A Not So Shocking Murder, page 1
A Not So Shocking Murder
Holt Jacobs Mystery - Book 1
Lily Stirling
Copyright © 2023 by Lily Stirling
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Cover Design by Mariah Sinclair
~ Dedicated to my drivers ~
Bryan, Eric, Jim, Justin, Mike, Rick, Sean, Taylor, & Tim
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
SEATTLE
Congratulations!
About the Author
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER 1
A seahorse was ogling me. Its marble eyes were peering straight into my soul. What kind of tourist trap was seahorse themed?
“Holt,” Mom said from the other side of Dad. “We’re inside. Take off the sunglasses.”
“Uh-oh,” my baby sister, Juniper, said. She was the only one at the booth who noticed (or cared) I was in trouble. Her husband, Jude, was too busy on his phone, while my other sister, Casey, and her husband, Nigel, were too busy with their kids.
I cleared my throat, considering my sunglass options. Either I would inconvenience Mom or make my headache worse. Dad shifted in his spot between us, but he needn’t have worried. After a lifetime of battles with the self-proclaimed smartest woman in the world, I knew this wasn’t a hill worth dying on.
When I removed my shades, the pounding between my temples intensified. Just great.
“I didn’t know you had green eyes,” Juniper said loud enough that everyone at the table began staring.
I love my family. Don’t get me wrong. Family is great. Which is why I spent Christmas with them, then Valentine’s Day for Juniper’s wedding. Now Mother’s Day? Three trips in six months was pushing it.
After everyone at the table had stopped staring, I was still being watched by that taxidermied seahorse. I stared back at the creepy critter. It was that or pay attention to Casey asking Mom if finger painting was scheduled during Harper and Baxter’s nap time.
I blinked, losing the stare-off, then blinked a few more times to rest up for round two of the Holt versus Seahorse stare-off.
I’m usually not this crazy, I swear. I’d be in much better shape if my flight hadn’t been delayed six times before being one long ride of turbulence. Or if the foldout bed in my room above the garage hadn’t been a medieval torture device. Or—and here’s the real kicker—if Mom hadn’t dragged me out of bed for a sunrise hike with no access to coffee or caffeine of any kind until lunch at a weird seahorse diner.
Mom was telling Casey that finger painting on the pier was after naps as I locked into round two. Her announcing “Holt and I are scheduled for mother-son bonding during nap time” nearly cost me the game. But I’m a professional. That seahorse was going down.
Remember that sunrise hike? Well, Casey and Nigel didn’t go because of Harper and Baxter’s sleep schedule. No one told me watching the sunrise was optional. Mom had saved that little nugget until after Dad had begun to drive. Sure Harper and Baxter were little kids, but they got to sleep in and take naps?
Even though the caffeine headache was from Mom’s poor planning, I removed my sunglasses without an argument. But if Mom expected me to stay awake all afternoon, she had another thing coming. Ideally, I’d lie down in my garret above the garage. But if I was forced to climb aboard the family fun bus, I would be conking out in the van. Better the van than nodding off into a puddle of finger paints.
My eyes were drying out, but the tiredness helped keep me alive in the stare-off. I was about to blink when a miracle happened. The seahorse blinked. There’s a slight chance this was sleep deprivation and blinding headache talking, but the seahorse blinked at me. We were tied 1–1. Sitting up a little straighter, I was preparing myself for the tiebreaker when a white-haired dude took a seat by the register. He blocked the seahorse and disqualified my competitor. I was the default winner.
I could have picked a new seahorse to stare at. I mean, the place was called The Dining Seahorse. But the other seahorses I’d spotted were plastic toys or stuffed animals. Well, that’s if you didn’t count all the cartoon seahorses peering from menus and signs and swimming in the coloring pages given to my niece and nephew. The coloring pages were wasted on them. Baxter rarely colored within the lines, while with Harper, it was a win anytime the crayon connected with the paper.
Beyond not loving any of the other seahorses, my bond with the taxidermied seahorse had been built on convenience. He’d been in my eyeline. My gaze didn’t shift, but the view had changed to the back of the dude who’d ruined my game. He wore a bright blue T-shirt covered in sponsors proclaiming he was a 10K finisher.
I couldn’t judge. I was wearing a mint-green T-shirt with Our Awesome Jacobs Family Vacay printed on the front. The shirts were mandatory, a uniform of sorts. Everyone was wearing one, from my parents to my sisters, their husbands, and Casey’s two kids. Not only did the shirt wash out my mostly natural tan, but it made my family look disgustingly more touristy than all the other tourists congregating in the tourist trap town known as Amelia’s Haven, Oregon. I hated it. And I wanted to hate the Pacific Ocean for summoning us. But it wasn’t the Pacific Ocean’s fault; it was my mom’s.
Harper began making unintelligible squawking sounds as she waved the seahorse coloring page at us. Juniper was positively gushing, while Mom and Dad were suitably impressed.
Unfortunately, Harper continued making sounds and waving the picture. It did not help my headache.
