Thriller, p.1
Thriller, page 1
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Thriller: An Anthology of New Mystery Short Stories © 2023 by Don Bruns
“Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” © 2023 by Don Bruns.
“Baby Be Mine” © 2023 by Kelley Anne Pearson.
“The Girl Is Mine” © 2023 by Jennifer Dornbush.
“Thriller” © 2023 by Heather Graham Pozzessere.
“Beat It” © 2023 by William Krueger.
“Billie Jean” © 2023 by Neil Plakcy.
“Human Nature” © 2023 by David Slayton.
“Pretty Young Thing” © 2023 by Rick Bleiweiss.
“The Lady in My Life” © 2023 by Jeffery Deaver
E-book published by Blackstone Publishing
Cover design by Kathryn Galloway English
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Trade e-book ISBN 979-8-200-84998-7
Library e-book ISBN 979-8-200-84997-0
Fiction / Thrillers / General
Blackstone Publishing
31 Mistletoe Rd.
Ashland, OR 97520
www.BlackstonePublishing.com
THRILLER
EDITED BY
DON BRUNS
CONTENTS
Introduction
Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’
Don Bruns
Baby Be Mine
Dahlia Rose
The Girl is Mine
Jennifer Graeser Dornbush
Thriller
Heather Graham
Beat It
William Kent Krueger
Billie Jean
Neil S. Plakcy
Human Nature
David R. Slayton
Pretty Young Thing
Rick Bleiweiss
The Lady In My Life
Jeffery Deaver
“Thriller,” in the book world, is a literary genre. So to have the audacity to actually title a mystery book Thriller suggests you have some very thrilling stories. I believe, after you read these tales of mystery and suspense, you’ll agree that we do. From NYT bestselling author Heather Graham, we have the title story, “Thriller.” Jeffrey Deaver, author of The Bone Collector and the Lincoln Rhyme series, has contributed “The Lady in My Life.” William Kent Krueger, a million-selling author, wrote “Beat It,” and six other talented, bestselling authors have participated as well.
Our Music and Murder Mystery series continues, following 2022’s Hotel California. I am amazed at the creativity and devious nature of these writers, and I promise you that you’ll be thrilled with these stories. Enjoy!
—Don Bruns
WANNA BE STARTIN’ SOMETHIN’
DON BRUNS
Emilynn Lee through her window could see
The house that was sitting beside her.
The neighbor, though old, great stories she told,
Of her life being once an outsider.
What sounded like a nonsensical nursery rhyme was a pretty good presentation of Ruby, the older woman who lived beside her. Emilynn wasn’t sure when they’d actually met. Maybe when she walked from the school bus stop several years ago. The lady was walking her dog, and they’d exchanged pleasantries. She and her mother were new to Oakwoods then, the tree-lined street two blocks from Newly Creek.
Then Emilynn was walking her dog on a weekend and the lady asked if she could join her. The fourteen-year-old with Jet, and Ruby with Lady, a cocker spaniel that she named after a cartoon character from the Disney movie Lady and the Tramp. Jet was an adopted mutt. Lady, an elegant, classy broad Ruby called her. The dogs got along well. Ruby and Emilynn got along well.
The dog walk turned into a regular event, with Ruby asking about the young girl’s life, her interests, her hobbies. And Emilynn told her about her poetry, short stories, her love of words and ideas. And she gifted her with a bracelet that she’d made with beads and crystals. When asked, she admitted a love of physical activity. Judo. Her late father had been a sensei. Emilynn worked at the sport and did quite well.
They discussed Kate and Louella, her two best friends, and their dreams and aspirations.
And then, she started asking the woman about her past. And the stories were fascinating. At times frightening. A father who was possibly involved in organized crime in Chicago. The young girl didn’t really understand the mafia, but Ruby tried to explain it to her. Her father, Sam “Big Sammy” Abrano, as far as the older woman could tell, was a soldier with the Depalma family. Emilynn thought a soldier was someone in the United States Army. There was a lot to digest, and during some of the dog walks, Emilynn wished Ruby would just shut up. She told the young, impressionable girl that she’d been shielded from her father’s business as a child, as a girl, but there were rumors of sordid affairs, filled with illegal dealings, and when Ruby talked about a friend of her father being murdered, she asked the older lady to stop.
“I’m sorry, little one.” She called her that often. Not in a condescending way, but affectionately. “I seldom have the opportunity to tell my stories, and you are probably too young to hear them.”
“Ruby,” she said, “I enjoy our conversations, but I’m not even allowed to watch half the movies on Netflix. Yet you tell me stories that keep me up at night.” Jet pulled to the left, probably a squirrel, and she tugged on the leash.
Ruby shook her head, the long gray hair softly covering her face for a second.
