A changed town. A new secret. A missing mother and her son. Will the truth behind their disappearance be far too much for this town to bear?
Hewey, Rob and Samantha have gone on with their lives, but they’ve never forgotten their best friend, Jase. They’ve decided twenty-five years after the incident to come together to find out what happened to him and his mother, once and for all.
The shocking truth surrounding their absence will bring the trio to their knees.
The final exciting installment in the popular Hewey Spader Mystery Series.
“Can the three friends find their lost companion OR will the mystery… like that bizarre incident…25 years ago….continue to haunt them FOREVER!! Read and see.”- Bookbub reviewer
A cold chill was in the air that time of night. The little, yellow cottage at the cul-de-sac, snuggled against clusters of shrubs was dimly lit. Yet, the beam of the front light unabashedly exposed the surface of the porch with all its cracks and crevices.
A light in one of the back bedrooms went out and the six-foot gentle giant of a man slowly turned the knob and eased the door shut. “She’s fast asleep,” he whispered to his better half in the hallway who was dressed for bed and had an adoring smile on her face.
Stan Bergund was wearing his dark blue overalls. The scent of aftershave he used just minutes earlier pervaded the air.
“I’m sorry you have to leave so late,” Jane said, sliding her arm around his waist.
Stan placed his huge arms around his wife’s curvy frame and looked into the piercing blue eyes of the woman at least a foot shorter than he was. “We need the money, sweetheart. I’m so glad they have me on call.”
“Is it a bad one?”
“A large water main broke downtown, so I reckon it’ll be good overtime. At least the extra money can pay a bill around here.” He sighed, then pecked her on the lips.
“It will get better, honey. We’ve had a snag, that’s all, with me losing my job.”
“I know.” He nodded and tried to force a smile. “A snag.”
She followed him to the front door. Stan grabbed his two-toned grey jacket from the coat rack and his black tam, then opened the door. “I’ll see you in a while,” he said.
He stopped at the threshold and looked back at her.
“Please be careful. You know what’s been going on lately with all those…”
“I know,” he interjected. “I will. Lock the door behind me.”
Jane immediately heeded Stan’s instruction, then shifted the thin curtain to the side and watched as he jogged toward the small, white pick-up truck. Fog gathered in front of the vehicle after Stan switched on the engine. Jane could see him speaking into the mobile phone as he reversed, then he drove off around the cul-de-sac towards the main road.
Stan set the phone back onto the dashboard mount and switched on the radio. The air-conditioning in the truck was percolating although there was no need for it as the temperature outside was in the high sixties. But Stan was a big guy and he sweated easily. When most people were freezing cold, he was often dropping tiny pebbles of perspiration in his way. However, the jacket was staying on. He could never forget Grandma Joyce’s admonition to him and his brother Frank: “When it’s cold out, you must always keep the chest protected,” she’d say. “You don’t want to end up with a bad case of influenza.” Grandma Joyce was the only one Stan ever heard refer to the flu as ‘influenza’ when speaking casually.
Giles was on Crisp 93.8fm as was his weeknight schedule. His deep, low voice was just right for the horror flicks, Stan always thought whenever he listened in. Giles spoke slowly—almost in a dragging voice—and made you want to look through the rear-view mirror to make sure no pasty, straggly-haired old lady was peering at you from the back seat. Not good for the faint-at-heart to tune in to the Late Showwith Giles while on the move. Definitely, not a good thing.
“It’s midnight in the land of the lonely and the free. Do you know where your kids are?” A smile cracked Giles’ milk-chocolate face as he methodically licked his dry, chapped lips. “If you can’t say, ‘They’re in bed,’ then you’d better get up off your rusty rumps and go on the hunt for those wandering brats. You don’t want the slasher to get them now, do you?”
A sinister, drawn-out grin ensued that made the very hair on Stan’s arms rise at attention. Giles seemed to take immense delight in taunting his unseen listeners.
“Jackass!” Stan muttered before changing the channel. “That guy’s gotta be into some dark, creepy stuff on the sly.”
An old Diana Ross song was playing. Stan bobbed his head and started tapping the steering wheel lightly as he drove further along the thoroughfare. The streets appeared especially dark after he had been driving for a few minutes, almost pitch black, in fact. Lampposts’ beams seemed to be struggling to serve their only purpose, which made Stan reach forward to switch on the bright lights, feeling they couldn’t be a bother to anyone anyway since the streets were, for the most part, empty.
