Flesh and Blood (An Emily O'Brien novel #4)

By M.R. Miller

When Winston Chronicle crime reporter Rosemary Lostant is found beaten to death in her apartment, the police wonder if a story she was working on got her killed or if she had attracted a stalker. So when suspicion instead falls on Kim Whitaker, a sports writer at the same paper, fellow reporter Emily O’Brien is shocked. Determined to prove him innocent, Emily begins an investigation of her own, scouring Rosemary's notes for evidence and tracking down a recent parolee with an axe to grind.
But her progress is stalled when she has to turn her attention to covering the death of a Winston man who went overboard while with his wife on a cruise. What begins as a simple story quickly turns complicated as Emily realizes his own family, including his wife, may have wanted him dead.
As she attempts to sort out both murders, Emily’s questions attract the attention of a killer, one who has no qualms about making her the next victim.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.R. Miller
• Release date: Aug 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301195572

M.R. Miller

I was a journalist for about twelve years with a daily newspaper in the Midwest and am now the author of the Emily O’Brien series. When I’m not writing, I enjoy reading, hiking, cooking, gardening and spending time with my family.

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Flesh and Blood

An Emily O’Brien novel

By M.R.Miller

Copyright 2013 M.R. Miller

All rights reserved. No reproduction of this work is authorized without prior written consent from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, dialogue and plot are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to people, living or dead, or actual events are entirely coincidental.

Published by M.R. Miller at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A Word from the Author

This is the fourth book in the Emily O’Brien series. While the first four books, as well as any upcoming books in the series, are written to stand on their own, it is preferable to read them in order.

The reasons for that are twofold. First, while I’ve tried very hard not to include details about former books in the books that succeed them, I can’t promise that I won’t let something slip that might ruin those earlier books for you.

Second, part of my goal in writing this series is to follow the progression of the main character as she starts out as someone new to her faith and becomes more mature over time. It might be confusing – and make her seem kind of flaky – not to follow that progression as written.

But, hey, it’s a free country. Feel free to read them as you choose – most importantly, thanks for reading!

Prologue

She slammed the front door behind her as she dumped her attaché on the couch and kicked off her high heels. She sat on the couch and rubbed her aching arches. All the while, she cursed under her breath at all the inconsiderate people who treated reporters like crap.

It was worse that being a used car salesman or a lawyer. Everyone assumed she had no feelings, no life and no shame. She loved the job, just not the people on the job. She hated when people wasted her time and being stood up by a source ranked up there toward the top. Self-absorbed twit, she thought.

She stalked to the kitchen and grabbed leftover takeout Chinese food from the refrigerator. She didn’t want to see or talk to anyone right now. She hated spinning her wheels with a story and tonight she wanted to unwind. Just a night in her pajamas, stuffing her face while watching really bad television.

She’d just dumped the food onto a plate to reheat it in the microwave when her doorbell rang. She couldn’t take any more crap today. It was bad enough Whit had been here earlier and they’d had a fight. He could be so needy sometimes. Didn’t he understand she needed her space? Especially after a day like today? It was that kind of drama she didn’t need, why she avoided relationships like a case of the flu.

She went to the door and opened it, recognizing her visitor with a frown, then a smile. Suddenly her bad mood melted away. Maybe the day wouldn’t be a total loss after all. She turned toward her living room, picking up her discarded jacket and attaché, shoving them aside so there was room to sit. Before she took a seat, she reached into the attaché for her notebook.

She didn’t see it coming.

The pain to her head blinded her and she fell to her knees, too confused to respond or fight back. The next blow followed quickly, then another one, her brain exploding with terror and agony. She was face down on the carpet now, surrounded by something wet.

My blood, she thought, panicked, my blood. Dear Lord, I’m going to die.

Chapter 1

I smashed the ball across the net, just sneaking inside the line of the tennis court. I thought that shot would give me the game.

Boy, was I wrong.

Rosemary Lostant hustled to the corner, reaching with a solid backhand that sent the ball across the court and out of my reach, tying the score at deuce again.

We’d been at this last game of the set for at least fifteen minutes, with neither one willing to concede. For me, it was do or die. If I didn’t win this game, the set was over and she would win the match. If I won, we’d have to go another game and I’d have a shot at the match, too.

But Rosemary came back hard with her next two serves, slamming an ace, then running down every ball I shot back at her until she managed to shoot one out of my reach again.

Damn.

We were both panting and dripping in sweat despite the cool fall evening. I wiped my face with a towel and began walking to cool down, grabbing my sweatshirt and tennis racket to clear the court for someone else. Rosemary headed to a bench nearby and we both used it to stretch.

We played at the high school tennis courts at least once a week, sometimes twice. I hated exercising just for the sake of exercise; I’d rather play sports and these tennis matches helped me stay in shape.

So what’s new? I asked as we began walking around the nearby track.

