Pit Perfect, page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Pit Perfect
Blurb
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
Chapter 22
Note from Renee
eBooks by Renee George
Excerpt
Parker chuckled. “True. But that’s not what I meant. Whoever killed her went out of their way to set me up for it. Why? I don’t get it.”
“Do you have any enemies?”
“I haven’t had any enemies since I came back from the war.” He wrung his hands. “I keep to myself, Lily. I don’t interact with a lot of people. Unless they have something to do with the dogs I rescue, I don’t generally bother.”
“Yeah, I can see that about you.” I sat down as the coffeepot hissed and gurgled.
“I’m sorry,” he said, picking at a chip in the table’s laminate top.
“For what?” I was at a loss for what he could possibly be sorry for.
“Yesterday.” He tapped his thumb. “At the jail yard. The way I went after that guy. I…I don’t like that you saw me that way.”
He was earnest in his apology, which is why I didn’t try to minimize his feelings about the situation. But honestly, random violence is the norm in a Shifter community. I’d been exposed to it my whole life. “You were under a lot of stress.”
“When that guy talked to you the way he did.” He shook his head. “I was wound up pretty tight already.”
I decided to broach the subject of his anxiety. He’d brought up the war earlier, so I didn’t think it was out of the blue for me to ask. “Do you suffer from PTSD? I mean, from your service?”
He nodded but didn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“That’s all right. We don’t have to talk about it.” A final hissing signaled the coffee was finished. The aroma of the smooth, dark roast filled the kitchen. I got up and poured us both a cup.
“Elvis saved my life.”
He’d said as much at dinner my first night in town, but not how. “Was he a military dog?”
Parker laughed, the mirth brightened his sky-blue eyes. “No.” He took the cup from me and put his hand over the top to warm his palm. “I was at BAMC down in San Antonio—”
“Bamsee?” That sounded made up.
He grinned. “Brooke Army Medical Center at Fort Sam Houston. It’s an Army base in San Antonio. It’s where they sent me after I was patched up to recover.”
“Patched up from what?”
“I really hadn’t planned to talk about this.”
“Up to you.” I took a sip of my coffee, the dark, hot caffeine was like manna for my taste buds. I suppressed a groan of pleasure. Maybe that coffeepot was worth the wait.
Parker pushed his chair back a little from the table. “Firefight in Yemen. I took a bullet in my left shoulder and another in the chest. It missed my heart by a few inches.”
“Goddess,” I whispered. I knew he’d probably seen some awful stuff, but he’d nearly died. “Are you…”
“I’m fine now.” He flexed his left hand. “Some weakness in my fingers and I don’t have the rotation in my shoulder that I used to have, but other than that it’s all healed up.”
“And Elvis. Where did he come in?”
“Things got dark for me stateside. My military career was over, and…” He closed his eyes. He shook his head and opened his eyes again. “The nightmares. Not just about getting wounded. It was a mess there. I lost several buddies.”
“I’m sorry, Parker.”
“A friend of mine wanted to adopt a dog from a kill shelter, and I went with him. Elvis was scheduled to be put down that week if no one adopted him. Two seconds after we met, I knew he was mine. That night, I had the best sleep I’d had in two years. Elvis tucked in on me, and I felt…calm.”
I got it. Seriously. Smooshie made me feel the same way. Speaking of. She nudged her nose under my hand. “You decided to get up, eh?” She wagged her tail as I rubbed her shoulders and scratched her lower back. “It sounds like you rescued him, and he returned the favor.”
Parker smiled. “You’re right. The reason he’s so behaved is because we did a training course. He’s a certified emotional support dog. Which means I can take him with me to most places.”
“But not jail.”
He nodded. “Not jail.”
“Hence the anxiety and the violent reaction to the douchebag in the yard.”
“You nailed it.” He reached over and scratched Smooshie under the chin. “I didn’t like the way he talked to you.” His intense gaze made my insides squishy.
“I…I’m glad you’re back home.”
“Hopefully, I’ll get to stay.”
“Well, I’ve been checking around on the case. I think I have some leads. I don’t know if anything will pan out, but I know you didn’t do this, and I plan to prove it.”
Parker leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “You should let the police handle the case.”
“Because that’s worked out so well for you. As far as Sheriff Avery is concerned, he has all the evidence he needs to convict you with that stupid bat. It’s ridiculous.”
“You better watch it, Lily Mason. You keep talking like that, someone might suspect you like me.”
Oh, no. My heart tittered. “I would help anyone I thought was innocent,” I protested. Heat crept up to my ears. I was not a virgin, not for many years, so I wasn’t sure why Parker made me feel like a giddy school girl. His dark eyelashes swept his cheek as he blinked and it was as if I could see the whole thing in slow motion.
Stop it, I reprimanded myself. Human. As Buzz said, I could have fun with them, but there could be no long-term future for Parker and me. The problem was, if I let myself have fun with Parker, I knew I would want to keep him.
