Made for Murder Read online

  MADE FOR MURDER

  A Collection of Suspense

  By Julie Hyzy

  A Gordian Knot Short Story Collection

  Gordian Knot is an imprint of Crossroad Press

  First Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Smashwords edition published at Smashwords by Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition Copyright 2014 / Julie Hyzy

  Edited by Patricia Lee Macomber

  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 you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  New York Times bestselling author Julie Hyzy has won the Anthony, Barry, Lovey, and Derringer awards for her mystery fiction. She currently has two amateur sleuth mystery series with Penguin/Berkley Prime Crime: The White House Chef Mysteries and the Manor House Mystery series. Julie lives in the Southwest suburbs of Chicago with her patient husband and is fortunate to be able to write full time.

  Book List

  White House Chef Mysteries

  State of the Onion

  Hail to the Chef

  Eggsecutive Orders

  Buffalo West Wing

  Affairs of Steak

  Fonduing Fathers

  Home of the Braised

  All the President's Menus (coming January 2015)

  Manor House Mysteries

  Grace Under Pressure

  Grace Interrupted

  Grace Among Thieves

  Grace Takes Off

  Grace Against the Clock

  Grace Cries Uncle (coming July 2015)

  Alex St. James Mysteries

  Deadly Blessings

  Deadly Interest

  Dead Ringer (with Michael A. Black)

  Standalone

  Artistic License

  Playing With Matches

  www.juliehyzy.com

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  “These Boots Were Made for Murder”—Originally published in Fiction River: Crime, WMG Publishing

  “Strictly Business”, Winner—2007 Derringer Award—Originally published in These Guns for Hire mystery anthology

  “Evenings for Vylette”

  “Travelogue”

  “Sanctimony”

  “Criminal Intent”

  “Panic”

  “What’s Real”

  “Dissident”

  CONTENTS

  These Boots Were Made for Murder

  Strictly Business

  Evenings for Vylette

  Travelogue

  Sanctimony

  Criminal Intent

  Panic

  What’s Real

  Dissident

  These Boots Were Made for Murder

  Mal was a tough chick. Told me so herself the first time we met. I remember thinking that anyone who used the word “chick” had to be older than dirt, and maybe Mallory Jenkins was. My mom’s age, I guess, but stronger and tight all over with clingy clothes and sassy red leather boots. In the right light she was still pretty, with the kind of body that made the men in town stop and give her a second look.

  She came pounding at the front door last night, less than a minute after Brody took off.

  When I answered, she didn’t even say, “Hey, Carrie, what’s up?” or anything. First words out of her mouth: “What was he doing here?”

  A thick evening wind whipped at Mal’s red-brown hair making it twist up around the back of her head like a dark flame. Her cheeks were flushed. She was still kind of new to our little town, and the residents of Carnich, Texas hadn’t exactly warmed up to her.

  “Why is Brody coming to visit when your ma’s not home?”

  I shrugged. At eighteen years old, shrugging meant “yeah” and “no” and “what’s it to you?” all in one easy move.

  She pulled open the flimsy screen door and reached for my face. Grabbing my cheeks and chin with one hand, she turned me side to side, then stared hard until my face grew hot under her glare. “He’s having his way with you, isn’t he?” Her hand dropped in disgust. “The pig.”

  I still hadn’t said a word.

  “I’ve seen him sniffing around you ever since I moved here. It’s wrong for a slimy middle-aged cop to be sullying someone so sweet and innocent.”

  “I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  I shrugged.

  “Pig,” she said again, getting a faraway look in her eyes. “Wonder what his wife’ll have to say about it?”

  “Don’t tell her. She’ll think it’s my fault.”

  Mal looked at me again. “What do you have to say about it?”

  I shifted my weight. “What do you mean?”

  “How did this all start?” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you like it when Brody comes over?”

  “He started checking on me when my mom took off this time. Said it was his civic duty to make sure I stayed safe.”

  Mal’s boot tapped an angry rhythm on the scarred wood floor. “You tell him to leave you alone?”

  This time when I shrugged, she shook me.

  “Did you?”

  “I don’t remember. Maybe I did. Could we just stop talking about it?”

  She studied me. “When will your ma be back?”

  I didn’t know. I never knew. “Soon.”

  “You come next door and stay at my house. Brody won’t need to check on you there.”

  I felt my eyes go wide. “He won’t like that.”

  “Will you?” She brought her face closer to mine. “I’m asking you straight up. Tell me and don’t lie. You like what’s going on here? Or do you just go along because you’re scared to tell him no?”

