[Anthology] Close to the Bones Read online

  Close to the Bones

  A Thriller Anthology 2017

  Martha Carr

  Craig Martelle

  Ethan Jones

  Basil Sands

  Stephen Campbell

  A.C. Fuller

  Lee Hayton

  David Berens

  Mixi J Applebottom

  John Ling

  Erika Mitchell

  Contents

  Close to the Bones

  Foreword

  1. Bedtime Bones Story

  2. The Dark Imprint

  3. Fatherlands

  4. Paranoid in Paradise: A Rick Banik Thriller

  5. The Spy Who Came in from the East Coast

  6. Catching the Edge: A Reggie Carpenter Adventure

  7. Girl Will Frame

  8. Knucklebones

  9. The Interrogator

  10. The Backpack

  11. Green Lake Bones

  Close to the Bones

  A Thriller Anthology

  Foreword

  To volunteer as the editor behind an anthology with all its moving parts takes a special kind of crazy. Of course, I stepped right up and put on the tin foil hat first chance I got. No surprise there.

  That’s because I’m also a big fan and was looking forward to reading some great shorts!

  Thank goodness I ended up with these other ten very talented thriller authors.

  As it turns out, they all know how to weave a good tale and pull a reader into the story from the very first word. Even better, every story relates somehow to the cover - a ground rule for being in the anthology - and is yet very different and compelling in its own way.

  Enjoy getting to know some new authors - and then check out what else we all have to offer - or something new from an author you already love! Be prepared to stay up past your bedtime…

  Martha Carr

  To the Fans!

  Copyright © 2017 by Martha Carr, Craig Martelle, Ethan Jones, A.C. Fuller, Stephen Campbell, Lee Hayton, David Berens, John Ling, Basil Sands, Mixi J Applebottom, Erika Mitchell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  These are all works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  One

  Bedtime Bones Story

  By Martha Carr

  “This looks like the address.” Amy looked out her car window at the over-sized Craftsman style, dark green house set back from the road. The thing rose up into the air three stories high, and sat on an acre of land in the middle of the small city. Most of the neighboring houses had long since been torn down and the land split into small quarter acres, dotted with houses that varied only slightly from each other.

  The blank dark windows stared back at her and made a shiver go down her spine.

  “Perfect place for a zombie movie,” she mumbled, brushing muffin crumbs off the front of her shirt. Not a good idea to look sloppy on the first day of work.

  Amy was a newly minted graduate of the local university with a degree in marketing that so far had netted her over twenty interviews for jobs she thought she could tolerate but no offers. Unless she was willing to move back into her parents’ house, and this time into the basement since they had turned her old room into a sewing nook already, she was going to have to take whatever she could get. That’s how she ended up parked in front of the house gathering her courage to go knock on the door.

  She opened the car door, barely noticing the loud squeak, and stood up brushing off her best outfit one more time. It was her usual first interview outfit and this time her first day of work look. A gray straight wool skirt, pink sweater over a white blouse and flat black shoes. Brown hair pulled back into a nondescript ponytail. Nothing offensive, nothing to make her stand out but looked like she had at least given it a try.

  She let out a sigh and blinked back tears, not the first time as she once again noted how surprised she was that her life was leveling off at twenty-one years old.

  “No fucking way,” she said, as she straightened her shoulders and stood up taller, slinging her purse strap over her shoulder with her new blue lunchbox tightly gripped in her left hand. She suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to check her lipstick before she got out of the car. She rubbed her lips together and realized most of it had probably come off while eating the muffin and driving through the morning traffic.

  Too late, she thought, as she looked up at all the rows of windows, wondering if somebody was watching her walk up the well-manicured brick front walk. Not one blade of grass grew in between the bricks.

  “Pretty impressive,” she said, as she got to the steps that led up to the large oak front door.

  A brass key stuck out from the brick where the doorbell normally was. Amy reached out and turned it, surprised at the difficulty as she listened to the tinny ring that it made. “Old school,” she said. It was a habit of hers to talk to herself all the time, even in public on buses, or walking down the street, as long as she was sure she wouldn’t run into anyone she actually knew.

  It was a weird, comforting technique she used to parent herself. She turned the key again listening to the raspy noise as the oversized brass handle started to turn. She backed up just a step, waiting for the door to open, noting the effort it was taking someone on the other side.

  “Big ass door,” she said, softly, not wanting to get herself fired in the first five minutes. “I need this job,” she said as a reminder to herself. “At least for now.”

  The older woman who answered the door looked like life had worn her out right down to the bone. Her faded brown hair was pulled back into a clip where it was frantically escaping, the ends flowing out across her shoulders. She was wearing a floral dress that was two sizes too big and came down past her knees, where the hem was met by a pair of short white socks and blue Keds.

