Fiction and Felonies (Madison Kramer Mystery #3)

By Kelly Hashway

Madison Kramer can’t escape her past no matter how hard she tries. Coming clean about her true identity only spurs fans to lash out at her. But one threatening message stands out as so much more than just an irate fan.

Someone is playing games with Maddie, forcing her to take part in his felonies and cover up his tracks so the police can't catch him. And any time Maddie disobeys, another body is added to the death toll.

Can Maddie both cover up and solve the same crimes? This is by far the toughest case she's ever been part of.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Hashway
• Release date: Mar 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463841341

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

After reading the third fan letter today that accuses me of revealing my true identity for the sake of selling books, I push my laptop off my legs onto the bed. With a deep sigh, I lean my head back against the pillows. Coming clean about my past was supposed to put an end to all this. No more lies. No more secrets. No more hiding. And while that might be the case, now I have to deal with irate fans who think the entire thing was one big publicity stunt. As if anyone would use their parents’ murder as a publicity stunt.

Trevor walks into the room and leans his head against the doorframe. His blue eyes convey such sympathy I almost feel better. Harriet called. I told her you were working, and she insisted that I don’t interrupt your genius at work.

Harriet LeMar is my agent of mere weeks. I have no doubt she regrets signing me after all the craziness that has ensued since my press conference.

Would you believe one of the letters I received today said I only offered to help the police so I’d be caught up in the media surrounding the murders? I say, rubbing my forehead with one hand.

Trevor walks over, clicks my laptop shut, and places it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. You have to stop this, Maddie. You’re not even supposed to be checking your fan mail. It’s my job as your publicist. That’s why I have it sent to a separate email account.

Yeah, well my fans are good with computers. They managed to find my personal email address.

Trevor groans and lies down next to me, wrapping his arms around me and placing a kiss on the top of my head. I’ll set you up with a new one. One people can’t guess.

I don’t bother to tell him he thought my current address was completely unrecognizable in connection to my name. There’s no reason for us both to be this aggravated. Instead, I settle for, Thanks.

What time is Crystal getting here? he asks, still holding me tightly against him.

Crystal Merryweather is my oldest friend. Thanks to Rachelle, my former agent and foster parent, Crystal and I grew up together. Crystal was Rachelle’s niece, and she launched my career very publicly on late night television. I owe her so much, and now she’s coming to Tillboro Hills to make sure I’m okay after she witnessed the media circus that has become my life.

I pick up my phone on the nightstand beside me and check the time. 11:24. I should head to the airport now to pick her up.

Trevor shakes his head. I’ll send a car for her.

Trevor has more money than he’ll ever know what to do with. People jump when he waves his wallet in front of them.

I press my palm flat against his chest. No. I want to go. She’s coming all the way out here for me. Picking her up in person is the least I can do.

I’ll go with you then.

I cock my head at him. I know for a fact that you have a video conference at noon. You are not missing it to drive me to the airport. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. After Trevor’s latest client, the eccentric yet incredibly talented author Hayden Wilde, was murdered at The Menlow hotel during his own launch party for his new book, he’s back to only one client—me. He lost the others before Hayden because he was too wrapped up in my mess of a life and didn’t spend enough time working with his other clients. I won’t let his entire career go down the tubes because trouble likes to find me.

Maybe you should see if Detective Conrad wants to go with you. Trevor’s tone is light, but I can tell he’s only partially joking.

Right, because a police detective has nothing better to do than tail me to the airport. Not that Detective Conrad is just any police detective. He saved my life a few weeks ago.

Trevor rubs his hand up and down my arm. Will you at least text me when you get to the airport?

Sure, I say, kissing him lightly on the lips before getting out of the bed. I grab my ankle boots from the closet, slip them on, and then go into the living room in search of my jacket. Trevor is right on my heels.

Is Crystal traveling in disguise? he asks, holding the apartment door open for me.

I would bet money on it. She’s the biggest name in Hollywood right now, so if she doesn’t want to be hounded by paparazzi, she has to go unnoticed.

Trevor walks me to the elevator since he’s heading to his office on the fourth floor. We pass my old apartment at the end of the sixth floor hallway. That’s where Crystal will be staying for the week she’s here. It’s better than checking into a hotel under an alias, and she’ll be closer to me, which is the reason she’s coming in the first place.

We get on the elevator, and Trevor presses the button for the ground floor. I reach over and press four, which earns me a narrow-eyed look.

You don’t need to walk me to my car, I say. Go to your office. I’m sure you have things to do to get ready for your video conference call. I kiss him as the elevator arrives at the fourth floor.

His lips linger, which normally I’d love, but I know he’s afraid to let me out of his sight. I think we both thought this would all be behind us by now, but I really do attract trouble. Murderers, serial killers, and now irate fans. I love you, he says.

