statement later, okay, Bob? Will Paul be in today?”

  “He’s not working tonight. I won’t get off until midnight.”

  “Tomorrow’s soon enough,” Daniel said with a grin. “Tell Paul to drop by the station when he gets time.”

  Once Bob left them to pour Rick Blanchard another drink, Marty asked, “How you holding up? That surgery had to be rough, especially added to what happened the night your mother was almost killed.”

  “I’m good. I’ve been back on the job for over three weeks now.” Truthfully, he still got twinges of discomfort in his abdomen where they’d removed his spleen, but he knew those would go away in time.

  Marty leaned closer. “You might be healed physically, but what about in here?” He thumped his chest over his heart. “Brenda put you through the ringer.”

  “That healing may take a little more time,” Daniel admitted. “You also need to come down to the station and give a statement about last night. Was Patty working then?”

  Marty shook his head. “She had last night off because she’s working a double shift today.”

  Daniel watched his former classmate, Patty, greet two patrons as they came inside. She’d been a perky, energetic girl in high school who had grown into a very pretty, vivacious woman. Daniel watched as Bob Jackson’s gaze
wandered toward Patty. Then, when she turned around, he noted that her gaze went right to Bob, who smiled and winked at her. So, a romance was blooming. Not surprising. He recalled that they both lived at Mulberry Manor, the apartment complex located in the southeast corner of town. In fact, if memory served him right, they were next door neighbors.

  Daniel walked around the bar to where Jeremy Rausch sat. He slid onto the stool next to the restaurant owner. “How’s it going, Jeremy?”

  Jeremy looked over at Daniel with a sour look on his face. “How’s it supposed to be going? The whole town knows I had to give over half my restaurant to the owners of that casino because I lost almost everything gambling. My wife almost left me over this whole mess.”

  “But you’re going to Gamblers Anonymous now, right?” Daniel could see the man was stressed to the breaking point.

  “That’s not going to get me my restaurant back, is it?”

  “And what is liquor going to get you, Jeremy? Don’t exchange one addiction for another,” Daniel said, putting his earlier thought into words.

  Rick Blanchard got up and came around the bar. “Hey, Rausch, you going to be at the council meeting next week when your buddies from Columbus come to make their pitch about building a casino here? How about a quote for the next issue of the paper?”

  Jeremy got up so suddenly that his stool fell over, making a loud cracking noise as it hit the wooden floor. “They’re not my buddies.”

  Daniel stood and positioned himself between the two men. “Take it easy. Let it go, Rick.”

  Blanchard continued. “Not your buddies? You’re in business with them, aren’t you? Come on, do an interview. I’ll send Julie to your place so you two can talk in private.”

  Daniel thought of the Tribune’s star reporter, Julie Buckner Simpson, whose erratic behavior caused many residents, including Daniel, to wonder if she was high on drugs most of the time. “You’ve both had too much to drink, so just go your separate ways.” He raised his voice, hoping to assert some authority.