“It’s all right, Lily Drew,” he said, making a Nancy Drew reference. “I’m just teasing you. Seriously, though. I don’t want you to get in trouble. Or worse. Hurt because you’re trying to help me.
“I’m supposed to have coffee with Nadine Booth this morning at the diner.” And I needed to talk to Freda. I had a lot of questions about those photographs I found at Eds. Though, I wasn’t going to tell Parker about my clandestine B&E with my uncle last night. “She’ll tell me what the medical examiner has to say about Ed.”
“Really?”
“Uhm, maybe you better keep that to yourself.”
“Will do. I better get down to the shelter. Theresa and the other volunteers all showed up this morning, thank heavens, but I should probably be there.”
“Do you want to have lunch this afternoon?”
His face lit up, making him look less exhausted. “Sure. I’d really like that.”
“I’ll see you at noon then.”
“Noon it is.”
Pit Perfect
Barkside of the Moon Mysteries, Book 1
Renee George
Published 2016 by Book Boutiques.
ISBN: 978-1-944003-55-5
Copyright © 2016, Renee George.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Email support@bookboutiques.com with questions, or inquiries about Book Boutiques.
Blurb
When cougar-shifter Lily Mason moves to Moonrise, Missouri, she wishes for only three things from the town and its human population: 1) to find a job, 2) to find a place to live, and 3) to live as a human, not a therianthrope.
Lily gets more than she bargains for when a rescue pit bull named Smooshie rescues her from an oncoming car, and it’s love at first sight. Thanks to Smooshie, Lily’s first two wishes are granted by Parker Knowles, the owner of the Pit Bull Rescue center, who offers her a job at the shelter and the room over his garage for rent.
Lily’s new life as an integrator is threatened when Smooshie finds Katherine Kapersky, the local church choir leader and head of the town council, dead in the field behind the rescue center. Unfortunately, there are more suspects than mourners for the elderly town leader. Can Lily keep her less-than-human status under wraps? Or will the killer, who has pulled off a nearly Pit Perfect murder, expose her to keep Lily and her dog from digging up the truth?
Dedication
For Kona, my lovable pittie partner in crime. You have filled my heart and because of you I am aware.
Acknowledgments
I have to thank two ladies who help me tremendously with my books. BFF Michele Bardsley, the best critique partner around. She really helps me turn lumps of coal into zirconians. And my BFF sister, Robbin, who never holds back on giving a reader’s point of view. She lets me get away with NOTHING. She says, you’re welcome. Then follows the usual suspects, BFF Dakota Cassidy, who spends several weeknights on the phone with me as we talk each other down. There is no one else I’d want to be out on that ledge with, darling!
I also have to thank my Rebels. You guys offer me so much love and support. You keep me motivated! Even on my lowest days, you all raise me up. I’m so lucky to have such a great group of readers surrounding me every day!
I want to thank Missouri Pit Bull Rescue located in Kansas City Missouri (http://www.mopitbullrescue.org/). Their website gave me so much information about what it takes to rescue these beautiful, loving animals, I would encourage you to peruse their website, adopt if you are up for the commitment, foster if you can only help short term, or donate your time or money to help this shelter grow and rescue even more pit bulls in crisis.
And lastly, I’d like to thank that dark, hot witches brew known as black coffee for keeping me going. Without you, I’d get nothing done. Like ever.
Chapter 1
When I was eighteen years old, I came home from a sleepover and found my mom and dad with their throats cut, and their hearts ripped from their chests.
My little brother Danny was in a broom closet in the kitchen, his arms wrapped around his knees, and his face pale and ghostly. Until that day, I’d planned to go to college and study medicine after graduation, but instead, I ended up staying home and taking care of my seven-year-old brother.
Seventeen years later, my brother was murdered. At the time, Danny’s death looked like it would go unsolved, much like my parents’ had.
Without Haze Kinsey, my best friend since we were five, the killers would have gotten away with it. She was a special agent for the FBI for almost a decade, and when I called her about Danny’s death, she dropped everything to come help me get him justice. The evil group of witches and Shifters responsible for the decimation of my family paid with their lives.
Yes. I said witches and Shifters. Did I forget to mention I’m a werecougar? Oh, and my friend Hazel is a witch. Recently, I discovered witches in my own family tree on my mother’s side. Shifters, in general, only mated with Shifters, but witches were the exception. As a matter of fact, my friend Haze is mated to a bear Shifter.
I wouldn’t have known about the witch in my genealogy, though, if a rogue witch coven hadn’t done some funky hoodoo witchery to me. Apparently, the spell activated a latent talent that had been dormant in my hybrid genes.
My ancestor’s magic acted like truth serum to anyone who came near her. No one could lie in her presence. Lucky me, my ability was a much lesser form of hers. People didn’t have to tell me the truth, but whenever they were around me, they had the compulsion to overshare all sorts of private matters about themselves. This can get seriously uncomfortable for all parties involved. Like, the fact that I didn’t need to know that Janet Strickland had been wearing the same pair of underwear for an entire week, or that Mike Dandridge had sexual fantasies about clowns.
