Super Bee

By Charlie DeArmond

Small-town cop Rebecca Hamlin has one week to find her old boyfriend's body and possibly win a detective's position -- if the monsters from her past don't catch up with her first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlie DeArmond
• Release date: Sep 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465890771

Charlie DeArmond

Born in the Hudson Highlands of New York, I grew up there, in the mountains of South Carolina, Coastal North Carolina and the foothills of the Adirondacks. Along the way I grew to love a lot of different cultures that don't always get along very well. Perhaps that's why my characters endlessly grapple with each other's differences. And of course I'm not just a writer. I'm also a dad, a foster parent and a psychiatric nurse (RN). If I write for anyone particularly, I write for the people who walk or ride to school or work with their heads resolutely stuck in books; armored against the world. In spirit, I walk beside you.

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Super Bee

By Charlie DeArmond

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by Charlie DeArmond

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters in this work to real persons is purely coincidental. Charlie DeArmond, 2011.

Inspired by a nightmare -- July 2011 -- Husk, North Carolina

Part I

Creeper

Rebecca Hamlin unbuckled her gun belt and eased the uniform slacks to her ankles, but the heavy service automatic still hit the carpeted floor of the trailer with a thunk. She held her breath a moment, still bent low. Dave’s easy breathing paused a moment, then resumed. Not now, she thought. Please, God, I just want to get to sleep.

She stared at the light skin of her legs, where they disappeared into the dark socks. She’d worn dark blue socks almost every day of her life since she decided to be a cop. Strands of her equally-dark, straight hair flowed over it all. A bead of sweat ran down her inner thigh. It was a hot summer -- even on the night shift. She glanced up and noticed the gentle swell of her belly. Muffin top, she thought -- how she hated that term. She could have continued to ignore that little roll of fat for decades if it wasn’t for the twit who’d named the damned things.

Rebecca placed a petite hand on her right leg and straightened up. Man, her back hurt. And her legs were tired. Lugging around all that gear really took it out of her, and it seemed that every year they had to carry around something new. She looked at her husband, open-mouthed and sprawled across two-thirds of their bed. Her shoulders ached, too. Her breasts were too damn big. She thought again about the reduction surgery her nurse practitioner had suggested. But she couldn’t do that to Dave. He adored the girls, and they did go a long way toward smoothing things out after an argument.

Rebecca unbuttoned her uniform shirt, slipped it onto the chair, then sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. If she was careful she could just manage to get comfortable on the unoccupied part of the bed and slip off to sleep without waking Dave. When he woke up he might kiss her bottom just below the panties where her leg was tender, as he’d done a few days ago -- but he’d let her sleep.

She slowly stretched out on the bed. Dave did not stir. It was glorious, feeling the soft pillow beneath her head. All the miles, the harsh chatter of the radio, the tension and bullshit slipped away through the velvet fingers of slumber.

So she lay long after her husband rose, kissed her shapely bottom, and gathered up his work clothes for another long day at the service station. So she lay, not as a police officer, a mother, or a wife, but as a simple woman in a deep sleep.

* * *

Emily Rand was the only other woman on the Willemite Police Department, so she was Rebecca’s closest confidant almost by default.

Hell, yes, you’re good looking, Emily said. I’d do ya, she added, then snorted and reached for the last few French fries in the cardboard container. This time of night, with the start of the graveyard shift coming on, the break room was virtually abandoned. More importantly, the administrators were home for the night, so people could talk and laugh -- and that was one of the best things about working nights.

Might do ya with my night stick, but I’d do ya, Emily said.

Oh, my god. Do you know I dated a guy who actually wanted that?

Emily nearly choked on her fries. He eyes watered. She swallowed hard, then took a long draw on her big cup of soda. Holy shit. Did’ja let him?

"No, Emily -- he wanted me to do him."

With the … with the … Emily tried to begin, but she just couldn’t get the words to come out for the force of her laughter.

Yeah, while he … played with himself.

"Who was it? You gotta tell me. I swear ta God I won’t say anything. I promise."

Rebecca opened her mouth a bit and almost spoke the name, but it just wouldn’t have been fair. It had been a long time ago, but that guy still had a lot of friends and family around town. Dwight Hume. Man, he had big ears. He tried to hide them by growing his hair long, but he had a thin head of straight brown hair, so the tips of his ears poked out through the sides. And he had a goofy grin, which wasn’t helped much by the fact that he really should have had braces. Dwight had really taken it hard when she dumped him. He’d even left town. No, she said I can’t.

Emily prodded and pried, but Rebecca wouldn’t tell her the name. Soon enough the conversation turned to one of the worst dates Emily had ever been on -- one that had