The night draft caused huge circular balls to form in front of the headlights, then dissipated more like scattered mist that traveled along with the truck. Stan arrived at an intersection and slowed to a halt at the stop light. His truck was the only vehicle on the road right then. He glanced at the car clock. It was 12:13am. His work site was just another block away.
Suddenly, he heard the loud screeching of car tires, then a dark-colored truck similar in size to an F150 pulled up beside him in the other lane. The windows were all rolled up; the interior concealed by dark tints.
Stan’s bobbing and tapping from the music had long stopped and he now focused his attention on the eerie stillness of the area and the tenebrous sensation he was feeling from the vehicle sitting next to his. He glanced up at the street-light.
“Why the hell is it taking so long?” he murmured. He looked back at the truck. The ominous gut-feeling wasn’t shaken, but stubbornly remained.
“This is crazy,” Stan said, glancing back at the light still holding red. “Let me get outta here.” Just as he switched pedals, the truck next to him suddenly sped off across the intersection. The light was still on red. Stan, looked both ways before driving away.
“Something’s gotta be wrong with that light. Guess I’m the idiot for sitting there so long when no cars were even on the bloody road!”
A couple of minutes later, Stan pulled up onto the already busy scene that Todd Vermont had aptly supervised shortly after making the call to him. The area was well lit by streetlamps and overhead spotlights, and Stan parked on the side adjacent to a newly constructed side-walk. Orange cones had been placed along the street covering approximately a mile and road signs started from several hundred yards up to approximately fifty feet at the scene of the water spill. Three additional white, pick-up trucks were parked nearby seemingly haphazardly and a large tractor assisted in blocking access to that part of the road. Angel Boot, “Rasta”, as they called him was busy on the backhoe digging out the trench near the main pipe. The machine’s lights were bright and glaring.
Todd met Stan as he was getting out of the truck. “Hey, boss. I turned off the main valve already so we can get started.”
“Good. Everyone’s here?” Stan asked him.
The men walked over to where Angel was trenching. The top of the large pipe was already visible and four workers were standing around the area in question.
“Gentlemen…” Stan nodded.
They all hailed back.
Jake Roberts, a rather burly guy jumped into the part of the hole that had been cleared.
“Pass me the shovel!” he said to Burt, his long-time partner who had started out with him ten years prior, just after finishing high school.
Henry Lucas, a thin man in his early fifties, veteran at the corporation, but holding the same laborer post as the other three joined Jake in the hole. Burt handed him a shovel as well and he and Jake cleared out whatever remnants of dirt necessary to get to the pipe after the backhoe’s bucket had completed its reach.
A young man in his early twenties by the name of Aaron Rocha used his shovel to pull back the dirt from the edge of the trench that the other two guys had tossed up there.
Angel was now on the eastern side of the pipe. The backhoe’s stabilizer legs unmovable as the front of the machine tilted slightly off the ground while being competently maneuvered.
“Dig closer!” Todd hollered.
Jake threw his shovel back up. “I see the problem.” He smoothed off a rather small area of the pipe with his gloved hand. It was a ten inch split at the side of the pipe.
“Are you able to clamp it or do we need to cut?” Stan asked.
Jake took a good look before bothering to answer. “It doesn’t look like it has to cut,” he finally replied. He turned to Burt. “Pass me the clamp!”
Todd went to assist the guys as Stan oversaw the scene.
After a while, he heard an annoyed Todd say from the other side of the trench. “Man, y’all workin’ or y’all talkin’?” He was referring to Henry and Jake who suddenly found something hilarious about Aaron while in the middle of attempting to properly seal the split.
The laughter eventually tapered off and everyone was quiet until Henry suddenly hurled a sixty-pound curse word after accidentally hitting his knuckles against the inner trench wall.
“That’s what you get, old man!” Aaron laughed out loud. A cocky lad, he had absolutely no respect for the guy who spent thirty years as a laborer at the corporation because he couldn’t control his insatiable appetite for booze. “Maybe if you didn’t always have a hangover, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“You mother——! One day, I’ll plant these same knuckles up the side of your snotty little head!” Henry fired back.