  She’s wearing the older version of my outfit, thought Amy, making a note to wear something with more color and maybe even more form-fitting tomorrow. If only to convince herself she wasn’t going to give up any time soon.

  A look of concern quickly passed over Natalie’s face as she looked at Amy, and glanced back at a wide oak staircase that Amy could see right behind her across the wide entrance hall. Amy waited for her to say something but she kept glancing back and making a loud smacking noise with her lips as if there was something she wanted to say but she was cutting herself off. Amy understood that urge perfectly and wondered if it was about her, or she had missed out on a little bit of drama just before she had come to the door.

  “My name is Amy Simmons. I’m here for the job? Are you Natalie? I got your email,” she said, holding up her phone to show her the email.

  Natalie started nodding her head. “Yes, yes, come in,” she said, wringing her hands in front of her.

  “You’re more nervous than I am on my first day,” said Amy, giving a nervous smile trying to ease the tension. It didn’t work. The woman seemed to overlook the remark altogether, giving one last glance back toward the staircase and smacking her lips a couple more times without actually moving her feet.

  Amy tried to imagine her as a younger woman who had all of her hopes and dreams still in front of her, with maybe a lot less worry on her shoulders. She was probably at least decent looking, maybe even a little hot with a few more prosp
ects than what presented themselves now.

  From the look of things, life had shoveled a pile of crap on top of her and at this point the woman looked like she was worried about all of it smothering her.

  If I don’t figure this out, this is my future, thought Amy. She was already thinking about how long she would have to be here before she could quit.

  “Let me show you where you can put your things,” said Natalie, finally moving her feet to turn toward a hallway to the left of the staircase. “The kitchen is back here and you’re free to leave your lunchbox in the refrigerator if you need to but don’t touch anything in it. Mr. Fallow is very particular about where everything is placed and even though he’s not very mobile these days, somehow, he always manages to find out when something has been moved and it unnerves his day. We don’t want to do that,” said Natalie, as she glanced nervously back at Amy, who was reluctantly following her down the hall toward the kitchen. She noticed the number of small rooms that ventured off of the hallway into what looked like a library and a small sitting room, and then a very formal dining room.

  It was like being dropped into one of the Victorian thrillers that Amy like to read when she was tired of the life she was living. Somebody was always busy killing off somebody else but they were just the right amount of polite right before they knifed them or shot them through the head.

  That was the level of tension that Amy could handle, in general. She was a worrier by nature and was always wondering how things were going to go wrong and what she might do to prevent it. Sometimes that got in her way.

  Amy put her lunchbox that contained her chicken salad sandwich into the refrigerator, carefully sliding it in so that it didn’t touch the large bottle of Coke on one side or the Thousand Island dressing bottle on the other. She turned to face Natalie and waited for to take a breath and give her further instruction.

  This is going to be a long day, thought Amy.

  “The hospice people were just here and they said the end isn’t very far away,” said Natalie. “I’m afraid it’s caught us all off-guard. We thought there were at least months left but apparently, the timeline has been shortened to just the next few weeks. I know you were told the job would last through the summer but we may only need someone to read to him for the few weeks he has left. Of course,” her voice trailed off for a moment. “If he dies…”

  “The job is over,” said Amy, finishing the thought for her. Amy had never seen someone in the last days of their life yet. Both sets of her grandparents were still alive and healthy. Even her childhood dog still ran around the backyard with her.

  “Well, yes,” said Natalie, giving one last wring to her hands. “Did you still want to stay?”

  No, Amy thought, but for today I have nothing better to do. Instead she said, “Of course. I suppose I should meet Mr. Fallow, now.” She was trying to hurry things along and could see if she waited for Natalie it might be lunchtime before they managed to make it up the stairs.

  “Of course,” said Natalie, turning toward another corner of the kitchen that had a small doorway leading up to a narrow set of stairs at the back of the house. “You will be using these stairs most of the time.” Natalie glanced over her shoulder once or twice to make sure Amy was still following closely behind her. “Mr. Fallow doesn’t like the hired help to be using the front of the house very much. Only when necessary. He wasn’t blessed with children and his fourth wife passed away just a few years ago. The rest of the family, well, let’s just say they’re not in the picture,” said Natalie, glancing nervously over her shoulder again. “He doesn’t care for television and there aren’t going to be many visitors, so, your reading to him will be very important. It will keep him in touch with the outside world and distracted.”

  “From dying?” asked Amy, instantly regretting that she had let the word slip out of her mouth. She could see that her penchant for talking to herself so much may have made her lazy about letting her mouth engage before her brain had really caught up.

  She held her breath for just a moment, wondering if she’d have to find something else to do for the day so that her family wouldn’t find out she was fired before lunch. That would be a new low and a new record.

