Dead on Arrival

By Karen Vaughan

Imagine waking up on the morning after you quit your job to find a dead body of someone you know on your living room floor. Thats what happens to Laura Hamilton.
In her first adventure things go bump in the night as she finds the body of an un-liked debt collector in her living room. How did he get there and why did he get dumped on
her turf. She not only needs a job, she needs a lot of luck!
Laura and her handsome Building Superintendent, Gerry dodge bullets and exploding carswhile helping the police find a killer.
Meanwhile her mom is trying to marry her off and get her a job at her Cousins restaurant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 19, 2008
• ISBN: 9781490722962

Karen Vaughan

Karen Vaughan is a designer and illustrator with a particular love for pen and ink. Her illustrations and cover for Tangleweed and Brine by Deirdre Sullivan (Little Island, 2017) were widely acclaimed; The Guardian called them "sharp, intricate, Beardsleyesque illustrations".

Book preview

DEAD ON ARRIVAL

Karen Vaughan

Dedicated to Jessie Munro

1926-2006

A Great Supportive Mom

Order this book online at www.trafford.com/06-3184

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© Copyright 2008 Karen Vaughan.

Edited by Karen Vaughan, Joleen Marquis and Ellen Beaudette.

Cover Design/Artwork by Julie Faulkner.

Designed by Julie Faulkner.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

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ISBN: 978-1-4251-1425-1

ISBN: 978-1-4907-2296-2 (ebook)

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Contents

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 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

I want to thank all the family members and friends who supported me throughout the writing of this book. They said anything from Go for it to Tie yourself to the damn chair and write. I want to express my appreciation for all my online writers groups The Write Combinations, Writing Buddies and Richmond Writers at my friends on Urbis for their input, and suggestions. I would also like to thank Joleen Marquis and Ellen Beaudette for editing and Haley Raison-Milan for promotional assistance.

This is my first writing endeavor that I thought as publishable. I did most of my research online to check facts. I just want to thank my classmate Liande for setting me straight on forensic/crime scene investigation.

Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental. All characters are purely fictional.

Prologue

May 15, 2005—Delivering the Goods

C’mon man can’t we just leave the package on the balcony? The short stocky youth was trying to drag an item of the rental truck.

Nope we have specific orders to deliver the goods" right to the apartment-I have instructions right here Dawg.

How we gonna get in there without getting caught? He was anxious about this aspect of his initiation exercise. Rebo, brother man, you know I can’t do more time if we get caught. They said the next time I go in the joint they’re not letting me out for twenty or so. I can’t do it. Scar nearly skinned me alive the last time.

Rebo, whose full moniker was actually Reboot due considerable savvy in moving hot computer parts, looked at his less than intelligent brother; C’mon Walter, ya big pussy, help me with this package. I have to deliver this as instructed or I’m dead meat as word from ‘The Man’. I’ll keep ya out of the joint. Don’t worry, we just have to convince the management of this here building, that we got to get in there.

Rayman he said as Ray came across the back parking lot; got a quick job for you… Bidding starts at fifty, and mums the word—interested?

Ray, who knew the two boys loosely, was known to turn a blind eye when a business opportunity presented itself even if the opportunity was of a spurious nature. Money talked in his book.

Show me the colour of your money and we’ll talk—I don’t need details—It’s better I don’t know. Makes lyin’ to management that much easier."

I thought you were management? this from Rebo.

Word got out that I did time and well the best I could get from this gig is assistant super with no cash handling. But hey let me worry about Gerry, I’ll get around him. Now what do ya need?

May 16, 2005—Finding The Package.

What was I thinking as I got up that Monday morning? I had impulsively quit my job. I was on benefits for chronic health problems. However, I was employed part time as an office temp. The placement I had been on just didn’t work out. I guess I am just too soft-hearted to deal with all the deadbeats calling in begging for mercy at the collection agency I had been assigned to. I woke up with the sudden fear, that despite my best efforts in budgeting, that I would have to do something to keep my financial affairs afloat.

All those worries were put on the back burner when I tripped over the dead body in the middle of my living room. What the hell? I went flying over a lump of something.

As every red-blooded girl would do in this situation, I screamed.

