Sequels and Serial Killers (Madison Kramer Mystery #2)

By Kelly Hashway

Madison Kramer’s life is finally coming together. With her boyfriend and publicist, Trevor, by her side, her career as a best-selling author is sure to really take off.

But one thing hasn’t changed. Death follows Maddie wherever she goes, and a night that should have been nothing but celebrating the New Year in the arms of the man she loves, turns into the scene of another murder.

The bodies are piling up, and the murder suspect wants Maddie’s help in freeing his name. Her secret past continues to come to the surface, putting her life at risk in a deadly investigation where Maddie doesn’t know whom she can trust.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Hashway
• Release date: Mar 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463620441

Kelly Hashway

Kelly Hashway fully admits to being one of the most accident-prone people on the planet, but luckily she gets to write about female sleuths who are much more coordinated than she is. Maybe it was growing up watching Murder, She Wrote that instilled a love of mystery, but she spends her days writing cozy mysteries. Kelly’s also a sucker for first love, which is why she writes romance under the pen name Ashelyn Drake. When she’s not writing, Kelly works as an editor and also as Mom, which she believes is a job title that deserves to be capitalized.

Book preview

One

Trevor’s lips find mine before the countdown even finishes. The kiss is soft and full of so much emotion my head spins. When he pulls away, he brushes a loose curl from my face and stares into my eyes. I love you, Madison Kramer.

Even though it’s not the first time he’s said those words, they still make my stomach flutter. We’ve been together for months and been through hell and back already thanks to my past, but our relationship still feels new and exciting. I love you, too.

Happy New Year! Megan’s voice breaks me out of my Trevor-induced haze.

Without letting go of Trevor, I pull away to address my best friend. Happy New Year, Meg.

Can I steal my best friend for a quick hug? she asks Trevor. I promise I’ll return her.

Trevor kisses the side of my head before releasing me. Where’s Greg?

Meg motions over her shoulder. Getting me a ginger ale. She rubs her stomach, which is just beginning to show signs of the little one she’s carrying. Have I mentioned I miss wine?

Once or twice, I say, leaving off an hour.

I’ll get us something to drink, Trevor tells me. Be back in a few.

I nod and give his hand a squeeze.

Meg watches him walk away. I know it’s the hormones talking, but damn he has a fine ass.

I laugh. He does. Not that Greg doesn’t.

Oh, no. He definitely does. She smiles at me. We both got lucky.

I wrap her in a hug, but she pushes me away almost instantly and covers her mouth. Are you wearing perfume? she asks through her fingers.

Yeah, why?

She rushes off in the direction of the bathroom, which prompts Greg to hurry over to me.

Is she okay?

I think my perfume made her sick to her stomach.

He sighs. She made me stop wearing cologne. Her nose is really sensitive.

I feel awful.

You shouldn’t. He holds up the glass of ginger ale. I’ll wait outside the ladies’ room with this. She’ll be fine. He gives me a quick hug and hurries off after Meg.

They’re kind of adorable, Trevor says, walking up behind me and lacing his arms around my waist.

More adorable than we are? I tilt my head back, resting it against his shoulder and looking up at him.

Not possible. He lowers his lips to mine. You want to get out of here?

I thought you’d never ask.

He takes my hand and spins me around. Good, because I didn’t get us those drinks.

Oh, so you knew I’d take you up on your offer, Mr. Lockhardt. Feeling cocky, are we?

Just confident that my girlfriend feels the same way about me—he kisses my jaw—as I feel about her.

I don’t know what made him walk into my book signing three months ago, but God am I glad he did.

A scream that sounds an awful lot like Meg snaps me out of my reverie. I whip around and see Greg ushering her back toward us. She looks like she just saw a ghost.

Meg? I reach for her, and she steps into me, letting my arms cocoon her.

Oh my God. There was blood everywhere. I smelled it first. She pulls back and covers her mouth like she’s going to throw up again.

Greg hands her the ginger ale. A woman was murdered in the bathroom, he says, filling in the blanks for us.

My eyes widen and immediately find Trevor. He knows what I’m thinking. The last time there was a dead body in a public restroom, it was my former agent, Rachelle. And the dead body was a message for me from my stalker. But she’s gone now. Dead. I killed her.

Maddie, it’s fine. It’s not connected, Trevor said, his arms wrapping around me.

I know it’s not, but I can’t stop the memories from flooding my mind. I’m still keeping secrets, deadly secrets.