She shrugged. Not much. I’ve been buried with that missing person case since yesterday.

Yeah. That was weird.

Rosemary was the crime reporter at the Winston Chronicle so this was her baby. I was the education reporter so I only helped with these kinds of stories in a pinch. This case was a little out of the ordinary for Winston, a town of about twenty thousand in north central Illinois.

A married couple, owners of a local publishing company, had been on a cruise to the Caribbean when the husband went missing, suspected of going overboard. As part of her coverage, Rosemary had been scrambling to talk to family and friends, as well as law enforcement. Even the Chicago TV stations had picked up the topic so she had lots of competition.

The wife is supposed to be back tomorrow so I’m trying to set up an interview. I’ll be on this all week, she said.

As we made the turn at the far end of the track and headed back to the courts, a car pulled up in the high school lot. Kim Whitaker, a sports reporter for the Chronicle, stuck his head out the window to say hi. To my surprise, Rosemary grinned in greeting, rather than offering her usual caustic barb.

Whit got out and walked toward us. When he met us on the track, he pulled Rosemary against him and kissed her cheek. She looked at me sheepishly and wriggled away, obviously uncomfortable with the show of affection – but not that uncomfortable. She didn’t push his arm off her shoulders.

Rosemary had a bit of a reputation. She was drop dead gorgeous, something she could dress to flaunt. Even when we played tennis, she always wore the cute short skirt with matching tank. I was usually in baggy shorts and an old t-shirt.

I was pretty sure her red hair came from a bottle, but she had the milky white complexion to pull it off. And her figure was always causing guys to take a look. I knew she dated around a lot, never quite happy to settle with just one guy. I’d heard she’d had an on-again, off-again affair with Bill Marshall, our managing editor. Since it was just a rumor, it was hard to judge too harshly. I didn’t have the guts to ask.

Now, apparently, she and Whit were an item. I had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I was glad that Whit had found someone. On the other hand, I didn’t want him to get hurt. He may have been six four and weighed well over two hundred pounds, but he was a big teddy bear.

Still, I set my doubts aside and took a light approach.

Hey, what’s this? Are you guys going out? I smiled.

Rosemary just shrugged. We’ve went out a few times.

How long has this been going on?

Awhile.

She shifted uncomfortably under my gaze so I looked up at Whit, who was grinning ear to ear. So is this why you finally dropped the online dating thing?

Kind of. Yeah. That and the fact that Kimberly started stalking me after I told her I didn’t want to go out anymore.

I told you, didn’t I?

Yeah, yeah. She lied about her looks. And her job. Working as a receptionist in a law office hardly qualifies as law school. He squeezed Rosemary again, giving her another kiss on the cheek. Then one night, we ran into each other at Bella’s and had a few drinks and well …

It’s nothing big, she said, giving me a look. And don’t be spreading this around the office.

Hey, I don’t gossip. I’m not saying a word.

We stood awkwardly for another minute.

Well, I said, I’m going to take off. You guys have fun.

I started walking, leaving the track and heading to the road so I could walk the seven blocks from the high school to my house.

Hey, you want a ride? Whit called.

Nah. I’m okay.

I gave both of them a wave and walked home. I liked the chance to cool down and stretch out my sore muscles after a tennis match. We’d both played in college, but Rosemary played on her college team, while I just played recreationally. It showed most of the time when she whooped my butt.

The air had taken a cooler turn with fall in full swing. The leaves on the trees in my neighborhood had begun shifting to the golds, oranges, reds and browns that marked the end of summer. I loved fall, loved the cooler weather and the fact I could sleep with my windows open instead of running the air conditioning. But I did miss the end of baseball season. Who cared about football?

When I turned down my block, I noticed that the grass in my yard needed to be cut. Maybe tomorrow after work. Right now I was beat. I let myself in the back gate and was greeted by Marty’s slobbery kisses and his black tail pounding a rhythm against my leg. The black Lab had adopted me more than a year ago and now I couldn’t imagine life without him.

I took the time to throw the ball around with him in the backyard. He raced excitedly back and forth until the ball was dripping wet. Eventually, he got bored, taking the ball and running to the corner of the yard to chew on his toy, I went inside. Kitty was lying in the basket on top of the refrigerator, something that annoyed me but training her otherwise was almost impossible. She offered me a big yawn, almost like she was taunting me. I pulled the towel from around my neck, balled it up and chucked it at her. She let if fall next to her, looked at me lazily, then yawned again.

Stupid cat.

As I hunted for something to eat in the pantry and fridge, my cell phone rang. My heart skittered a bit when I saw it was Brian Kozlowski.

