The Tempest Within

By Jennifer A Scott

When Laura moves into an old Victorian farm house, she recently bought for a song, she discovers a horrifying past for the previous two women to own this home. Will she also fall victim to the bad luck that shrouds this house? With the help of Darcy Parish, a hard nosed investigator, the terrible story of two women intertwine into a bed of lies, deception, and betrayal that explodes into violent retribution and threatens to take Laura with it. Will she become the next victim of the murderer's thirst for revenge?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer A Scott
• Release date: Jan 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465703484

Jennifer A Scott

Jennifer lives in southern Alberta in the shadow of the Great Rocky Mountains. She lives there with her partner, and two puppies, Scooby and Scotty.

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The Tempest Within

By Jennifer A Scott

Copyright 2011 by Jennifer A Scott

Smashwords Edition

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CHAPTER 1

The stink was so acrid he could almost taste the death that hung in the air. He immediately took shallow breaths, squinted slightly as the air stung his nostrils, and made his eyes water. His stomach lurched upward. He walked farther into the house.

The musty old Victorian creaked, and groaned with the wind outside. The house reeked of death, a hint of mould, and mothballs. A metal framed red Formica table strewn with tea grounds, and dried bread sat to one side. Torn red vinyl chairs cluttered the centre of the kitchen. The dinted Kirby stove, chipped fridge, and cracked Arborite countertop spoke of neglect, and loveless years of lonely solitude.

Bruno, a seasoned R.C.M.P officer, knelt down, and shone his flashlight across the floor. He saw a thin layer of white dust. A trail of scruff marks and shoe prints lead to a closed door at the right side of the living room entrance. He walked the perimeter to get there, and studied the black glass knob. He took a pair of latex gloves from his trouser pocket, and put one on. With his index finger and his thumb, he turned the knob, and walked into a large rectangular pantry. Floor to ceiling white plywood shelves held dusty mason jars housing everything from dried pastas to canned fruit. He followed the trail of footprints across the pantry, through a curtained doorway at the far end of the west wall. A dark, cramped hallway switched back behind the kitchen. He hugged the walls as he went to the first room. A small dark study, lined with overflowing bookshelves. Papers stacked five or six layers deep cluttered the top of the desk. More books piled in the frayed and faded red armchair. The air was still and heavy. Beads of sweat rolled down his back.

Bruno went to the second door, noticed smudges on the knob, turned it, and pushed. He gagged at the pungent odour of decay. The sound of flies buzzing caught his attention. She lay on the bed, eyes open, mouth contorted in a screaming grimace with her hands clawing the air. He studied the room, window closed, thick green curtains drawn. The bed soiled. Her nightgown stretched tight across her bloated body. He retreated to the veranda, and took a deep breath.

Bruno glanced at the couple in the truck, and did not relish what he had to do next. He walked over to them, has anyone been in the house before I got here?

No, we went to the backdoor, and it was locked. Given the stench coming from the open kitchen window we thought we should call you. George explained. An old rugged farmer from way back, George Willows didn't suffer fools lightly.

What caused you to come here today?

Emma, my wife, usually talks to Katharine at least once a day. When we hadn’t heard from her for a few days she thought we should check in on her. George responded. He stuck a long blade of wheatgrass in his mouth and chewed at the end.

Well, I hate to tell you this sir, but there is a woman in one of the bedrooms behind the kitchen. She’s dead. Bruno looked George in the eyes, and studied his reaction. George remained stone faced. He glanced at Emma, tears streamed down her face, once the forensic boys are done I’ll call you in to identify the body. For now, you can go home. I’ll call you later. He took out a notepad. I’ll need your address.

George nodded in the direction of the neighbouring farm, We live across the field. He gave the constable his phone number.

Thanks, I’ll be in touch. Bruno walked over to his cruiser, leaned against the hood, grabbed his cell phone, and jabbed in a number he knew by heart.

Yeah, we’ve got a ripe one.

CHAPTER 2

In the twenty years Doctor Philip Younger worked for the R.C.M.P. Forensics Unit, one case beat him. The case had him in the role of victim. What rationality makes pushing an innocent person into the path of an oncoming train a smart thing to do. He remembers the pressure from the hand between his shoulder blades, the total lack of control as his feet lifted off the platform. He flew for the briefest of moments before touching down, and falling flat out on the other side of the track. In the time it took to scream, the train rolled over his left foot. Seven years ago now and he still shutters at the thought.

Younger studied hard to become a certified M.E. a job he thought would keep him out of harms way. Since the… accident, big city life did not fit anymore. He had to be out where he could breathe, move, and did not have to take a train anywhere.

Posted all over the country he has been, for the past two years, in Rossdale Alberta not more than a spitting distance from the badlands along the Dinosaur Trail. He had grown very fond of hiking in this canyon. This place drew him in the moment he laid eyes on the sacred landscape.