Two

Detective Conrad finds me in the crowd and walks over. His expression is grim but laced with concern. We might have gotten off on the wrong foot in the fall, but he definitely sympathized with me once he found out the truth about Roberta Ewing and her plan to kill me in order to write the perfect murder mystery.

Madison, are you all right? he asks, shaking Trevor’s hand.

Trevor’s free hand massages my shoulder as I say, It was Meg who discovered the body.

I know. She’s been questioned and sent home. Her husband informed us she’s pregnant. We didn’t want to put any additional stress on her or the baby.

Thank you, I say. He’s changed so much over the past few months, and I can’t help wondering if his false judgment of me had anything to do with it.

He nods. Why don’t you two head home? There’s no reason to stick around this time.

This time. I’m not sure if he’s bringing up how Trevor and I left Rachelle’s murder scene before we were supposed to because he hasn’t completely lost his edge, or if he’s trying to pull off a joke to lighten the mood. The man is odd.

Thank you. Trevor lowers his arm from my shoulder to the small of my back. I think we’d both like that.

Do you have any leads on who the murderer is? I ask, not ready to let this go.

Detective Conrad shakes his head. You have nothing to worry about. This was most likely an ex-boyfriend who held a grudge. The holidays bring out the worst in people. His gray eyes darken. You wouldn’t believe how often I see this sort of thing. He puts his hands on his hips and huffs loudly. I can’t help noticing the patches of gray peppering the sides of his brown hair have grown since the last time I saw him. You might write about this sort of stuff, Madison, but living it is a completely different story.

That’s the problem. I have lived it. I watched my own parents get gunned down when I was ten. I had a psychopath try to kill me and everyone close to me only a few months ago after discovering my true identity. I might be Madison Kramer, but I’m still running from my former self, Abigail Miller. I will be for as long as I live. The only way I get through is by writing books that are closer to home than anyone but Trevor knows.

Detective, would you mind if I stopped by the station to ask you a few questions? I’m researching for my next book, and I want to make sure I get the police procedures correct.

Stop by any time. He nods once more and walks toward the ladies’ room to talk to some police officers on the scene.

Are you really thinking about your book at a time like this? Trevor asks.

I shrug. I need something to occupy my mind after I turned my last book in to Jerry.

Trevor cringes at the name. I still want to punch that guy for dropping you in the first place.

He only dropped me because I couldn’t meet my deadline thanks to the real world thriller I was living. He came groveling back, and he signed me on for another book. Jerry Turnball is an ass, but he’s a great editor and good for my career.

Trevor doesn’t look satisfied, but he’d never tell me what to do, so he nods despite the tension in his jaw. Let’s get out of here.

The drive back to the apartment building Trevor owns is quiet. He holds my hand, knowing I’m shaken up but not in the mood to talk about it. More than anything else, I want to write. Life inspires fiction. Although in my life it seems more like nonfiction since I stick so close to the truth.

Andrea, one of the tenants, is stumbling into the building when Trevor pulls into his parking spot. She kicks off her heels, opting to go barefoot. Trevor rolls his eyes at me before he gets out to help her. Always the gentleman. I get out and force a smile on my face.

Good New Year’s, Andrea? I ask.

A little too good, she says, her eyes glued to Trevor, who is practically holding her up. She’s stopped openly hitting on him in front of me, but her ogling hasn’t lessened any.

We get her into the elevator, where she leans into the corner to hold her up. Oh, Madison, I have that purse you ordered.

Andrea recently started her own handbag company to make some extra money. That’s great. Let me know when I should come by to pick it up.

Come now! She claps her hands together and almost slides to the floor, but Trevor and I each grab her by an arm. She laughs. I haven’t been this drunk since college. Needless to say, it’s been a while. She blows a strand of recently dyed auburn hair out of her face. I’m assuming the auburn is closer to her natural color than the previous blond dye job.

I think tomorrow would be better. We’ve all had a long night, Trevor says as the doors open to Andrea’s floor.

I hold the elevator while Trevor walks Andrea inside her apartment. It seems to take forever before he returns.

You have no idea how difficult it was to get her in bed without waking the baby. I paid the babysitter extra to spend the night. I don’t trust Andrea not to do something stupid, like find another party to attend and leave her son asleep in his bed.

Good thinking. I press the button for the sixth floor where my apartment is.