Over the past few months, Brian’s and my relationship had blossomed into – something. Something neither of us had yet been able to define. We’d liked each other in high school, then I pushed him away when I hit a rebellious streak brought on by my rocky relationship with my aunt and uncle, who became my guardians after my father died. We’d each gone our own way, only to be brought back together again after my aunt died, and I went to the funeral in Mt. Compton this spring. I’d helped him solve the murder of one of our former baseball teammates and we’d, well, reconnected.

It had started with a few e-mail messages and had grown to almost daily contact of some sort, either online or on the phone. I’d made one trip back to Mt. Compton to see how my uncle was doing at his new home in a senior apartment complex. Brian and I had planned to have dinner one night, but that was cut short when the police department had an emergency and he got called into work.

We kept the tone of our calls friendly, never overtly romantic or making promises for the future. We both enjoyed the other’s perspective on our problems, we both laughed at the same things and we could talk to each other about our faith, one of the most important values we shared.

But we also had obstacles we avoided talking about. Like the fact that I hated Mt. Compton but he was rooted there to stay close to his two daughters, who lived with their mother. It was an impasse that we ignored, but it was still there preventing our relationship from going any further. And I was okay with that. I liked that we were friends.

I found out at work today that they’re sending me to a training session in Chicago in a few weeks, he said. It runs Wednesday through Friday. I was thinking, maybe, I’d come see you that Friday and spend the weekend. It’s Jaci’s turn with the girls.

Despite my efforts to the contrary, my heart started thumping.

When? I was already flipping my calendar to see if I had any weekend assignments at the paper coming up.

In three weeks. You’re not busy are you?

Nope. I’m all clear. Bill hasn’t roped me into anything yet. Now I have a good excuse to say no.

As the reporter on staff with the most pathetic social life, I was usually the one to end up with weekend assignments. It had always been like that to some degree, but once my husband, Alex, was killed, I found it easier to bury myself in work. I was beginning to realize that I had better options.

We chatted for awhile longer. Well, I better go, he said. I have a few things to get done tonight before bed.

Me, too. And I still haven’t eaten.

Em, it’s almost seven.

Yeah, I know. I was playing tennis with Rosemary. You’ll never believe it but she’s dating Whit. You know, my friend from the sports department.

That’s a good thing, right?

Well, I guess. But I’m a little worried. About him dating Rosemary.

Why? I thought you two were friends, too.

We are. Sort of. I mean it’s not a bare-your-soul kind of thing. We’ve talked a few times about personal stuff, but mostly it’s just work and tennis. She has a bit of a reputation. I don’t want Whit to get hurt.

He’s a big boy. I’m sure he knows what he’s getting into.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

You can’t save the world.

I sighed. I know.

Do what you want but my advice is stay out of it. They’ll work it out. Who knows, it could be one of those opposites attract things.

You’re right. It’s just going to get awfully awkward at work if they end up hating each other.

We said goodnight and I went back to rummaging through my fridge for supper. Nothing sounded good so I finally caved and ordered a pizza. While I waited for delivery, I joined Marty out back, first pouring myself some cranberry juice.

The backyard had been the primary reason I bought the house. When I lived in the country, I had gotten used to some privacy. The backyard wasn’t overly large but it was a nice size, with an eight-foot wood fence around it. I needed to stain it again – maybe something to do this weekend.

The former owner had done a great job with the landscaping, though with the fall season underway most of the flowers were dead. In late spring and summer, it was beautiful. Sometimes, I’d just lay a blanket down under the large maple tree and read a book or take a nap – often both. The fence was particularly helpful since my neighbor, Ida Gentry, hated me. My other neighbors, the Tanners, both worked a lot. Their kids were grown so their place was usually quiet. Mrs. Gentry was home all the time and very watchful of what was happening in the neighborhood. She was also vocal when she didn’t approve of something.

The back of my yard butted up against another neighbor, who also had a fence to surround the in-ground pool. I could hear the kids in warm weather but they had their own landscaping against my fence and that created a nice buffer.

I sipped my juice and watched Marty prance about the yard, sniffing for rabbits and squirrels and racing over the soft grass.

Hey!

I turned to see Sam Johnson peeking through my gate. He was ten years old and the son of my best friend. His dark curly hair was unruly, as always. He was small for his age but always full of energy and mischief. He loved my dog and cat. And, for some reason, he loved me, too.

Hey, bud. Does your mom know you’re here?

I was walking back from my friend’s house and thought I’d stop by and say hi.

I reached in my pocket and took out my cell phone, tossing it to him. Call her and tell her you’re here. Then you can stay. Tell her I’ll bring you back. You have your homework done, right?

He nodded. Then took the phone and called. He spoke to his mom for a minute, then handed the phone to me.

He isn’t bothering you, is he? she asked

Nope. I like when he’s here. I have a pizza coming and then I’ll bring him back. Is that okay?

It’s fine. I just don’t want him being a pest.

No worries.

We hung up. So what’s going on? I asked Sam, who was busy scratching Marty’s ears.