When I managed to pick myself up off the floor, I realized I knew the dead body. The deceased was none other than Anthony Velcro Hodges. He was aptly nicknamed Velcro as he attached himself to his prey until the debt in question was collected upon or the asset in question was repossessed. He was said to be fairly hard-nosed and not well liked in general. In short, he was an aggressive bully, and had been arrested for harassing people he attempted to collect from. He probably deserved to be fired for questionable practices. But murdered?

As my sniffer doesn’t usually work properly first thing in the morning, until I get the first pot of coffee going, it didn’t really occur to me that something smelled bad, well not bad per se like something rotting. What I had assumed was fermenting over ripe fruit, perhaps I’d left my bananas out too long in reality, was Anthony. I went around opening windows and the balcony doors just as my gag reflexes were kicking in. Too late, I hurled my first cup of coffee out onto my patio. Maybe it wasn’t just the smell, but the shock of seeing a body in the middle of my living room and the realization that my personal space had been grossly violated. The only two people that had keys besides me were Gerry and Ray the building supers. I immediately thought this was one of Gerrys’ practical jokes, but where did he get the stiff?

Chapter 1

Before I get too far into the scenario, I should introduce myself. My name is Laura Hamilton. I live in Toronto, Ontario in a small apartment building in the heart of what was formerly known as Scarberia prior to the annexation of the Greater Metropolitan Area.

I am an Office Clerk for hire when the need to pay rent and eat arises. My most recent assignment had been at Handy Debt Collectors as a receptionist/skip tracer.

My job was to field calls from frightened and oft—disgruntled persons calling to negotiate, threaten, and beg their way out of a collection of their favorite yet unpaid for assets. So, I direct them to the appropriate collections officer, depending on the size and type of debt owed. I doubled as a skip-tracer to research the whereabouts of dislocated parties who owed us money. This is basically how skip tracing works. If a debt collector cannot find the person who owes the money, the account first goes to a skip tracer, who uses any legal means possible to track the person down, even if it means calling neighbors, and generally being a pest. I generally take a lot of abuse throughout a day. The reason I had quit, was because I am too nice a person to want to harass people who didn’t want to be found and my trace quota wasn’t netting the results the agency required toward collecting the debt. So to save myself the humiliation of getting fired, I volunteered to find something more in my comfort zone.

So here I was unemployed. And to add insult to injury, standing over a smelly dead guy. Once I squelched the urge to belch again, there was a loud banging at my door. I skirted around the body, and ran to open it. It was Gerry, the building super. Gerry had slammed into my life for the second time, after a car accident involving his cab and my car, resulted in him getting fired and needing a job. We had gone to high school together. We hadn’t been friends, but he had played football with my ex, Louie. I felt partially responsible for Gerry losing his job, so I wangled him a gig as the super for my rent-controlled walk up.

I might add that it is the middle of May and we are in the midst of a heat wave. Everything smelled a bit riper than it would normally would.

"What in hells name is that horrible stench? Gerry stopped short, quickly noticing the dead dude on the carpet. He quickly held the edge of his work shirt over his mouth and nose. I was sorely tempted to gag again. The stoicism I exhibited was slowly dissipating and being replaced by panic. What if the killer came back, and decided to finish me off?

"Okay Gerry, I said cut the crap, how did you get Velcros’ body in here?

What do ya mean how; you mean you think I did this? Thanks a lot he said, somewhat pissed.

This wasn’t your handy-work?

No! Why would you think I would do such a horrid thing?

Not sure really, you and Ray have the only keys besides me. You love practical jokes.

Yeah but nothing this heinous! My practical jokes are more of an April Fools kind of gag. Besides I don’t even know him.

"Okay-sorry just trying to figure, how and why he got here. Furthermore he is wrecking my rug! I know it’s odd to worry about a frigging rug right now; but this is how I deal with stressful situations. I ignore the obvious problem, and settle for something mundane and harmless to worry about. Okay so enough said about the damned rug. I focused on the corpse once again.

As I don’t do ‘cool nonchalance’ well, I retorted, Gee good question. I practically fell over him on my way out of the bedroom.

And did it not occur to you at some point during the night, that there was a rotting corpse in the middle of your living room? Gerry asked.

For one thing, I sleep with my bedroom door closed, and my air conditioning on. Secondly, I was so tired after this weekend; I just came in and flopped. I didn’t even realize I had a guest, dead or alive.

Well regardless of all that, we have to call this in.

Gerry got out his mobile and dialed 911. It