Death Song (Episode Eight: The Nightshade Cases)
By Patti Larsen
()
About this ebook
A Blues singer is in trouble when the men who come to listen to her perform start dying. But, are they the real targets, or is the woman with the voice of gold the one who should watch her back?
Welcome to The Nightshade Case, a series of twenty-one murder mysteries. Please note: this episodic series is based on the television show model, with screenwriting notations and shorter formats. There will be a complete mystery each release, with cliffhangers only occurring in the full season story line.
Patti Larsen
About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.
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Death Song (Episode Eight - Patti Larsen
Death Song
The Nightshade Cases: Book Eight
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2014 by Patti Larsen
Find out more about Patti Larsen at http://www.pattilarsen.com/home
***
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Edited by Annetta Ribken www.wordwebbing.com
Proofed by Jessica Bufkin
***
Chapter One
The stage was dark, the patrons gone by the time she left the green room and entered the bar.
If you wait five minutes, I can give you a ride.
He offered every night, but she was happy to walk the five blocks to her apartment after a show. Cleared her head, made everything all the more magical.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Fridays were the best, knowing she would be singing again on Saturday to a packed house, using the gift God gave her to soothe and entice her fans with the depth and sultry nature of her talent. She hummed to herself, purse swinging over one shoulder, the tap of her flats a far cry from the platform heels she wore to impress her audience. Her scalp itched from the tightness of her weave, though she left the thin, fine braids holding the front of her hair in their silver clasp for the walk home. The remainder of her massive curls bounced free, catching the soft, hot breeze of the California early morning as she stepped out into the street.
Still active, Silver City, even at this time of day. A few pedestrians hurried past, the corner bodega’s lights glaring like the rest of the street’s urban illumination. She needed milk for her coffee in the morning, but didn’t feel like stopping, not when the moon was setting so beautifully over the high rises, the warmth of the air pulling her onward.
Toward home.
She crossed 7th, toe splashing into a small puddle left behind by a brief rain shower earlier in the day. Her street was dark on one end, the light out still, and yet she felt no fear, not tonight, not after the set she’d had. Her mind replayed her final piece. An original blues tune that she’d written herself, finally having the courage to share. The standing ovation she’d received was answer enough she was doing it right. Her bright white teeth flashed against her dark lips, rounded cheeks catching the distant light, hum growing louder as she again burst into song, the final line of the tune washing back at her on the soft breeze.
I’m not lonely, sugar. I’m just alone.
She laughed, deep and rich and full of the joy of a woman who’d found what she was looking for.
When he stumbled from the dark of the street and came for her, collided with her, she was startled but not yet fearful. She caught him, eased him to the ground as he groaned against her. His hip landed hard on the second step of the building’s stoop, crushing the soft, fragrant petals scattered over the steps.
It only took her a moment to inhale. To expand her singer’s lungs to their utmost capacity as he expired in her arms, to scream with that powerful, talented voice loudly enough lights turned on in the apartments overhead.
No,
she whispered as her scream died, foam dripping from the dead man’s lips to wet the scattered rose petals. Not again.
***
Chapter Two
Gerri found the perfect parking spot beside the ambulance, blocking someone’s driveway. She sipped her coffee as she climbed out from behind the wheel of the Charger, greeting the cranky neighbor’s glare with a flash of her badge. Served them right for buying a brownstone in this neighborhood. They should know better.
She spotted Mills talking with a stunning black woman, almost as tall as the detective, with massive black curls framing her in a cloud of inky kinks. The sun was still an hour or so from coming up, the streetlights adding a whitewashed hue to the woman’s dusky skin and bright points to her amber eyes as Gerri joined the officer.
Detective,
Mills said, lowering her notebook and gesturing to the woman. She looked like she’d cried at some point in the last little while but had herself together. She stood with authority, Gerri noticed, thick lips pursed, eyes large and watchful. Vic's name is Bill Climpton, accountant with a local firm, age 53.
She gestured to the woman next to her. And this is Ms. Juliette St. Clare, who found him.
Gerri’s heart skipped softly. Not exactly fangirling. But who hadn’t heard of the blues singer with the amazing voice who refused to embrace fame the way most did? Who stuck to small bars despite her giant recording contracts, who kept to the intimacy of singing to those with whom she chose to share her work?
Detective Meyers.
Gerri handed her a card. The woman didn’t even look at it, the slim, white paper held between thin fingers laden with gold rings.
Detective.
The singer’s voice was rich and deep, as vibrant as she was. Controlled. Thank you for your help, Officer Mills.
Candace nodded and stepped away as if she answered to Ms. St. Clare and not to Gerri. Though, with pipes like that and a self-assured and self-confident posture, the singer made even Gerri feel a little intimidated. With or without the famous name to back her up.
Juliette’s amber eyes flooded with moisture, her lower lip trembling. The detective’s gut shivered in sympathy. Innocent, all over innocent, and absolutely genuine. Gerri tried to shake off the effect the woman’s presence was having on her as she reached forward with her gold