A Not So Shocking Murder, page 15
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “What a relief. This shirt won’t be savable.” And she cut my shirt off.
Touching her latex-gloved hand, I tried to look as sexy as a man who’s just barfed twice can. “That purple dress you had on was terrific.”
Britt’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s unforgettable. Even with…” I gestured toward the back of my head.
“That reminds me,” Brittany said, eyeing my hair. “There’s something else we have to cut off.”
Mom put a hand on my shoulder as I looked between them. “You’d better say pants.”
They didn’t answer.
“You’re not going to say pants.”
Britt gave me a wink. “Don’t worry, I used to cut my Barbie’s hair all the time.”
CHAPTER 21
A traumatic saga followed as the scissors made horrible snipping sounds, leaving my glorious hair shorn into patchy sections that were almost bald in places. Mom holding my hand during the process was a little much—but I didn’t let go.
I may have blacked out again. It’s a little fuzzy. I remember getting loaded into an ambulance. Soccer Dad drove while Mom and Brittany sat on either side of my gurney. We were going to the Carentorrie hospital. Quite the drive to get to a properly equipped ER.
At the risk of sounding even more like a diva, my head really hurt, and it’s not like the rest of me felt fantastic, either.
“Why is it whenever you need an ambulance, you’re covered in glass?” Britt asked.
I blinked up at her. This was probably part of her training to distract patients, but I went along with it. “To be fair, the first time, I was sleep-deprived, dehydrated, and in shock. No glass was involved.”
Britt shook her head. “My bad.”
The vehicle hit a pothole, and the jerking left me grunting in pain—though I tried to stay silent with Brittany right there.
Mom patted my shoulder, and suddenly I’d had it. I was done with tiptoeing around, wondering what was wrong with Mom and Dad. Waiting and guessing and waiting some more.
“Mom?”
She bent close to my face like I was whispering. Was I whispering?
“Yes, honey?”
“What’s the deal? I’ve tried to be patient, but I can’t take it anymore. Are you or Dad dying, divorcing, retiring…buying a zoo?”
Confusion filled my mother’s face. “What are you talking about?” She glanced over at Brittany like I was delirious.
“The trip. This trip. I’m sure you wanted the family all together to tell us something big.”
“Oh.” At first she was relieved I’d proven to have a strong hum in the drum. Then Mom frowned. “We were going to give you all the news tomorrow at the Mother’s Day brunch on the beach.”
Was she really going to hold out on me now? I was riding in an ambulance, stretched out on a gurney, headed for the hospital.
Moaning, I let my eyes roll back. It was over the top, and Mom knew it. Still, she took the hint.
“Fine. Since you might be missing brunch and eating hospital pudding instead, I’ll tell you early, but no whispering it to Juniper. This stays in the ambulance. Okay?”
My eyes miraculously opened. “Mm-hmm.”
“Your dad and I had been feeling unmotivated in life and not sure what we should be doing when a woman your dad went to college with contacted us to say—”
Wait, was she saying…? Did I have a half brother? Could the guy be married? Were there a few more nieces and nephews running around?
Mom had continued talking while my mind wandered. “…offering us both jobs at the University of Melbourne. We accepted and will be moving to Australia this July.”
I lifted my head. “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re moving to Australia?”
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy. Like I was almost murdered tonight, but this, this is the crazy part.”
She swatted my arm. “Holt!”
I lay back. Learning my parents’ problem was as simple as a joint midlife crisis was more of a relief than I expected. Sighing, I relaxed as much as possible and let my eyes close. “Mom?”
She took my left hand in both of hers. “Yeah?”
I cracked an eye open. “If you get a kangaroo, can I name it?”
“Absolutely not.”
Groaning, I tried to look as awful as possible.
“Nice try. But there’s no way you’ll name any of our kangaroos.”
She was giving me an opening to ask How many kangaroos? But I was too tired. So I said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Mom kept holding my hand, and after a while I felt Brittany’s gloved hand take my other hand. I squeezed her hand and grinned when she squeezed back.
