Gwyneth

By J. M. Zuniga

When infatuation turns into obsession...no one is safe.

For the past few months, an admirer has been showering Gwyneth with unexpected gifts. At first, she is flattered, but when the gifts turn into more than just tokens of affection, she reaches out to the police. With Detective Aaron Tate leading the investigation and keeping a close eye on Gwyneth, she begins to feel safe and more relaxed—that is until things go from being creepy to downright dangerous. With her life in peril, Gwyneth becomes her own protector. However, will that be enough to keep her safe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. M. Zuniga
• Release date: Jun 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311938718

J. M. Zuniga

Award winning poet J. M. Zuniga resides in Southern California and is a dedicated mother of three. Her family, friends,and fans inspire her to continue writing and dreaming. Most of the time when she is not writing, reading, teaching, or spending time with her family, J. M. can be found watching a wide variety of movies. She's not sure which is larger, her collection of books or her collection of movies. For more information about J. M. Zuniga or her books, please visit her at http://jmzuniga.com or https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJ.M.Zuniga

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Gwyneth

A Novel

By J. M. Zuniga

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by J. M. Zuniga

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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’re 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.

Gwyneth

By J. M. Zuniga

Copyright © 2013 by J. M. Zuniga

*The events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or deceased is merely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording, or otherwise, without the permission of the author.

Acknowledgements

First, and foremost, I would like to thank God for all the blessings in life he has given me.

Thank you:

To my children, who have been loving and patient with this woman they believe in called mom. You have believed in me even when I haven’t. I never would have done this book if you hadn’t suggested this genre for my NaNoWriMo challenge. You have been my rock. I love you more than my life.

To my mom, thank you for having me and for encouraging my dreams. I love you.

To my Bestie, Mayra Arrellano, for being a source of encouragement, support, and discipline. I think if you didn’t push me the way you do, I wouldn’t be releasing another book. Love ya, Bestie!

To my son’s friends: Camillo, Richard, Zeke, Larry, Mathew (with one T because you couldn’t afford two), and Frank, for lending me your names and for helping bring out the disturbed side in me. Although your band, Serabyss, doesn’t practice at my house anymore, I will never forget the fun and craziness you brought to our house. You rock!

To my brother, A. J. Zuniga for doing the cover design for Gwyneth. You have vision and creativity. I love you, bro.

To my family and friends who have supported me throughout this journey. There are so many of you, I can’t list names for fear of accidentally forgetting someone, but you know who you are.

To my fans, without you my work would simply be words saved to my computer.

To NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), for daring me to rise to the challenge of writing a 50,000 word novel in one month.

Chapter 1

I ran my fingers along my brand new, black, Dolce and Gabbana Jackie Dress. The sensation of expensive fabric underneath my skin melted me. The dress was classy, yet it hugged my body nicely. I picked up one of my black suede shoes and admired it. Although they weren't my first choice for this outfit, they would have to do. I pulled the shoe up to my face and rubbed my cheek on it, but instead of feeling soft, it felt leathery and moist. I flinched at the strange sensation. Even though it didn't feel like it should, I couldn't stop rubbing the shoe on my cheek. Then, there it was.

Bark! Bark!

I groaned as the image of me wearing my beautiful thirteen hundred-dollar dress fizzled into nothingness. Recognition of my often obnoxious five-year old Golden Retriever dragged me back into reality, kicking and screaming.

Bark! Bark!

Naples, stop, I grumbled while he licked my face, trying to get me to open my eyes.

As usual, Naples continued with his daily routine, ignoring my requests. Every morning, without fail, he would get out of his fluffy brown doggy bed, jump onto my queen sized pillow-top mattress, and begin to lick my face. He wouldn't stop until he had my full attention, after which he would sit and stare at me with his head cocked to the side and his tongue hanging out.