My newfound talent made me unpopular and unwelcome in a town full of paranormal creatures who thrived on little deceptions. So, when Haze discovered the whereabouts of my dad’s brother, a guy I hadn’t known even existed, I sold all my belongings, let the bank have my parents’ house, jumped in my truck, and headed south.
After two days and 700 miles of nonstop gray, snowy weather, I pulled my screeching green and yellow mini-truck into an auto repair shop called The Rusty Wrench. Much like my beloved pickup, I’d needed a new start, and moving to a small town occupied by humans seemed the best shot. I’d barely made it to Moonrise, Missouri before my truck began its death throes. The vehicle protested the last 127 miles by sputtering to a halt as I rolled her into the closest spot.
The shop was a small white-brick building with a one-car garage off to the right side. A black SUV and a white compact car occupied two of the six parking spots.
A sign on the office door said: No Credit Cards. Cash Only. Some Local Checks Accepted (Except from Earl—You Know Why, Earl! You check-bouncing bastard).
A man in stained coveralls, wiping a greasy tool with a rag, came out the side door of the garage. He had a full head of wavy gray hair, bushy eyebrows over light blue, almost colorless eyes, and a minimally lined face that made me wonder about his age. I got out of the truck to greet him.
“Can I help you, miss?” His voice was soft and raspy with a strong accent that was not quite Deep South.
“Yes, please.” I adjusted my puffy winter coat. “The heater stopped working first. Then the truck started jerking for the last fifty miles or so.”
He scratched his stubbly chin. “You could have thrown a rod, sheared the distributor, or you have a bad ignition module. That’s pretty common on these trucks.”
I blinked at him. I could name every muscle in the human body and twelve different kinds of viruses, but I didn’t know a spark plug from a radiator cap. “And that all means…”
“If you threw a rod, the engine is toast. You’ll need a new vehicle.”
“Crap.” I grimaced. “What if it’s the other thingies?”
The scruffy mechanic shrugged. “A sheared distributor is an easy fix, but I have to order in the part, which means it won’t get fixed for a couple of days. Best-case scenario, it’s the ignition module. I have a few on hand. Could get you going in a couple of hours, but…” he looked over my shoulder at the truck and shook his head, “…I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
I must’ve looked really forlorn because the guy said, “It might not need any parts. Let me take a look at it first. You can grab a cup of coffee across the street at Langdon’s One-Stop.”
He pointed to the gas station across the road. It didn’t look like much. The pale-blue paint on the front of the building looked in need of a new coat, and the weather-beaten sign with the store’s name on it had seen better days. There was a car at the gas pumps and a couple more in the parking lot, but not enough to call it busy.
I’d had enough of one-stops, though, thank you. The bathrooms had been horrible enough to make a wereraccoon yark, and it took a lot to make those garbage eaters sick. Besides, I wasn’t just passing through Moonrise, Missouri.
“Have you ever heard of The Cat’s Meow Café?” Saying the name out loud made me smile the way it had when Hazel had first said it to me. I’d followed my GPS into town, so I knew I wasn’t too far away from the place.
“Just up the street about two blocks, take a right on Sterling Street. You can’t miss it. I should have some news in about an hour or so, but take your time.”
“Thank you, Mister…”
“Greer.” He shoved the tool in his pocket. “Greer Knowles.”
“I’m Lily Mason.”
“Nice to meet ya,” said Greer. “The place gets hoppin’ around noon. That’s when church lets out.”
I looked at my phone. It was a little before noon now. “Good. I could go for something to eat. How are the burgers?”
“Best in town,” he quipped.
I laughed. “Good enough.”
Even in the sub-freezing temperature, my hands were sweating in my mittens. I wasn’t sure what had me more nervous, leaving the town I grew up in for the first time in my life or meeting an uncle I’d never known existed.
I crossed a four-way intersection. One of the signs was missing, and I saw the four-by-four post had snapped off at its base. I hadn’t noticed it on my way in. Crap. Had I run a stop sign? I walked the two blocks to Sterling. The diner was just where Greer had said. A blue truck, a green mini-coup, and a sheriff’s SUV were parked out front.
An alarm dinged as the glass door opened to The Cat’s Meow. Inside, there was a row of six booths along the wall, four tables that seated four out in the open floor, and counter seating with about eight cushioned black stools. The interior décor was rustic country with orange tabby kitsch everywhere. A man in blue jeans and a button-down shirt with a string tie sat in the nearest booth. A female police officer sat at a counter chair sipping coffee and eating a cinnamon roll. Two elderly women, one with snowball-white hair, the other a dyed strawberry-blonde, sat in a back booth.
The white poof-headed lady said, “This egg is not over-medium.”
“Well, call the mayor,” said Redhead. “You’re unhappy with your eggs. Again.”