  I dropped my gaze to the floor. My bare toes came together, making it look like my feet were trying to shake hands.

  “Carrie,” Mal said. I flinched but didn’t look up. “When he shows up here are you happy about it? Or you wish he’d drop in a deep hole and never be seen again?”

  My voice felt small and far off. “I wish he’d go away.”

  “Thought so. You’re staying with me from now on. I’ll square it with your ma.” Under her breath, she said, “Whenever she gets back, that is.” She made a shooing motion with both hands. “Go collect some of your stuff, now. Go on.”

  I wa
s nearing the end of my shift cashiering at the grocery when Brody came in. Wearing his beige uniform shirt tight and his pants way too low, he sauntered like he always did, thumbs jammed into his holster belt. He nodded hello to people wheeling their food and kids out the front doors. He pretended not to be looking for me.

  I slid a couple of green peppers onto the scale, and tapped in their code. Mrs. Bautista watched me like a hawk, hoping I’d make a mistake. I pulled a wrapped pork roast past the scanner. “I want that in its own plastic bag,” she said. “Don’t be letting the meat touch my other groceries.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Like I didn’t do that for everyone.

  Brody was still making off like he just happened by. “Hey, Carrie,” he said, all nonchalant, “I forgot you’re working here now. How’s it going?” To Mrs. Bautista, he tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Bautista, older than my mom by at least twenty years, fatter by at least forty pounds, went all giggly and soft. She stopped watching my every move to bat her lashes at Brody. “Nice to see you, Sheriff. Keeping our town safe?”

  “It’s my solemn duty,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes and turned to weigh a bag of grapes, pressing my thumb down on the scale, hard. It probably wouldn’t cost the old lady more than a buck, but it sure felt good to screw someone else for a change.

  There was no one else in line after Mrs. Bautista. I finished bagging her food while she flirted with Brody one last time.

  “Bye-bye, Sheriff,” she said, like she was thirteen.

  The minute she was gone, Brody rested an elbow on the check-pay stand and leaned forward, talking soft. “Where were you last night?” He worked to make his brows come together like he was worried, but the spark in his eyes was pure anger.

  I sprayed Windex on the conveyor belt and ran a paper towel along it as it hummed, giving me something to do, something to look at besides those mean eyes.

  My hand shook so I sprayed again. “I’m staying with Mal.”

  He didn’t say a word.

  “For a while,” I added, cleaning furiously. The conveyor belt went completely around once. I kept scrubbing. “Until my mom gets back.”

  Brody had brought the warm in with him from outside. Sweat and his particular b.o. poured off of him in waves. “How’m I going to be able to take care of you while you’re staying there?” When he was silent too long, I looked up. “I take good care of you while your mom’s away, don’t I?”

  I stared down at the paper towel in my fist. My heart was racing, faster than it ever had. I’d never stood up to him before and my legs started to tremble. Mouth dry, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Mal made dinner last night. Chicken and rice.”

  He leaned closer, making his voice rumble. I knew he thought that made him sound sexy, but came across stupid and whiny. “Don’t you miss me? You like it when I stay with you. Admit it.”

  I started to shake my head.

  “Sheriff!” Dave, the manager, called to Brody from two aisles over. He wanted to talk about the vandals who’d been knocking over the Dumpsters out back recently. Relief made my knees go weak.

  I shut off the light above my line. “Taking my break now,” I said to no one in particular.

  “Hold up a minute, Carrie,” Brody said, a bit too loud. As my manager joined us, Brody leaned on the check-writing stand again, as casual as anything. “What do you think, Dave? About that new woman who moved in. Mallory Jenkins?”

  Dave’s mouth turned down. “Can’t say I have any opinion. Why? Did she do something we should know about?”

  “Nah,” Brody said, waving a thick hand as though it was of no concern. “You’ve seen her, though. Struts around town like she’s got something to sell.” He lowered his chin and sent Dave a meaningful stare. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Dave laughed. Uncomfortably, it seemed to me.

  Brody leaned across the conveyor to pat my arm. “I worry about her influence on little Carrie here.” With that, he winked at me. “Don’t want to see our young people going down a dark path.”

  Dave frowned. “Mallory is eccentric¾“

  “Good word, there. Eccentric. She’s surely that. Makes me think it wouldn’t hurt to do a little background check. You know, just to be safe.”

  Safe. He threw that word around a lot.

  “I gotta go,” I said, and ducked away.

  After I got off work, I stopped back at home just long enough to make sure Mom hadn’t got back yet. I picked up more clothes and stuff to bring over to Mal’s. My room there was small, but she’d given me a dresser and my own set of towels. I felt warm and safe in the twin bed that she’d made up with pink sheets.