I’m beat, he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

I’m kind of wired. I think I’ll write for a while before heading to bed.

His face falls. Is that a polite way of telling me you don’t want me to stay over? Trevor spends most of his nights with me.

No, not at all. You’re always welcome. The building’s yours, after all.

He steps toward me, cupping my face in his hand. You know that’s not what I mean. That apartment is yours, Maddie.

It’s a sore subject since I have my own home, which I bought with money from my first book. Only I haven’t been back there since the incident with Roberta Ewing. It doesn’t feel like home anymore. But being in my apartment on the sixth floor doesn’t feel right either. It used to be part of Trevor’s place, which formerly took up the entire floor. He only had it converted into a single apartment when I couldn’t bear the thought of living in the same place where I’d killed Roberta Ewing.

Move in with me, Trevor says, shocking me.

What? We’ve only been together for a few months. Sure we’ve been through a lot together and I love Trevor, but moving in together is a huge step.

Why not? You said you’re selling the house. You can’t go from a house to a tiny apartment. He sighs. Okay, that’s not a good reason. I love you. That’s the best reason I can offer you. We belong together, Maddie. You know that.

He’s known it since the day we met. He never doubted us, not the way I did. But I wasn’t really doubting our relationship. I was doubting my ability to ever really open up to anyone. I have more secrets than most people, but Trevor knows them all now. So what’s stopping me?

I don’t want this to end, I say.

His eyes widen. What are you saying? I asked you to move in with me, not break up.

I know. I mean, I don’t want things to change. I love how we are together. Moving in with you might change that.

He nods. Okay.

That was almost too easy.

I’m not going to pressure you. Will you at least stay the night at my place, though?

My laptop and flash drive are in my apartment. I don’t think I could sleep right now.

Who said anything about sleeping? His mouth curves in a devilish smile.

Write or be with Trevor? There’s really no choice. I reach up on my toes and press my lips to his.

Three

Love is an understatement. The writing is flawless and the characters are so real I feel like I’m going to bump into them on the street, Jerry’s voice comes through my speakerphone as I continue to type. Lately, I tune him out because he kisses my ass so much it’s bordering on annoying.

It’s getting deep in here, Trevor whispers, bringing me a glass of wine.

I take it and roll my eyes. Moving the laptop to the coffee table, I curl my legs up on the couch and drink my wine.

So, how’s the new book coming along? I can’t wait to read it. You’re writing gets better with each book, Jerry gushes.

I’m still in the research phase. I have a meeting set up with Detective Conrad later this afternoon to fact check a few details concerning police procedures during a murder investigation.

Good. Best to get the research done upfront so you can just worry about writing later on.

Speaking of which, I should really go get back to work. I want to finish this outline before I head down to the station.

Great talking to you as always, Maddie.

Same to you, Jerry. I end the call and lean my head back. That man is exhausting.

Trevor takes my left foot in his hand and starts massaging it. His fingers are like miniature miracle workers. Another thing I love about him. I had Karen set up a book signing for you for next weekend. The store already had your book in stock since they’re local, but they’ll be rush ordering a bunch more. They’d like you to do a reading, too.

Great. How’s Karen doing? Trevor’s secretary works from home most days since she recently started homeschooling her ten-year-old son, who was being bullied by his classmates.

Good. She loves having Kyle home—

My phone rings, cutting off Trevor’s comment. I reach for it on the couch next to me. It’s Conrad, I tell Trevor before answering. Detective, to what do I owe the pleasure?

Madison, I need to reschedule our meeting. There’s been another murder.

Another? It’s only been two days since the last one.

It looks like it’s connected to the one from the New Year’s Eve party.

Connected? You mean this guy is a serial killer, not a crazed ex-boyfriend?

It looks that way. Listen, Madison, I don’t want you to worry about this, okay? Don’t let your writer mind go concocting any stories about how this is somehow connected to you or Roberta Ewing.

Right. Except I’m already picturing this serial killer reading my book for ideas.

Four

I frantically flip through my book for the fourth time in five days, looking for passages that are similar in any way to the killings happening in real life. Conrad was right, though. There’s no connection. Whoever is doing this isn’t getting ideas from me. I have to calm down.

I grab my keys and purse and head out, calling Megan on the way. How are you feeling today?

A little better. The morning sickness is at least trying to confine itself to mornings now. I hear her crunch on what I assume is a cracker. The doctor said I need to be diligent about eating something every two hours to ward it off. Seems to be working.