Amelia’s Haven wasn’t so bad after all.
SEATTLE
So, the worst part of rescuing Amelia’s Haven from their hot-cocoa-making killer was I had to prolong my stay in that foul town. Mom ended up renting rooms for us at the haunted doll B and B and stayed with me until I was well enough to travel.
Do you have any idea how many people I had to talk to? So many things needed to be signed. All of it explaining the junk Dakota and her boy toy confessed to. Very, very important legal things that lawyers needed to get innocent people out of jail. A pain under normal circumstances, but I had to do it with a head injury. And trying to remember their specific words was about as easy as remembering what I’d had for lunch two months ago.
I left Amelia’s Haven as soon as I was healthy enough to travel. It was such a relief to finally leave Oregon. Mom had wanted to come back to Seattle with me, in case I couldn’t take care of myself. But I flat-out refused. Mom promised she’d sleep on the couch, like my only concern with her visit was losing mattress privileges. As great as my mother is, we’d had enough bonding time.
Considering I was successfully working, eating, and showing up to doctors’ appointments, Mom needn’t have worried.
My phone buzzed as I entered the parking garage from the doctor’s office. I assumed it was Mom, sensing my stitches had been removed.
Her texts weren’t exactly urgent, but the quicker I replied, the quicker I didn’t need to worry about it. When I unlocked my phone, a telltale grin pulled at my mouth. The text wasn’t from Mom but from Britt.
Brittany: How’d it go?
Me: Still bald. Thx.
I sent her a selfie of me wearing one of my many new hats.
Beyond the fact I have awesome hair and would never choose a buzz cut, there was also the visual of healing gashes that no one needed to see. Thank you, Miss Apricots.
After the pic, I added: Appointment went well. Stitch-free. No more follow-ups.
I immediately regretted pressing send. Not only had I spammed her with two texts and a photo, but I hadn’t meant to tell her I had no more appointments.
Brittany took two whole minutes to reply: That hat’s my favorite.
It was a beanie. I’m not usually a beanie person, but it was more comfortable than the other options. On a day when a nurse was poking around my head, I’d chosen comfort over style. Did Brittany actually like it best? I could become a beanie person.
Resisting the urge to ask follow-up questions regarding the beanie, I got into my car and reminded myself I was a levelheaded grown-up.
Staring down at my phone, I debated what I should say. Then I remembered this was a big day for Brittany too.
Me: Has he been released yet?
Buckling up, I waited to turn on the car, willing Britt to send another text. An image downloaded. She’d sent a candid pic of her and Paul. They were sitting side by side at the burger joint we’d gone to in Carentorrie. Britt was positively beaming in the photo, so glad to have her brother back. Paul, on the other hand, was busy devouring a cheeseburger. After almost two years in jail, his first stop was for burgers. I knew I liked Paul.
A more mature person would have said something boring like, Glad the paperwork went through. While a less mature person would have made an arrogant comment about being the reason Paul was a free man. I settled for something in the middle.
Me: Glad Paul’s reconnecting with his true love.
Britt sent back the crying-laughing emoji.
I stared down at my phone. Was that it? Could I reply to a single emoji? When nothing new appeared, I turned on the car.
I wanted to talk to Britt. It’d been so long since I’d heard her voice. She’d visited me in the Carentorrie hospital and then at the B and B. The excuse we’d settled on for exchanging numbers was so she could check on my health and I could find out about Paul’s release.
In one day Paul had been released and I’d had my final appointment. With no more excuses, would we stop texting?
Would she want to talk? I’d never missed hearing someone’s voice before. What was happening?
When I shifted into reverse, my phone buzzed, and I quickly had the car in park.
Brittany: I told them your joke. Paul thought it was hilarious…His girlfriend was less amused.
My fingers hovered above the keyboard. Was it weird to ask about calling?
At first I sent a sunglasses emoji. Then, trying not to overthink it, I added: Are you free sometime for a phone call?