“You want Uncle Holt to see your picture?” Casey asked.
I forced my mouth into something resembling a smile as I analyzed the random scribbles over the printed seahorses. “Wow,” I said. Harper kept waving the picture. Was I still on the hook? “Um, you used a lot of blue…That’s a good color.”
Thankfully, that satisfied her, and I could return to my coffee. What a way to spend a vacation.
Juniper had jumped at a free trip, calling it a second honeymoon, and Casey was too family oriented to say no. I declined. Multiple times. Then Mom and Juniper began a targeted attack to get me to come. What finally had me buying a ticket was Mom saying it could be the last time we’d all be together as a family. Mom would absolutely drag us to the same location so we could hear bad news at the same time. So I’d agreed and had spent the whole morning waiting for my parents to make an announcement that would shatter life as I knew it.
So far, nothing. For instance, instead of impending doom, Casey and Mom had returned to talking about finger painting. Why?
I took a long gulp of my fourth cup of coffee. I was doing my absolute best to make up for lost time. At my request, the teenage waitress had left the pot at our booth, and I was drinking as much as possible.
Baxter disappeared under the table, chasing a french fry or crayon. “Careful,” Mom was saying right as Baxter headbutted my legs. My half-full cup of coffee spilled down my shirt. The coffee was hotter than comfortable but not exactly scalding. The real damage was to my mint vacay shirt.
Nigel began apologizing for his kid while telling Baxter to apologize, all while Casey told him not to eat french fries off the floor. Instead of yelling, I nodded like the understanding uncle everyone knew I was. Really, all I cared about was getting to the bathroom, where I could survey the damage in peace.
With Mom worried I’d make a getaway, I’d been wedged in the middle of the wraparound booth. I had to wait for Juniper and Jude to slide out before I could head to the bathroom to try getting cleaned up.
“Was that on purpose?” Juniper whispered. “We all know you hate the shirt.” I gave her an older-brother glare before stalking away.
I was passing the register right as a short guy in a cheap suit and a man and woman in EMT uniforms were paying. Which begged the question: Did locals actually eat at The Dining Seahorse? The decor was nightmare fuel. The food was not only greasy but tasted like old grease.
The female EMT’s shiny black ponytail caught my attention as I passed, and I stumbled into the white-haired Mr. FunRun, who’d ruined my stare-off. It pushed him against his cup of sweet tea. The glass bobbled, threatening to be the second spill in five minutes.
“Watch it!” someone called.
“Sorry,” I said to Mr. FunRun. “You good?”
Mr. FunRun steadied the cup before nodding and waving me off. I made it to the bathroom without further mishaps. I should have felt worse about tripping into Mr. FunRun, but I was still salty about him stealing my seahorse friend.
The bathroom was single occupancy, and I l
I took my time rinsing the coffee from the shirt before adding soap from a seahorse-shaped dispenser and scrubbing. Juniper’s question replayed in my head. Had I wrecked the shirt on purpose?
The coffee stain washed from a dark brown to a light tan. The mint-colored shirt now had a strange camo pattern. I eyed the dripping shirt. We were at a beach. How did The Dining Seahorse feel about shirtless clientele? Would the teenagers working in the restaurant really care? Then I remembered Mom was the only reason I was at the stupid restaurant. If the staff didn’t yell at me, Mom would.
After wringing it out, I held it under the hand dryer. Five minutes later, it was still damp, but I wriggled into it.
Checking my reflection was a bad idea. Why had no one mentioned I was walking around town with the non-sexy version of bedhead? My normally styled blondish hair was a curly mess. The set of my jaw and the tension in my eyes showed just how irritated I was. Definitely not flattering. I should have insisted on showering before sunrise.
I washed my face and did what I could to my hair with water and finger-combing. It wasn’t great, but I no longer looked like I’d just rolled out of bed. At least my vacation stubble was growing in nicely.
Unfortunately, I ran out of things to do. I needed to rejoin my family. My hand paused on the door as I geared up to leave my fortress of solitude. Taking one last look at the seahorse soap dispenser, I exited.
My progress from the little boys’ room was slowed by the restaurant’s newest patron entering the walkway right in front of me. She was my age but had the dress sense of an eccentric great-aunt. Everything about her was too much. The red hair was overstyled, the perfume too strong, and the dress was covered with bright orange-yellow apricots. She paused to greet almost every table with a hello and a beaming smile. Miss Apricots wasn’t large, but she somehow filled the aisle, so I couldn’t get past her. I was trapped and stuck eavesdropping on all her little pleasantries. A charming combination that made my day that much worse. Was anyone glad to see her? I couldn’t tell. Miss Apricots even waved at Mom before sitting on the stool beside Mr. FunRun.
At last I could sit at our booth, and I slid in at the end. Everyone was done eating, but I had no clue when we’d be leaving.
Juniper leaned over Jude to whisper, “I thought you’d made a run for it.”
“Not without my sunglasses.”