Good. Any chance it’s near the two-hour mark? I was thinking of heading to Amelia’s Café for a cinnamon scone and coffee. I start the car and pull out just as Trevor is pulling in. Meg, hang on a sec, okay?

Sure, she says with her mouth full.

I lower my window and smile at Trevor, who is now pulled up alongside me.

Where are you headed? he asks, not masking his disappointment that I’m leaving.

Out to see Meg. I didn’t expect you back for a while.

My meeting was cut short.

Did something go wrong?

He shakes his head. Everything’s fine. How long do you think you’ll be?

I bob a shoulder. An hour or two. You know how it is once Megan and I get talking.

He smiles, but it’s a sad smile. Something’s wrong.

Would you rather I stay? It seems like you’re upset. Are you sure your meeting went okay?

Nothing I can’t handle. Go have fun, and tell Megan I said hi.

I will. I reach through my window and he does the same, so our hands meet. Call me if you change your mind.

He leans out his window and kisses my fingertips. Have a good time, Maddie.

I pull my arm back in and sigh. He’s a keeper, Megan says, making me jump.

Oh my God! My heart pounds. I guess my Bluetooth connected.

Yup, right around the part where you’re supposed to tell me he says hi. I was going to say hi back, but then you two got all mushy and sickeningly cute. I didn’t want to interrupt.

You and Greg are just as bad, you know.

Yeah, but we’re married and have a bun in the oven. Speaking of...

I’ve only known Trevor for a few months, so hop off the ‘when are you getting married?’ train right now. I turn onto the highway and head toward Amelia’s, which is only about three miles away.

Fine. How’s the sex though? Amazing? I hear her car start and then the faint sound of background noises, which means her Bluetooth connected.

There are no words to describe it.

Well, that’s no fun. My hormones are crazy. I need details. The last time Greg and I were intimate I had to stop to toss my cookies in the garbage can by the bed. Kind of killed the mood.

Poor Meg. This pregnancy is turning out to be rough, and she’s not even through the first trimester.

I pull into Amelia’s, which is packed as always. Amelia, the owner, is the best baker for miles and has become somewhat of a local celebrity. I’m here, so I’ll go in and get us a table. What do you want me to order for you?

Hot chocolate and an elephant ear. She moans in anticipation. I have no idea what the flaky, sugary pastry is actually called, but Amelia’s Café calls it an elephant ear because that’s what it looks like.

You got it. See you in a few. I hang up and get in line, using the wait time to check my email.

Are you Madison Kramer? asks a voice behind me.

I look up from my phone and turn around. A petite woman in her early fifties, if I had to guess, smiles at me. Yes, I am.

She puts her hand to her chest. I loved your book. I wish I had it with me to have you sign.

Oh, well I’m actually doing a signing at Timber Books on Saturday from noon to four. Feel free to bring it, and I’ll sign it then.

Her smile widens. That would be lovely. Thank you! She places a shaky hand on my forearm. I still can’t get over how nervous some people are to talk to me. Oh, and is it too soon to ask when the next book will be out?

We’re aiming for a September release, but it will be up for preorder by May.

I’ll be sure to preorder then. Thank you, and I’ll see you Saturday.

What’s your name? I ask, ready to enter it in my phone the second she leaves so I can pretend I remembered all on my own when she shows up to the signing. It’s a trick Rachelle taught me. Now that she’s no longer in my life, I’ve come to appreciate her lessons more.

Ophelia.

That’s a beautiful name.

She beams as she walks out with her to-go bag.

Miss? You’re next.

I turn around to face the woman at the counter. Sorry. I’ll take a large hazelnut coffee, a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, a cinnamon scone, and an elephant ear.

For here or to go?

Here.

She nods. Feel free to find a table, and I’ll bring your order in a moment.

Thank you.

I head to a table by the windows in the corner so I can see Megan when she gets here. For January, it’s unseasonably warm. I can’t remember the last time a winter was so mild. I type Ophelia’s name into the notes on my iPhone with a brief description of what she looks like. By the time I’m finished, there’s a tap on the window. Megan waves.

I get up and meet her by the door. My eyes immediately go to her stomach, like always. I have a feeling she’s going to be adorable with a big round belly, and I’m waiting for the day she actually looks pregnant. She’s still in that phase where people stare but don’t dare ask.

"I know, I know. I’m huge. This eating