“That’s enough!” Stan warned. “Aaron, keep your mouth shut.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man replied.
Suddenly, the sound of screeching tires caused Stan to turn around. He noticed a black truck with dark, tinted windows similar to the one he saw on the way there had just pulled up. He was shocked it got through in spite of the tractor blocking access and several other workers who were stationed alongside the road. For a few seconds, the truck just sat there with the engine running in the cool of the night. Stan was now convinced it was the same vehicle since the eerie feeling which blanketed him when it pulled up next to his truck at the traffic light had returned like a huge tidal wave.
Todd noticed the strange vehicle too and watched near the trench as Stan walked toward it. His co-workers paid no attention to what was happening outside of the trench.
Stan proceeded around to the driver’s side door as the truck sat there suspiciously still. He tapped on the window, which moments later rolled down to only a few inches. Stan noticed that in spite of the glaring beams of light in the area, he could see nothing but darkness through the window gap inside the truck. The driver’s head was barely visible, but those eyes — almost a silver luminescent hue caught Stan by surprise.
“Um…” Stan felt the need to clear his throat. “Can I help you? This road is closed. How did you get through here?”
“Closed?” the man asked almost lazily.
“Yeah. Closed. Can I help you with something?” The man’s focus slowly shifted from Stan and instead straight ahead. Stan strangely felt the need to look in the same direction. That’s when he saw Burt being hurled through the air like a baseball, landing hard against the pavement at least fifty feet down. He was completely still. Stan’s eyes widened with shock.
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She tucked her hair behind her ear, opened the car door and sat behind the wheel, simultaneously resting her purse on the passenger seat. Life for Belinda couldn’t get any better and to compliment her upbeat mood, she decided she’d listen to some rock music during the drive over to her friend, Marva’s house. After starting the car, she reached forward to switch on the radio, when she thought she saw something move on the floorboard of the front passenger side. Tilting her head, she zoomed in on the floor and spotted a long, gray snake slithering forward from under the seat. Then, her peripheral vision immediately caught something in the seat next to her—another snake, almost identical, was crawling over her purse. With her heart pounding and a shrilling scream stuck inside her throat, without a moment to spare, she yanked open the car door and got out, slamming it shut behind her. It was then that the scream finally escaped and, in a flash, Cindy and Wanda appeared in the doorway of the parlor.
“What’s the matter?” Cindy was concerned.
“Snakes! Snakes are in my car!” Belinda was standing a good ten feet away from her car.
“What?” Cindy’s eyes widened with shock.
“I found snakes in my frigging car!” she repeated.
Cindy hurried over to her. “How did they get in there?” she asked.
“How the hell am I supposed to know? I just want them out!”
Wanda was now standing on the front steps looking out at Belinda with a subtle smile on her face. She always wanted to see the overgrown baby suffer.
“Wanda! Go get Jimmy from the back!” Cindy exclaimed. “He’ll get them out.”
“Your maintenance guy?” Belinda asked Cindy.
“Yeah. He’s not scared of anything. Bravest man I know—even braver than Charlie.”
Jimmy arrived in the parking lot shortly thereafter with a white bucket in one hand and a long tree limb in the other.
“I hear there’s snakes in your car, lady,” he said to Belinda.
Jimmy was a slim, straggly-haired man in his early fifties, the sight of which would make some people cringe with distrust, particularly if he appeared from out of nowhere on a dark, deserted road. Yet, he was the typical example of why one should never judge a book by its cover. Though he could pass for being homeless, the man had amassed a decent fortune through hard work on a miniscule salary over the course of three decades. He’d been working for Cindy for the past five years after retiring from a government department as a maintenance worker.
“Yeah! They’re in there!” Belinda pointed, rather annoyingly.
“Well, let’s go get ‘em out then!”
“Let’s?” Belinda gave him a menacing stare.
He backed off towards the car. “I meant me.”
He peered through the driver’s side window first, then moved over to the back door.
“Wow! You surely have a whole community of snakes in there!”
“You call two a community?” Belinda scoffed.
With his head pressed against the window, Jimmy said, “I ain’t no mathematician, but I know how to count. You’ve got at least a dozen slitherers in here. Come see for yourself.”
Alarmed, Belinda glanced at Cindy, while Wanda continued observing from the front of the parlor.