“Emilynn,” she wore a weary smile, looking into the teen’s eyes, “life isn’t always fair. Growing up, kids were told to stay away from me, my family. The rumors, stories about my father scared people off. I didn’t have friends and it was years before I met a guy. I learned in my case that the breaks that happen in life, are few and far between. You are often simply a product of your environment, of the people and situations that surround you. In this case, my father.”
And she’d pondered that thought. And, being that it came from someone who was older and presumably wiser than she, she tried to assimilate (her interest in vocabulary coming in to play) the idea, but she couldn’t grasp it. She realized at the tender age of fourteen, that you could make your own breaks. Increase their frequency. Not few and far between. And yes her parents were divorced but that didn’t color who she was. No. Hell no. She could rise above anyone. Anytime, anywhere.
Ruby had lost her husband at the age of sixty-five. Emilynn had lost her father when she was twelve. Ruby asked her if she had a boyfriend, and the girl frowned, shaking her head.
“How about you?” she asked.
“I use Over-Fifty,” Ruby said.
“What?”
“It’s a dating app. I filled out a questionnaire with likes, dislikes, personal questions, and all kinds of stuff. They match it with men who might have something in common with me.”
“And has it worked? Did you find someone?”
“Actually, I think so. We haven’t talked but we’ve emailed a lot. He’s a diamond broker out of New York. Apparently doing very well. About my age, and if his picture is real, he’s very good-looking.”
“Ruby, that’s wonderful.”
She smiled. “And, little one, he loves dogs.”
“Well, he checks all the boxes.”
“He’s dealing with an African cartel, buying a large quantity of diamonds from a mine in Botswana. I don’t understand it all, but he offered to let me invest. There’s a lot of money to be made in the diamond business.”
“So,” she felt awkward asking about Ruby’s romantic life, “you are thinking about investing with him?” Better than asking about a physical affair.
“I’m intrigued. Very interested, yes.”
Emilynn kept her eyes straight ahead, not looking at her friend. In a very quiet voice, she said, “Ruby, be careful. Please.”
“I’m at an age where everyone tells me to be careful. Of what I eat, where I go, what drugs I take or don’t take. What I need is an adventure. I can take care of myself. Been doing it a long time.”
And the walks continued until they didn’t. The teen had waited on the sidewalk for almost fifteen minutes on that Saturday morning, her excited black dog darting here and there, to the end of his leash, waiting for Ruby and Lady. And they didn’t show. Emilynn thought about knocking on her door but decided to take the walk by herself. As much as she enjoyed the company, she needed a short break.
And the lady didn’t show up on Sunday, or Monday after school, Emilynn watching from her bedroom window, sitting at her desk, her computer showing the latest musings and poems she had composed.
One poem about a teacher named Karen Poe.
Karen Poe taught art and craft
I’m not sure if she perfectly fit.
For art is freedom, no fixed design
Miss Poe, it seems, doesn’t get it.
She sent it to a file that no one else would ever see. If a friend (or foe) leaked it to the teacher, it wouldn’t bode well for the student. A “B” in art? That had never happened before. The lady was not into freeform.
Tuesday, she walked over to the two-story, ivy-covered redbrick home and knocked on the door. Lady barked loudly from inside. She heard a male voice, shouting.
&nb
The door opened and a large man was staring at her. Heavyset, balding, dressed in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that was certainly one size too small.
“What?”
“I came to see Ruby.”
She’d been so surprised at the big man, unshaven, a sheen of perspiration on his face and arms, she’d missed the slogan on his shirt.
I Want A Beer, Not Your Opinion.
Obviously someone with an attitude.
“She’s busy. Sleeping. She’s not up for company right now.”
The young girl nodded.
“And who are you?”
“I’m her . . . friend. And, kid, don’t come over here anymore. Okay? She’s sick and doesn’t need any company right now.”
She started to turn and walk away. Surely this wasn’t the diamond dealer. Whoever he was he seemed to be watching out for Ruby.
“Maybe I can walk Lady for her?”
“If the bitch needs walking, I’ll handle it. We don’t need any help.”
The man slammed the door and Emilynn stood on the porch for a minute, thinking about knocking again and demanding that she see the lady. She thought better of it and walked back home.
At dinner, over oven-baked French bread pizza, she mentioned the confrontation to her mother.
“You know Ruby is probably in her seventies. It’s entirely possible that she fell and had some problems, or is sick.”
“Mom, she moves better than I do. And she didn’t appear sick the last time I saw her.”
“Things can happen quickly, especially at her age.”
“There must be something we could—”
“If you don’t see or hear from her in the next three days, we’ll call the police. My good friend Julie Gwinn’s neighbor disappeared last year, and Julie called the police. They did what they call a welfare check. A knock on the door, a request to see if the party is safe.”
“Was she?”
Her mother shook her head.
“I was just trying to tell you, there’s some help out there. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Why?”
“The lady was dead.”