I tried to recapture the image of me wearing my dream dress; however, Naples wasn't having it. The licking continued for a few more minutes before he began to alternate it with nudges. I knew I was on the losing end of this battle. There was nothing left to do but surrender to my furry friend and open my eyes to receive the first rays of daylight.

Six in the morning was not my ideal time to wake up, but it was necessary if I wanted to remain employed. I would get up at ten, if it were up to me. Mornings and I became bitter enemies after I found myself working the graveyard shift in the shipping department of V-Pak Industries. My body had become accustomed to being up all night and sleeping until noon. Now that I had ascended in the ranks of the company and had to get up early, it was like pulling my own teeth—without anesthesia.

I let out a heavy sigh and tossed off my down comforter. I figured it was like a Band-Aid, rip it off quick and get it over with. Surprisingly, the room temperature wasn't as cold as I had thought it would be. I sat down and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes while Naples ran back and forth, wagging his tail. He was ready for me to let him out into the yard. The moment my feet touched the floor, I realized I had the same necessity to go, too.

I ran out of the room and down the hall to the back of the house. After fidgeting with the door, while hopping from one foot to the other, I managed to unlock it to let Naples out. Leaving the door slightly ajar so he could get back in, I ran back down the hall and into the bathroom to do my business. The toilet seat was cold enough to make me jump up before sitting back down again.

Gwyneth? I heard a female voice call from the back door. Hon?

I'm in the bathroom, Shirley, I shouted to my over-friendly neighbor.

I had met Shirley the day I moved into the neighborhood. She made herself known by peering into the kitchen window and scaring the living daylights out of me. Once I had recovered from my initial fright, I slid the window open and asked her if I could be of assistance. She introduced herself and let me know she was head of the neighborhood watch group on this street. Ever since that day, two years ago, she has been at my back door every morning, inviting herself in.

You know you really shouldn't leave the back door open like this! she shouted back.

I rolled my eyes as I flushed the toilet. Shirley was always fearing the worst. I knew I had excellent protection, Naples. He could be intimidating in attack mode. Once, at my old house, an inebriated neighbor came on to me at a birthday dinner I was having for a friend of mine. I pushed him off, but he was insistent. Naples saw me trying to get away. Within seconds, his teeth had a strong grip on the man's arm trying to pull him away.

I opened the bathroom door and walked toward the kitchen where I knew Shirley would be, drinking coffee. I'm serious about the back door. I mean, what if Naples was to wander off looking for a female in heat. You would be without any protection, leaving yourself exposed.

Okay, okay. I'll make sure I close the door next time.

And lock it.

I poured myself some coffee and then gave her a small nod as I brought the cup up to my lips. I knew, if I didn't give in, I would hear a twenty-minute lecture while I got ready. Now, I would only have to hear a ten minute lecture on the importance of safety.

Shirley droned on, between sips of coffee, about how I was young and beautiful and how rapists and serial killers looked for those things. I knew for a fact that it was utter nonsense. Most rapist and serial killers looked for opportunity, not beauty. I didn't contradict her, though. If she felt better thinking she was educating me, who was I to stop her.

Shirley was in her late sixties, but she was healthier than a lot of forty-year-old women. Her hair was a different color every month. This month, it was a shade of pink matching the anti-diarrhea liquid I had in my medicine cabinet. She was wearing a skin-tight, mustard colored running suit with stone encrusted flip-flops. She had hot pink acrylic nails long enough to have their own zip code. Her toenails were painted to match. Shirley's appearance could attract attention on its own, but if that failed, she also wore plenty of rings and earrings to pay my house mortgage for a year.

Have you?

I'm not sure, I said hesitantly. I had become so accustomed to drowning her lectures out, but I knew better than to commit to anything.

Well, okay. I'll let him know.

I wracked my brain to figure out who and what she was talking about. Then, I remembered. She had wanted to set me up on a blind date with her nephew. You know I hate blind dates. And then there's work.

I was always able to put things off with work. Everyone knew I worked long hours and that I was practically married to my job.