Did I hear you say pizza?

Sure. You can have some, too. I can’t eat it all myself.

Thanks, I’m starved. Mom made fish for supper. Yuck.

I hid a grin. You need to eat what your mom makes. It’s good for you.

He made a face. Why? You don’t. And you’re healthy.

I don’t eat just junk.

You don’t? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cook anything.

Well I do sometimes. Maybe next time you’re here I’ll make you some fish.

I laughed at his expression. In all honesty, he wasn’t too far off the mark. With Alex gone and it just me now, I wasn’t much for making meals. And even when Alex was alive, he’d done most of the cooking. Not my forte. But I could change my own oil, and I didn’t mind yard work so I guessed that counted for something.

I heard the doorbell and went around front with the money for the pizza. I’ll meet you inside. Leave Marty here, though. He always drools when I get pizza and it’s gross.

We sat at the table in my kitchen and ate. Sam seemed a little withdrawn.

What’s wrong?

He shrugged. Nothing.

Come on. What is it? You can tell me. Is it school?

No. My grades are good.

Soccer?

No.

Lydia?

He smiled at the mention of his little sister. Not at the moment, but I’m sure that will change by tomorrow.

So what is it?

He looked at me, weighing how much to say. If I tell you, are you going to tell my mom?

Probably. You know I can’t keep secrets from her. If I do, she won’t let you come over anymore. And if it’s important, she and your dad should know.

It’s not a big deal.

Why don’t you let me decide.

He stewed for a minute, then sighed. It’s Will Banks.

Who’s that?

He’s in my class at school.

My anger flashed. Is he picking on you?

Sam just bit his lip.

Is he?

He nodded. He won’t let me play football at recess with the other guys. He says I’m a wimp, and he pushes me around in gym class.

Have you told anyone?

He shook his head. I think my P.E. teacher knows but he says we all have to toughen up.

Dammit, I thought, but said nothing.

Anyway, I wanted you to teach me to beat him up.

Beat him up?

Yeah.

Why would you ask me that?

Because you know how.

I don’t go around beating people up.

Yeah, but you’ve hit people before. Dad always says that hitting someone isn’t the answer. But I think if I stood up to him once, it might help. Even if he wins, he’ll know I’m not a wimp.

This was dicey. In theory, I agreed with Sam. When I was a kid I’d been a tomboy, and I remembered boys who had picked on me. My dad showed me how to throw a punch and the basics of fighting. Armed with what he’d taught me, I’d been able to take care of myself. But if Jeff was opposed to that, I couldn’t overstep the boundary line he had as a parent, no matter how much I wanted to help Sam.

You’re not going to help me, are you?

Now wait a second. When have I not had your back?

He smiled. Never.

"Here’s what we need to do. We need to talk to your folks and if your dad says it’s okay, I will teach you how to defend yourself. Did you hear that? Not beating people up. Defending yourself. Got it? You can’t go around beating people up, okay?"

He laughed at the idea. I wouldn’t do that.

I don’t know. I just want to make sure I’m not creating a monster, I said with a smile.

We finished the pizza, and I cleaned up the kitchen. Then we headed out for the short walk to Sam’s house.

Can you tell Mom and Dad? he asked as we walked.

Uhhh… I think you need to be in on this conversation, too. If you’re going to be a man about this you have to talk to your folks, too. How are you going to stand up to this Banks kid if you can’t even talk to your parents?

I watched his face. He didn’t like my answer.

What’s the problem?

I’m just afraid Mom and Dad are going to say no and tell me to find another way to handle it besides fighting.

Well, if that’s what they say, then that’s what you should do. Going behind their backs won’t help. Trust me.

Did you do that when you were a kid?

Yeah and it was a huge mistake. My punishment was much worse than if I’d been honest.

We walked a little farther, and he surprised me by reaching over and taking my hand. Since he turned ten, he was less likely to do that. I figured he thought he was too old and people would think he was a baby. When he decided to be affectionate, though, I never argued.

Thanks, Auntie Em.

You’re welcome, kiddo. Anytime. You know you can always talk to me, right? I’ll always try to help you out.

I know. I just don’t like it when you’re right.

That comes with being older. I earned it.

We turned down Mattie and Jeff’s driveway, and I followed Sam inside. Mattie and Jeff were in the living room with Lydia watching TV.

Hey, Mattie said, looking up. When she saw Sam’s face, her grin faded. What’s wrong?

Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you a minute.

Mattie and Jeff exchanged glances. Sure, son, Jeff said.

We went into the dining room, leaving Lydia to finish watching the program. She glanced at us curiously but obeyed her parents’ instructions to stay put. When we were all seated, no one spoke. I nudged Sam’s elbow and nodded encouragingly. He took a deep breath.

"There’s a kid in my class who’s been picking on me, and I think I need to learn to fight so I can stand up