  That night, I told Mal about Brody’s visit while I was cashiering. I warned her that Brody was mad and told her how he said he was going to look into her background. That bothered her, I could tell. She called him a dirty name under her breath, then said, “I thought I was done with that,” so soft I almost couldn’t hear.

  “Done with what?” I asked.

  “You just be careful,” she said. “Don’t answer the door for anybody. Not until I get home every night. You understand?”

  Home, she said. Like this was my home, too. I hoped Mom would stay away for a long time.

  “You got a teenager’s appetite, that’s for sure,” Mal said with a laugh the next night. “What did you take for lunch today?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Peanut butter sandwich.”

  “Your ma taught you to cook for yourself, didn’t she?”

  I would have laughed but it really wasn’t funny. “My mom doesn’t know how. She never makes anything except sandwiches, or whatever frozen packet you can heat in the microwave.”

  Mal got that sad look in her eyes again. My insides squirmed, knowing she felt sorry for me. “Maybe I should teach you to cook so that you wouldn’t have to wait so late for me to get home every night.”

  The way she said it made it sound like I’d be staying here forever. “I wouldn’t mind learning. Then maybe you could have dinner right away when you get home, too.”

  She smiled, making the faint lines in her face crinkle up. Mal had the look that said she’d lived a lot of her life outside. “I learned to make do with whatever schedule I have at the moment,” she said, “but teaching you how to cook will be fun. We’ll go shopping together this weekend.”

  “I get a discount at the grocery,” I said.

  “Even better.”

  On Saturday, as promised, Mal took me shopping, teaching me how to pick out fresh fruits and vegetables, and then when we got home, how to prepare them. Before long, there was steam, and smells that made my stomach growl.

  She asked me about future plans and I told her I thought I might make manager at the grocery someday. She asked me about boys. “How many boyfriends have you had?” She fixed me with one of her tough looks. “I mean guys you slept with.”

  “Just one. And then Brody.” It should have felt weird to be telling her stuff like that, but it was okay. Like we were girlfriends. “Guys around here don’t ask me out. Not since…”

  “Not since he scared them off, huh?” She shoved a little garlic clove into a press and squeezed so that bits came flying out. She showed me how to sauté them. “You should be going out with boys your age.” Handing me the press and a fresh clove of garlic, she pointed to the frying pan simmering on the stove top. “Your turn.”

  I squeezed, but the gadget didn’t budge. “How did you get so strong?” The metal legs of the press were harder to pull together than I thought. I needed to use both hands.

  “Practice. You’ll get it.”

  She waited and watched without rushing. When garlic shreds finally hit the sizzling oil, it made me jump. I used a wooden spoon to push the bits around. “You’re not afraid of anything, are you?” I asked.

  When she smiled, she looked sad. “I used to be scared all the time. Didn’t care for that much.” She handed me another clove, then went o
n, “I know you don’t like being scared either. So here’s my advice. Don’t be.”

  More shreds of garlic landed in the fragrant pan. The kitchen smelled like the best meal I’d ever eaten, and I hadn’t even tasted it yet. I shook my head. “That’s a whole lot easier to say than it is to do.”

  “I know.” She nudged me with her elbow. I looked up. “You gotta stop being afraid. You just need a little kick in the pants.”

  “From you?”

  “Yeah, from me.”

  We were bantering. Like girlfriends do in movies and on TV.

  She lifted one foot in the air. “You see these boots? You think I wear them all the time because I can’t afford new shoes?” She waited, but knew she didn’t expect me to answer. “Uh-uh. These boots saved my life.”

  “How’d they do that?”

  Pulling up two chicken breasts that had been waiting nearby, she laid them side by side in the pan. “Another day,” she said. “One lesson at a time.”

  Brody jogged to catch up with me. “Where you going so fast?”

  I’d seen him hanging across the street like he’d been waiting for me to get off work. It was like one of those stalker movies, except without the scary warning music. “Don’t you have some crimes to investigate or something?” I asked.

  He grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks. Nobody paid any attention. A cop stopping a kid on the street wasn’t exactly news. “Sassing me back now, are you?” he asked. “Didn’t your mother teach you to respect authority?”

  My mother hadn’t even taught me to respect myself. But I knew Mal thought I had it in me to stand up to him. I looked him straight in the eye, and even though my voice jiggled, I said, “You don’t have no say over me.”

  His eyes went hard, his grip tightened. “You watch yourself, little girl. This Mallory Jenkins is trouble. You’d be smart to steer clear.”