I love you, too. Good luck with Caprice. I have to admit I’m a little jealous that Trevor is attempting to sign the thirty-something author. Caprice is a stunning redhead, and she writes erotic romance, so I have no doubt she knows how to seduce a man. But Trevor isn’t the type to stray. I trust him with my life and my heart.

He presses a kiss to my forehead. Be safe. He steps out of the elevator and watches me as the doors close.

I immediately feel on edge with him gone. I’d never tell him that, though. It would make him switch professions to become my personal bodyguard. Once the elevator reaches the ground floor, I get out and wave to Andrea, who is getting her mail. She’s reverted to her former fake blonde hair color. Personally, I thought the auburn suited her better, but I’ve found it’s best not to do or say anything to provoke the single mother who eyes up my boyfriend on a daily basis. I pat the handbag I’m carrying, one of Andrea’s designs.

Where are you off to without your better half? she asks me, shutting her mailbox.

The airport. My cousin is coming for a visit. Since Crystal was Rachelle’s niece and Rachelle raised me, we always called each other honorary cousins.

How nice. Andrea’s eyes light up. Does your cousin happen to be a gorgeous single man?

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Andrea is always on the lookout for a new baby daddy. Sorry. She’s not.

Too bad. She frowns and heads for the elevator.

I decide to check my mail since I haven’t in a few days. I open the box to find more letters from fans. Though I use that term loosely since most of these people just want to criticize me. I flip through the stack, deciding to shred them without opening them. But one envelope catches my attention because it has no return address or stamp. That means it must have been hand delivered. It’s a little too familiar. Like the post card that wound up in my mailbox when Roberta Ewing, a crazed wannabe writer, first started stalking me.

I should throw it out, but something drives me to open it. Inside is a computer printout of the article written about my parents’ murder. And at the bottom are eight words scrawled in messy handwriting:

No more hide and seek. I found you.

Two

I stuff the paper back in the envelope and shove it inside my purse. I’ve had enough with these people. I dump the other fan letters into the trash can next to the mailboxes and walk out of the apartment complex. As I’m opening my car door, I spot Trevor standing in his office window, looking out at me. He raises his hands in a questioning gesture, no doubt wondering why it took me so long to get to my car. I grab my phone and text him.

Maddie: Ran into Andrea in the lobby

Trevor: Lucky you. ;) Be careful

Maddie: I will.

Trevor: I love you.

Every time I go somewhere without him, he says that at least twice, like he’s worried it might be the last time he ever gets to say it to me.

Maddie: I love you, too.

Trying to focus through the rage building inside me on the way to the airport isn’t easy. My hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white. I let out a deep breath and ease up on the accelerator at the same time that I notice the flashing lights in my rearview mirror.

You’ve got to be kidding me! I say, braking as I pull over onto the shoulder. I cut the engine and lean my head back against the headrest, waiting for the officer to come write me a ticket.

It takes a moment before the officer gets out of the patrol car, most likely because he’s running my license plate. I check the time on my phone. If this guy doesn’t hurry up, I’ll be late getting to the airport. The officer finally emerges, and when I see the brown ponytail, I smile.

Officer Michelson, I say, recognizing her from the station, where I spent way too much time thanks to Elliot Murmon, the guy who tried to beat me with a shovel and then demanded I clear him of murder charges.

Miss Kramer, I thought that was your car when I saw you go speeding by. She gives me an admonishing glare.

I’m sorry. I’m late getting to the airport. My cousin is Crystal Merryweather, and—

"The Crystal Merryweather?" Her eyes widen.

I nod.

She snaps her fingers. Oh, that’s right. I remember her talking about you on TV. She smiles, and I know she’s a fan—of Crystal’s.

Yes, well she’s traveling incognito to avoid the press, and I’m a bit behind schedule. I’m sorry I was speeding. I question if I should tell her about the letter in my mailbox. It would give me another reason to have been driving like a maniac, but do I really want to get the police involved when it’s probably nothing more than a crazed fan trying to ruin my day?

I see. And while I understand you’re in a hurry, I can’t condone lawbreaking. She huffs. However, seeing as how you’ve helped the Tillboro Hills PD on multiple occasions now, I’m willing to let you off with a warning. She raises a finger at me. Under the condition that you promise to obey all speed limit signs from here to the airport.

I bob my head like an idiot. Of course. Thank you. I really appreciate it.

She nods, but I have a feeling I’m going to have a patrol car tailing me to the airport after all. Once she walks back to her car, I start my engine and pull back onto the highway. As suspected, Officer Michelson follows me. In a way, I feel better knowing she’s there.

I arrive at the airport at the exact time Crystal’s flight is supposed to be landing. I check the schedule to see she actually landed five minutes early. That means she’s probably in baggage claim already. I rush through the crowd of people, apologizing as I bump elbows and jostle people here and there.

I make my way over to the drivers, who are standing with cards displaying the names of the people they’re picking up. I guess I am a driver, too, so this seems like as good a place as any to wait for Crystal. I scan the area, but since I have no idea what her disguise will look like, spotting her is as difficult as finding an Oxford comma in a news article—the reason I could never be a journalist. I’m a firm believer that the world needs the Oxford comma.