She passed me a fresh cup of coffee, and I kept an eye on Baxter and any under-the-table antics. The caffeine had eased some of the tension in my head, but what I really needed was a nap.
My eyes were beginning to glaze as I refocused on the blue 10K finisher shirt. Mr. FunRun and Miss Apricots were a strange pair. He was at least twice her age and dressed way more casually. They leaned toward each other and talked in low tones. Miss Apricots never lost her fake smile, while Mr. FunRun’s face grew red, and sweat formed on his temples.
“Holt!” Mom called.
Juniper twisted over Jude again. “Pay attention.”
“What?” I sounded cranky.
“Are you ready to leave?” Mom asked.
I nodded. I’d been ready to leave since we’d arrived.
Putting on my sunglasses, I almost ran into Mr. FunRun for the second time as he stumbled off the stool. His face was really red, and he was coughing. Miss Apricots’s smile had slipped as she said, “Allen? Allen, are you all right?”
I don’t know what came over me. I’m an engineer, not a doctor.
“Is he choking?” I asked.
Miss Apricots shook her head. If the answer were yes, what would I have done? Googled the Heimlich?
“Any allergies?”
The man shook his head, still coughing.
“Heart condition? Is there a medical bracelet?”
Whatever TV-show doctor I was impersonating was having an off day. The man gave a violent shudder and fell into Miss Apricots’s arms.
The waitress dropped her coffeepot. “Oh, Dakota. Not again!”
Where had my mother dragged me?
CHAPTER 2
Miss Apricots stumbled under the weight, and I helped lower Mr. FunRun to the ground before they toppled over. I tried to remember the basics from my lapsed first aid certification. I couldn’t find a pulse and began performing CPR—right beside a floor mural of another seahorse.
The world shrank to counting chest compressions and rescue breaths. Staring down at my hands, I saw the race logo on his shirt. It was for Seattle’s Rainy Days 10K. Wasn’t that the race I’d done last June? I tried to ignore the shirt, but it was right there. Something about it—us running the same race—bothered me.
Mom called 911 during my McSteamy impression. But I was too busy counting compressions to understand why a hand was on my shoulder.
“We’ll take it from here.” The voice cut my focus enough for me to notice the paramedic uniform.
I tried to stand, but my knees buckled from kneeling for so long, and I ended up crawling out of the way. Staying on the floor, I stretched my legs out and leaned against a booth. The EMTs loaded the guy onto a stretcher and rushed him away. It wouldn’t matter. While I’d done CPR until they’d come, it was useless. He was dead the moment he fell into Miss Apricots’s arms.
The rush of adrenaline was wearing off. At first, trying to keep myself from visibly shaking took all my concentration. Then I noticed the seahorse from the floor mural judging me. Like it could have performed CPR better? I moved one of my legs to cover its eyes. This was such an improvement, I was able to take stock of my surroundings.
Mom was seated above me at the random booth. Her hand was wrapped securely around the back of my neck. For some reason, that had calmed me as a child. I must be in rough shape for her to pull out the big guns.
Cops had scattered throughout the diner. Yellow crime scene tape had appeared and was stretched across certain areas. Mom’s hand tightened, and she gestured to where Miss Apricots was talking to a man who was shorter than her. He wasn’t wearing a police uniform, but a shiny badge glinted on his belt. This was the detective, dressed in a cheap suit and shoes that didn’t match his belt.
Short? Cheap suit? He was the guy paying at the register. One of the locals, crazy enough to eat here. The guy was built like a tank. He had neck muscles. Only bodybuilders have neck muscles. Did he work out so much to compensate for being five foot five?
Miss Apricots faced him head-on as they spoke, leaving no space between their bodies. At one point, his hand brushed her arm. The redhead said something to the cop, and they both looked at me. Completely stuck, I stared back. Even Mom squeezing my neck didn’t break the trance. They knew I’d been watching, and I still couldn’t look away.
The cop said something to Miss Apricots. Mom let go of my neck as he strode over to stand above me. I was still sitting on the floor. Even then, the detective, neck muscles and all, wasn’t very imposing.
It’s inappropriate. I know it’s inappropriate. A man had just died. Maybe it was shock talking. But the detective was strutting around like an arrogant rooster. And it took all I had not to burst out laughing.
“You are?” he asked.
“Holt Jacobs.”
I extended my hand. Instead of shaking it, he grabbed the hand and hauled me to my feet. At six one, I towered over him. His eyes widened, and I smirked.
He quickly recovered and became all business. “I’m Detective Reynolds. I’ll be taking your statement regarding the death.”
While I heard him, it was hard to process the words. There was so much noise. Cops were talking, customers were talking, and there was the clink of dishes from people who continued eating. Why let a dead body ruin lunch?
“Did you hear me?” His voice was more forceful.
Breaking eye contact with yet another seahorse, I tried to focus. “Yeah?”
The detective huffed—like I was the worst part of his day. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Crying cut through the clatter. Where was that coming from? It was Harper. Then Nigel was trying to get Baxter to stop squeezing her while Casey shushed everyone.