Speaking of work, are you still getting those gifts from your mystery guy? she asked.

I was already headed down the hall, toward my room, so I could get ready for work. Yeah.

Shirley's flip-flops slapped against her heels as she followed me. What did you get this week?

A snow globe with the Eiffel Tower. Maybe he wants to take me to Paris.

Or bury you there.

I picked up one of my smaller decorative pillows from the floor and tossed it at Shirley. Why are you always so negative? Not everyone is out to kill, I said after I slipped on my twenty-three dollar dress and fifteen-dollar shoes I had bought from my local mall.

In an instant, Shirley aged twenty years. Sadness filled her eyes. She sighed and said, I've never told you this, but I guess it's time I do, so you can understand why I'm so adamant about safety.

I looked at her through the mirror while I put on my make-up. It wasn't only to multitask; it was also because I didn't want to look directly at her. The expression on her face told me what she was about to explain would be sad or intense. I listened to what she had to say as I lined my cerulean blue eyes with black eyeliner.

Thirty-five years ago, I was renting an apartment with my sister. I had just lost my husband in a tragic car accident.

I'm sorry for your loss, I said.

She waved a dismissive hand. It was a long time ago. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have my moments. But that's not what this conversation is about. During the time I lived with my sister, we became tighter than what we already were growing up. We went everywhere and did everything together. One day, I decided to go out on a date. She didn't feel like being a third wheel. No matter how much I insisted, she refused to go. The entire night, I felt uneasy. I tried to have fun, but I couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling in my gut.

It wasn't nerves from going out on a first date? I asked while I brushed my chestnut brown hair into a French twist.

It's what I thought, at first. But then I decided to excuse myself and call home. After calling twice and no one answering the phone, I knew something had to be very wrong. I asked my date to take me home and he complied. When we arrived at the apartment, I noted how all of the lights were off. This was very out of the ordinary. My sister and I always left at least one light on, even when we went out, to make it appear as though someone was home. I went to open the front door, but it wouldn't budge, so I went around to the back patio. It was when I saw the sliding glass door partially open. I decided it would be better to call the police. I was certain my sister had to have gone out and someone had broken in, taking advantage of the fact that we were both gone.

Hey, Shirley. I hate to interrupt. Can you finish telling me while I warm up the car? Otherwise, I'll be late.

Okay, she answered.

She followed me into the garage after I made sure everything was locked.

Please, continue, I said.

Well, the police came and entered to check if everything was alright. It wasn't. An officer came out to let me know I couldn't go in the house. I wondered why, but then I overheard him say crime scene investigation and coroner. Right then, I knew something had happened to my sister. I fought to get in, but they wouldn't let me. She had been strangled and mutilated.

I gasped and brought my hand to my mouth. I couldn't believe it. Oh my gosh, Shirley. I am truly sorry.

She shook her head and I could see moisture in her eyes. Now you understand why I am so adamant about being safe?

I nodded.

Okay, now get going or you'll be late.

I gave her a hug and then got into my car so I could go to work. Shirley exited the garage after the car was out, so I pushed the button on the control, closing the door.

The entire way to work, I thought of poor Shirley. No wonder she was always on my ass about locking my doors. Although I had no intentions of becoming paranoid, I would at least lock the door so she could have peace of mind.

I couldn't imagine the pain she must have gone through. I had no family. I had been in the foster care system from the time I was born and was shuffled from house to house, so I hadn't formed any bonds. Once I had turned eighteen, I was ushered out the front door with my belongings and the money I had saved from working, one-thousand five-hundred eighty-seven dollars and thirty-two cents.

I arrived at V-Pak with a few minutes to spare. My usual parking spot was occupied, so I had to park in the last row. Everyone knew the spot next to Larry's was mine. Larry was the CEO at V-Pak and I was his personal assistant. Every personal assistant to the top executives had a parking spot right next to their boss. Oh, things are not going to be pretty when I find you, you parking thief.

I got out of the