“Are you kidding me?” Belinda asked.
Cindy walked over to the car and looked through the window next to where Jimmy was.
“He’s not kidding, B,” she said. “They’re crawling all over your car, even the back seat.”
Belinda suddenly felt faint; her heart beating wildly.
She went over and looked through the front window. “My God!” she whispered.
“Anyway, ladies. Now that you’ve seen what we’re working with, let me get these good ole boys outta here and back into the bushes where they belong.”
Belinda quickly returned to her previous spot and Cindy joined her. Jimmy put his bucket down near the tire and opened the back door. He then reached inside with his tree branch and calmly extracted the snakes one by one, dropping them into the bucket. Belinda inwardly squirmed at the sight of the reptiles and even turned away for a while as Jimmy proceeded.
“These boys are harmless, little lady,” he said as he peeked under the seats to ensure he’d gotten all out.
“What do you mean by harmless?” Belinda said, looking his way again.
“These are hognose snakes, if I’m lookin’ right. They wouldn’t have done nothin’ to you other than give you a good scare by just being themselves.” He grinned.
“What’s so funny?” She glared at him.
“You must’ve really pissed someone off for them to put snakes in your car. You’re lucky they didn’t choose a rattler or some other kind that wouldda done you in nice and good.”
He shut the car doors, picked up the bucket full of snakes and headed to the backyard.
“You sure you got them all out?” Belinda hollered.
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have closed your car doors, lady.”
“Thank you, Jimmy!” Cindy called out behind him.
Continuing on, he raised his left hand. “Welcome!”
Wanda shook her head.
“Are you okay?” Cindy rested her hand on Belinda’s arm.
“No! I’m not okay!”
“Maybe you should call someone to come meet you…”
“No, I can drive. I hate to go back inside that car, but I can.”
“I hope you find out who did this, B. It’s a terrible thing they’ve done. You could’ve ended up in an accident if you didn’t spot them before you drove off,” Cindy said.
Belinda sighed heavily. “I have no idea who would be stupid enough to do this. I… I thought I locked my car.”
Cindy gave her a reprimanding look. “We all know you hardly ever lock your car in the daytime, B. You were easy prey.”
“I’d better go now; I’ll see you later, Cindy.” She headed for the car, when suddenly, she stopped in her tracks. “Wait! Get Jimmy back here!”
“What’s the matter?” Cindy asked.
“He didn’t check the bloody trunk!”
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Get ready for another exciting installment in Lucille Pfiffer Mystery Series. Book five is now available for Pre-order and readers are reserving their copies at this special price of 99 cents for the ebook like hot cakes!
Do you see the glass as being “half-empty” or “half-full”? How you view your life is based pretty much on that very concept. Do you choose to focus on the blessings and all you have in this world to be grateful for? Or do you choose to dwell on the past and present hurts, disappointments and regrets? Whichever of those choices you make affects the mere “quality” of your existence, as your life obediently travels in the direction of your thoughts.
After having been dealt with wrongly or unfairly, it is so tempting within our human nature to respond likewise to our offender. However, taking the high road is a much honorable position as it demonstrates not only to yourself, but also to the other person that you will not descend to their level. Be cool, be calm, be assured that Nothing has ever happened that God did not see.
There is no good you do that will not return to you or your loved ones in some way. Oftentimes, the people you have helped will not be the ones you can ever say thank you to. Instead, someone you have done nothing for will be the vessel that returns with your blessing. Never stop doing good, even if those you are there for are not there for you.
There are some awesome projects in the making for next year – great collaborations with talented writers who pride themselves on telling an unforgettably good story. I am happy to announce one of these collaborations which will take place between myself and the very talented Diane Morasco. We will provide interesting and helpful content for aspiring writers.
It started with a whisper in The GraniteState. It was this whisper that led Diane Morasco to take heed. Listening to the inner stirrings of her creative genius, she came up with an idea – she has a lot of those – and decided she wanted to give back to the community that rescued her from a chaotic childhood.
On June 30, 2016, she shared her vision with me and that day, The Art of Storytelling with Morasco and Taylor™ was created.
We know the importance of giving back and what better way is there than helping other writers cross over the bridge from aspiring writers to published authors.
Morasco and Taylor are Writers passing it on one word at a time!™