I continue to search to no avail, so I decide to walk around. It’s possible she’s in the bathroom since I know she’d never use the ones on the plane. I don’t blame her either. I duck inside the ladies’ room, but she’s not there. I step out and scan the baggage claim area again. My eyes fall on a driver holding a card that reads Abigail Miller.

My body freezes in place. This has to be a sick joke. But none of my fans would know I was coming to the airport to pick up Crystal. Trevor never would have tweeted that. He’s so careful not to post where I am anymore. And he’d never draw attention to Crystal, knowing she’d hate it.

I can’t move at all, especially when the driver’s gaze meets mine beneath his black driving hat. I try to study his features so I can commit them to memory. He’s tall, skinny, and has a thin nose. That’s about all I can tell since his face is mostly in the shadow of his hat, and he’s wearing black leather gloves so I can’t even accurately determine skin tone. He takes a few steps in my direction.

Do I turn and run back into the ladies’ room where he can’t follow me? Do I scream for help?

I whip my head around, looking for a security guard or someone who might be able to protect me. I don’t want to keep my eyes off the driver for long though, so I glance back in his direction. Except he’s gone. Where did he go? I step back, and a little boy races past me, making me stumble. I catch myself before I fall, and I quickly search for the driver again.

A hand grabs my arm from behind me, and I scream.

All eyes are on me, and the noisy airport gets eerily quiet. I turn to see a woman with long brown hair, a big floppy hat, and sunglasses despite being indoors.

Shh! It’s me, she says, lowering her sunglasses just enough for her blue eyes to peek out above the rims.

Crystal? I say, my heart still racing.

She snaps the sunglasses back into place and shakes her head. You mean Kimberly Backman.

That must be her alias, but my brain is having trouble processing anything at the moment. All I can think about is my own alias. Madison Kramer.

There’s a man here. He’s a driver, and he has a sign with my real name on it, I say in a hushed whisper.

Ow, Maddie, let go. She tries to break free from my hands, which are gripping her forearms. I don’t even remember grabbing onto her.

Sorry, I say, releasing my grip. I look around for the man.

What did he look like? she asks, knowing I won’t let this drop. How will I know it’s him?

"I told you he’s holding a sign that reads Abigail Miller." I don’t mean to get snippy with her, but I can’t stop myself. She lets it go and helps me scan the crowd.

Finally, I see him at the next conveyor belt over. I grab Crystal again. Right there, I say. Not wanting to point, I dip my head in his direction. We need to get out of here now. I look down and notice Crystal doesn’t have her luggage yet. Where’s your bag? We need to go. My voice shakes with panic.

Maddie, look. She points to the man, and my pulse races with thoughts of him drawing a gun on me.

I turn to face him. His sign reads Abigail Milner.

No. I shake my head and blink my eyes, trying to force them to focus and see what I know was there mere minutes ago. I know what I saw. It said my name. I whip my head back to her. I know it, Crystal. I...

She pulls her bag off the conveyor belt next to us and then puts her arm around me. Let’s get you home, okay?

As she leads me to the exit, my gaze stays pinned on the man. I know what I saw. I’m not going crazy. I’m not.

Am I?

Three

Later that night, after Trevor has a gourmet meal delivered to his apartment for the three of us, we polish off our second bottle of wine. Crystal and I are seated on the couch, catching up. She hasn’t brought up the incident at the airport, not even after Trevor asked if everything went okay and I lied through my rose berry lip gloss.

After bringing his empty glass to the kitchen and returning to the living room with a large yawn, I say, You can go to bed.

You sure? he asks, stretching his arms.

I laugh. Yes. We’re fine here, and you had a long day. His video call turned into three video calls. One with Caprice, one with her agent, and then one with her editor. In the end, Caprice still didn’t sign, but Trevor did send the contract to her agent so they could look it over.

Trevor walks over to me and kisses the top of my head. Don’t stay up too late. I planned a busy day for us all tomorrow.

Yes, Kimberly Backman is quite the world traveler, Crystal says, smiling over the top of her wine glass. I do expect to see the sights while I’m here. She did away with the brunette wig once we got to the apartment, and now she’s twirling a curly blonde lock around her finger, something she’s done since we were kids.

Good night, I tell Trevor.

Crystal watches him walk to our bedroom. Damn, that man’s ass is like pure perfection. I bet you can bounce a quarter off that thing. Are you sure he doesn’t have a brother for me?

As if you need help finding a man. You have Hollywood celebrities banging down your door. I wouldn’t trade Trevor in for anyone. I don’t care how famous the actor is. I’ve had enough fame to last me a lifetime at this point.

She finishes the rest of her wine and places the glass on the coffee table. Okay, spill. Why didn’t you tell him about what happened at the airport?

I stare at the contents of my