After that I had to lock my phone. I couldn’t watch the message get delivered. Couldn’t stare at the dots as she typed her reply. Was I about to hyperventilate?
My phone lit up the moment I set it down. My heart was galloping as I unlocked the screen. Did Brittany want to keep me in her life?
What?!
Instead of her, it was Mom choosing the absolute worst time to ask about my appointment. My hand squeezed the phone so hard the plastic threatened to break. I couldn’t think, let alone drive. I was trapped in a parking garage, held hostage, waiting for Brittany’s answer.
A new text arrived. With a sinking feeling, I opened the message.
Brittany: How’s tomorrow night?
I yelled and raised my arms like I’d won a gold medal.
Me: Tomorrow’s perfect.
After that, I could appreciate Mom’s text and the fact Brittany had asked about my appointment first.
Grinning, I sent Mom: I’m good.
Then added: The appointment ended ten minutes ago…You’re losing your touch.
What does a burglary, a borrowed dog, and burnt onions have in common? Read Holt's next mystery A Not So Rustic Retreat to find out.
Want to know what happened to Holt at SEATAC airport before his flight to Amelia's Haven? Sign up for my newsletter and receive a copy of Holt Jacobs & The Mystery Of The Missing Sunglasses.
Congratulations!
You just read an entire book!
I hope you enjoyed hanging with Holt and the entire Jacobs family as much as I do.
The idea for the story sparked when I was reading a small-town murder mystery while vacationing in a small town. It led to an interesting question. What would I do if I found out my little slice of heaven had a murder problem every few months?
Then (because it's me), I imagined I was a thirty-year-old man addicted to coffee.
Quite the stretch because I'm not thirty, a man, or addicted to coffee…okay, I might be slightly addicted to coffee, but not as bad as Holt.
If you liked Holt's first adventure, you should definitely check out his second mystery, A Not So Rustic Retreat.
Oh, and assuming you liked A Not So Shocking Murder, we should hang out. Click here to sign up for my newsletter. You'll get to read Holt Jacobs & The Mystery Of The Missing Sunglasses plus receive my every-other-week updates.
There's no pot of gold at the end of this, just an author who's thrilled you made it here.
Until next time!
~ Lily Stirling
About the Author
Lily Stirling has spent a quarter of a century living in the Pacific Northwest. She was born in Idaho, but her family moved to Washington around the time Lily could read chapter books.
Mysteries have always delighted her, from listening to The Hardy Boys on car trips to watching episodes of Psych.
As for sarcastic families, when she’s not writing about one, she’s living in one.
Mysteries are seldom fun to experience, but always fun to read or watch.
Acknowledgments
Wow.
After so much sarcasm, will you actually believe me as I do a roll call for all the people who helped me create this book?
Imagine a woman's voice speaking very sincerely…whatever that sounds like.
I am so blessed to have such an excellent team working behind the scenes of this book. Each one of you is so talented, professional, and helpful. Thank you so much for working with me.
Production Team:
Developmental Editor ~ Kristen Weber
Copyeditor ~ Penina Lopez
Proofreader ~ Elaini Caruso
Cover Designer ~ Mariah Sinclair
Mom and Dad, thank you for the constant love and support you've given me my entire life. Also, for being my early readers and willing to share your thoughts—even when you both asked if I knew how bad my murder poem was.
To Melissa, thanks for always encouraging and believing in me more than seems rationally credible.
Dani, thank you for telling me what the Oregon Coast is like.
Huge thanks to my mom's friend, Jenny, for reading a draft and having honest and helpful suggestions.
Also, a big thank you to Alessandra Torre, Terezia Barna, and everyone at Inkers Con for all the priceless information. I'm so glad we found each other.
To Thomas Umstattd Jr. and James L. Rubart at Author Media/Novel Marketing podcast, thanks for all the wonderful help and advice.
Finally, thank you for taking the time to read my book and making it through the acknowledgments. Do you also watch movie credits? I know I do.
Thanks again!
Lily Stirling
Lily Stirling, A Not So Shocking Murder