A sense of peace overcame Younger as he climbed these ancient hoodoos. The feeling of satisfaction that comes from the doing of a thing brought calmness to his mind. Breathing in deep, sweating at the straining of his muscles was the closest he ever came to anything spiritual.

Younger had started his day rising before the sun, and driving out to the point overlooking Horse Shoe Canyon. He picked a large hoodoo in the distance. He intended to hike to, climb up, camp on the top, and maybe get some spectacular photos. The views from there would be breathtaking. He pictured the sight in his minds eye, the vastness of the land as it gave way to the big sky of the prairies.

The hike had taken the better part of the morning to reach his target. The path he took meandered through the bottom of the canyon. He saw mule-deer drinking water from the banks of the Red Deer River that snaked through this land. He could barely go a few feet and not notice the mounds of dirt dug up by the black-tailed prairie dog that ran so abundant here. He stopped only briefly to watch two coyotes run across the path up ahead. Clumps of wheat-grass dotted the landscape and waved in the hot dry breeze of the day. He minded the pincushion cactus and the prickly pears with their fiery yellow and red blooms.

He set his backpack on the ground, and stretched out the kinks. Younger stared up at the top of this massive sentinel to the infinity of the blue beyond. A hawk circled above. He reached into the side pocket of the pack, pulled out a beat up green canteen, and took a healthy swig letting a stray droplet of cool water trickle down his neck.

The sun would soon be reaching its meridian. He bent over to adjust the sock on top of his prosthetic foot and calf. His mind echoed with the memory of the sounds of metal screeching on metal, and splintering bone as ninety thousand pounds of locomotive ripped his foot from his leg.

Younger shook the image from his mind, and gazed out over the land. Out here, he can forget. He put on his pack, and cinched up the waistband. He took the bandana from around his neck, tied it to the top of his balding head, and walked the base until he found what seemed, to him, to be a good point to ascend.

The hoodoo flared out to around fifty feet from the base, an easy climb up to approximately a third of its height. The going would be more challenging, something Younger had been looking forward to all week. He reached up to a stone jutting out of the soil, ready to hoist himself up to a good footing when his cell phone started to vibrate.

Damn! Younger tugged his phone free from a side holder clipped to his belt, and flipped it open. He put the phone to his ear. Younger.

Yeah we’ve got a ripe one.

CHAPTER 3

Younger got to the scene a few hours later. He walked under the police tape, and nodded to Constable Tony Corvelli, the cop on shift, then walked in the backdoor. The team, by this time, was well into processing the scene. The body remained untouched.

Nice, you coming from the track? Stinson asked. She had won a spot on Younger’s team only three months prior. A city girl, she grew up in Ottawa before coming out west to Calgary and training with the forensic unit.

Cute Stinson, just another day off for the M.E. in Quiets-Ville,-where is she?

Stinson shone her flashlight at the pantry doorway, follow the black powder, she said.

Right, Younger turned, went through the door, and walked the perimeter of the narrow hallway down to the bedroom where Kathryn McNamara lay. He walked in, put his kit on the floor by the bed, took a moment to pull on his latex gloves and study the position of the remains. He shone his flashlight on her face, searched her body for any obvious signs of cause of death, poked his finger against the swollen skin of her cheek, and moved her right arm. He inserted a thermometer through the skin of her abdomen and pierced her liver.

So, Doc, what’s your take on this mess? Bruno stepped through the doorway into the room.

Well, judging by the progression of decomp, the level of rigidity of her limbs, and her liver temperature, I’d say she’s been dead between thirty six and forty eight hours.

"Seems to corroborate what the relatives are saying.

I don’t see any obvious signs of c.o.d., gunshot wounds, knife wounds, or broken bones. As to the how I won’t know till I get her to the lab.

Fill me in as soon as you get something. Bruno said.

Ok boys let’s bag her and get her out of here. Younger instructed his two male assistants.

***

Bruno walked through the pantry into the kitchen, Anything speaking to you?

Take a look at this. Megan Stinson stood up, went to the table, picked up a clear baggie with a substance resembling ground leaves inside.

What’s so special about that?

This baggie is the only thing in here with no finger prints on the surface.

Hmm, Bruno nodded.

Also, we have a partial shoe print on the floor over here, she pointed, that seems to be fresh. She knelt next to a flimsy silver paper, connected two electrodes to it, and turned on the juice. A moment later, she turned off the power and peeled back the sheet revealing the partial shoeprint attached to the foil paper.

What do you mean fresh?

Megan shone the beam from her flashlight around the floor, notice all the dust?

Yeah, Bruno said.

It’s talcum powder.

"Talcum powder…? No signs of a struggle, why talc