Detective Evan St. Lifer hadn’t had his first cup of coffee. Hadn’t even picked up his chipped, worn mug with the picture of a cop car on the surface, the faded slogan printed underneath: My Other Car Is a Police Cruiser.
His desk phone rang, and he debated getting his morning jolt and letting the call go to voice mail. Couldn’t do it, but he wasn’t happy about the decision.
“St. Lifer. How can I help you?”
The voice surprised him. Usually it was a bitter divorce, a jealous husband, or a parent whose kid had disappeared. Somebody was missing, and he had to decide whether the case was worth investigating. Maybe the person had stayed too long at Starbucks, or maybe they had dementia and wandered too far away from home, not knowing where home was. This voice sounded very young.
“I haven’t seen my older neighbor Ruby for five days. I think something happened to her.”
And he dealt with those cases. Elderly, single people. Their regular regimen disrupted.
“Your name?”
“Emilynn. Emilynn Lee.”
“Can I ask your age? And Ruby’s age?”
“I’m fourteen. I don’t know how old Ruby is, but my mother guesses her age at maybe early seventies.”
“Why do you think she’s missing?”
“Because we walked our two dogs together, every day. Then one day . . .” and the young teen told St. Lifer the story.
“Can I talk to your mother?” Check in with an authoritative figure.
“Why?”
“Because I just want to authenticate the—”
“I am a mature, self-assured teenager. I have a request that you visit Ruby’s home and do a welfare check on her. I don’t need you to talk to my mother or any other person. I’m the author of this request. Enough said?”
“Enough said,” St. Lifer needed his coffee now, more than ever. A smart-ass teenager and a senior citizen. What a way to start off the day.
He took down the pertinent information. Name, Ruby Abrano. Address, 1651 Oakwoods Drive. Redbrick house with ivy and the girl and her mother were next door at 1649. Probably nothing to worry about, but the story about the lady’s family background was interesting.
St. Lifer poured himself a cup of the black demon, as close to the top as possible. He walked back to his desk and Jim Morisey looked up from his.
“Evan, that call that just came in?”
“Some teenaged kid, over on Oakwoods. Hasn’t seen her neighbor in four or five days. Wants us to do a welfare check on her.”
“Standard.”
“Maybe. She gave me a story about this lady’s family. Mob connection up in Chicago. Her dad was with one of the families. She didn’t understand a lot of it.”
“Lady is . . .”
“Seventies. She’s guessing.”
“There would be no reason at this late time in her life for someone to—”
“Unless she knew something. Had been keeping a secret and someone is afraid she might spill it in her advanced years.”
“Listen to you. The conspiracy theorist. A mention of the mafia and right away there’s suspicion.” Morisey laughed. “My guess, she’s fallen and she can’t get up. She wandered off and will come home wagging her tail behind her.”
“Well, my amused friend, there’s a new guy at the house. Sounds like an overweight bully. The kid said he wouldn’t let her in, wouldn’t let her walk the lady’s dog. He told her to go home and not come back.”
“So we’ll stop by. If the guy’s there, we’ll get a little aggressive. Tell him we want a visual on the lady. It’s not like we haven’t done this a hundred times before.”
“I’d like to think that we won’t have to do it one hundred more times, Jim. I feel like maybe it’s time to move on.”
“I’m a couple years from mandatory, my friend. I am being forced out, to move on.”
“Yeah, and you already act like an old-timer.”
“I’ve got the age excuse. You?”
“I’ve got the divorce, Cara’s cheating with a fellow officer, her move to LA and her cat, Cat. We can’t stand each other, but the feline is still here.”
“I do feel for you, Evan. You should start dating.”
“Where the hell am I going to start looking? It’s working these hours and going home to Cat and whiskey. There are no women in those parameters.”
“Figure it out, Evan. If you don’t, you might go before I do.”
St. Lifer nodded. He really did need to dial it back. The lack of socialization, and especially the obsessive interest in grain alcohol.
“Can you take a break?”
“From this mountain of paperwork? Hell yes.”
“You know, James, we’ve been told since we started this job that everything would eventually be on a computer. No more paperwork, no more file cabinets.”
“They told us a lot of things, partner. The future is hard to predict.”
“Let’s go see Ruby.”
The young girl answered the door, nodding her head as if expecting them.
“You’re Emilynn?”
“And you want to speak to my mother, because you’re not sure I’m telling the truth.”
“Nothing personal, young lady. The more verifications we get, the stronger the case.”
“Mom. They’re here.”
The lady appeared from a room on the right. An attractive woman, blond hair to her shoulders, a petite figure, and a wry smile on her face. Evan immediately saw the resemblance.
“I’m Alex, Emilynn’s mother. She was sure you’d stop here before you visited Ruby.”
“She’s a bright girl,” Morisey said.
“And she’s told you everything she knows.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen your neighbor?” St. Lifer directed the question to the fourteen-year-old.