  To her surprise, Natalie let out a breath as if she’d been holding it in for quite some time. Her shoulders relaxed and she said, “Exactly. I’m not very good at talking about those kinds of things,” she said. “If you are, then you and Mr. Fallow will get along just fine. Maybe it’s some kind of weird blessing that you came along at this moment. Not many people know how to take him. I sense you may have the same kind of issue.”

  Amy would have been offended by the remark except for how much it rang true. There was even a small worry in the back of Amy’s mind that a couple of those corporate marketing interviews could have gone better if only she had learned how to give a more canned response, instead of pointing out the obvious.

  Telling someone the job looked remarkably easy wasn’t a good idea, particularly when they were doing the same kind of job. It didn’t matter if Amy was right. Sometimes brains just get in the way, she thought.

  She blinked a couple of times at Natalie’s remark but Natalie was finally moving up the stairs.

  Well, no point in getting your back up about someone telling the truth, especially since Natalie seemed to be just pointing out a fact and not trying to make a judgment call. She even seemed to see it as an asset, which would be an entirely new twist for Amy.

  Nathalie abruptly stopped on the stairs and seemed to be thinking about something, her lips smacking open and shut again. Amy stared up at the back fat that was straining out from the woman’s bra and counted to ten, willing herself not to say something.

  “You and I are kind of opposites, huh?” asked Amy, her face warming with embarrassment, mostly at realizing even counting couldn’t stop her from editing her words.

  “Look, I should tell you, you’re not the first reader we’ve had in here,” said Nathalie, ignoring Amy’s comment again. She didn’t turn around to face Amy. Whatever it was she had to say, she wasn’t going to look Amy in the eye when she said it.

  Amy was beginning to sense a pattern and realized this job, though short-lived, might be perfect for her. Nathalie didn’t acknowledge anything she didn’t want to deal with and stuck to a narrow field of subjects.

  “You are our fourth attempt,” she said. “The other three didn’t last. Mr. Fallow, well, he has a rather abrupt way of talking about things. You might call it a strange kind of honesty. He was a criminal attorney for years, ran his own law firm. I suppose…” she said, as she started up the stairs again without ever turning around.

  Sure that’s odd, thought Amy, three down. But, whatever it is, I can live with it, at least during the hours of nine a.m. and four p.m. with an hour break for lunch.

  “I suppose,” said Nathalie, starting over, “you see a lot of things in that profession, and give it enough years, it skews the way you see the world. Okay, here we are.”

  Natalie had stopped in front of a large dark oak door that would be impressive in a museum, much less as the entrance to a bedroom in someone’s house. She finally turned to face Amy again, her worried expression still neatly in place. Amy decided to give her a break and try to be quiet, playing a game with herself and counting up the seconds to see if it was possible.

  “Mister Fallows has all the reading material that he wants you to use. You should not need to go get him anything. The newspapers are delivered early every morning and taken in by the cook.”

  “Excuse me, if you don’t mind my asking, what is your job title?” asked Amy. Fifty-four seconds, she thought, before I said something. Not bad. “I mean, are you family?”

  “Strange, how no one ever thinks to ask me that, in that particular way,” said Natalie. “Everyone assumes I’m his assistant or some kind of secretary. But you’re right, I’m a third cousin two times removed on his mother’s side. I didn’t really know him growing up.” Her hands flitted a
round her face like two small, erratic birds. “He’s a lot older than I am and we lived on the other side of the country, but there was the occasional Thanksgiving dinner or group vacation at a beach house. Once we were all grown though, I never saw much of them.”

  “Till now,” said Amy.

  “Till now,” repeated Natalie, with finality. “Besides reading to him, the job entails occasionally having a conversation so that he’s not having to sit in silence all day long. You will not have to take care of his food or any personal care.”

  “Oh good,” said Amy, smiling and putting her hand reflexively against her chest, as if she had been worried about it, which she had. Wouldn’t have to see any old man saggy butt. Seeing something like that would stay with you.

  “Yes, you too might get along just fine,” said Natalie, as she opened the door and walked cautiously into the large, darkened room. Amy stopped at the threshold for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the near darkness, wondering if she’d be able to turn on the lights so that she would even be able to read something.

  “Come in, come in,” said a gruff, deep voice from the center of a large, tall bed pushed against the far wall.

  As Amy’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she took a look around at the expansive room. It was full of large heavy dark furniture that reminded her of visits to her grandmother upstate. Fortunately, those visits didn’t happen often.

  “Are you the next victim?” asked the small body laid out in the center of the bed. Two dark eyes shined in the center of a haggard face that was wearing a thin tube of plastic up his nose. The tube eventually snaked around to a large green oxygen tank by the bed.