Fractured

By Mike Miracle

A hot July night brings more to a campground than the patrons were expecting.
A strip club wedding is a catalyst for betrayal and murder.
Nobody can tell the difference between the fireworks and the gunfire.
Three will have to make a choice. Go back. Move on. Or let chance decide.
In The Next, everybody gets a choice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Miracle
• Release date: Jul 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463847909

Mike Miracle

Mike Miracle is the caretaker of many different monsters. Some real, some not. He is an Author, College Professor, Beekeeper, Computer Programmer and Small Business Owner.

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Mike Miracle

Fractured

Book 2 of The Next Series

Mike Miracle

Copyright ©2019 by Mike Miracle All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Former State Policeman Jack Parker expected his third year watching the Fourth of July fireworks show at the Greater Richland Area RV Park to be just as quiet as the first two. His old service pistol had just been confiscated and put into a mounting pile of collected evidence in the back of a forensic team’s SUV. Multiple gunshot victims and the smell of cordite still lingering in the air was going to end Jack’s streak of nice relaxing Fourth of Julys at the Greater Richland Area RV Park at two.

Jack was joined on the curb by his German Shepherd, Smokey, also retired from the state police. They were sitting just inside the taped off area around an RV where Jack and Smokey had discovered at least one dead body. Jack had plenty of exciting Fourth of July stories to tell from his twenty-two years on the force, and he thought that he had left those times behind him. If only that dammed dog had just gone out to pee like he was told, instead of getting distracted by something shiny and wandering off. But he couldn’t really be mad at the dog for doing things that dogs do. So, he sat there with Smokey, rubbed his neck and shoulders, and told him that he was a really good boy.

Jack had read somewhere that petting a dog was a good stress reliever. Released endorphins and lowered the blood pressure. As he patted Smokey lightly on the head, he wondered where he could get a couple more dogs; it wasn’t working with just the one dog.

During the ordeal that led to the discovery of the bodies, Jack had been on the phone with Sheriff Emmett Bowl. After discovering the first body, the sheriff had told Jack to not continue searching the scene. The sheriff instead wanted Jack to back away from the RV in the direction from which he came. Secure the scene the best you can. Deputies are three minutes out from your location Jack, wait for them and brief them on the situation as best you can, Sheriff Bowl had said through the speakerphone function of Jack’s cell phone. Then the sheriff got in one more dig at Jack before ending the call. Oh Jack, try not to trip over the body this time.

The call ended and Jack ignored the order to back out of the scene. Jack was no longer a cop, and as a state policeman he sure as heck never took orders from a county sheriff. Even though Jack no longer wore a uniform, his cop instincts were still very much intact, and his instincts were telling him that he didn’t have three minutes to wait for less experienced officers to arrive. This scene was still hot in Jack’s mind, the smell of cordite still lingered. That smell wasn’t coming from the fireworks that had just shaken the campground, but from the open door of the RV in front of him.

Jack had gone against the direction of his friend Sheriff Emmett Bowl and entered the RV. Jack knew the dangers associated with a scene like this. Sure, there could be an active shooter. But there could also be victims in need of immediate assistance. The discovery Jack made inside the RV had further complicated his already overly complicated evening. He knew that he should have listened to Sheriff Bowl, but the cop in him couldn’t back away.

Chapter 2

1 hour earlier.

The marriage of Danielle Thompson and Luther Smith was a much anticipated and attended affair. The heat and humidity of the summer—which didn’t seem to deter any of the invited guests—had risen to levels of roads buckling and heat advisories. Despite the stifling July weather, Danielle’s parents were dressed in their best Sunday church clothes. Danielle’s father had been a bus driver for forty years and a minister for thirty-five, and wouldn’t dare dress in anything else for such an occasion. He would, of course, be presiding over the ceremonies. Danielle’s parents weren’t necessarily thrilled with the chosen venue however. Such an occasion should be held in the Lord’s house, not outdoors, her father had said on more than one occasion.

Members of the wedding party on Danielle’s side had arrived in a limousine. It was actually a stretch Hummer borrowed from a local strip club, and they had worked hard for an hour or so to cover up the neon-orange lettering. But the black shoe polish couldn’t hide the raised lettering of the strip club name. Ritsey Titsey was still quite legible on both sides of the giant stretch vehicle if you looked at it from just the right angle.

The rest of the guests Danielle had invited arrived in whatever manner of transportation that was available, one even by boat. The open bar before the ceremony had, in hindsight, been a mistake. It wasn’t known if it was the quality or quantity of the booze consumed that made a few of the guests retire early. Screwdrivers aren’t usually the drink of choice for an outdoor event in July, but this was a special occasion.

The members of Luther’s family didn’t think the occasion called for the added expense of renting a car. Some of them even declined the suggestion of renting a tux, or even wearing a suit and tie for the day. When you’re attending a wedding at an RV campground in July, there’s no reason to wear anything other than a tank top and flip flops.

Some would say that Luther’s rather large sister should have opted for something a little less revealing with a little more support. Similar suggestions were made about his mother’s attire. More than a few of the guests had agreed that she should have opted for something that wasn’t purchased off the teen discount rack.

Poor clothing choices and drunkenness weren’t the only issues this day. Danielle had been informed by one of her bridesmaids that Luther’s ex-girlfriend, Cynthia Scott, had been sighted. The two had a hatred of each other that began long before Luther came into the picture. Danielle knew that it was bad luck to see the groom before the ceremony, but she just wanted to know where her husband-to-be was. And she wanted to make sure that it was not with that bitch Cynthia Scott.

The Greater Richland Area RV Park was a twenty-eight-acre campground that bordered the lower part of Richland Lake. With over 200 slots for campers, it would be difficult to find one person. But Danielle had a good idea where she may be.

The wedding was scheduled to take place right after the Fourth of July Fireworks Spectacular that the campground put on every year. Or at least the years the owners of the campground had a good enough year to set them off. Some years the show would rival those put on by surrounding townships. But there was also the year of the bottle rockets—two whole packs of them. And the year they handed out sparklers.

Danielle remembered that year well, every time she looked at the back of her hand, she could still see the long scar. She blamed her parents for that one. How could normal parents let a four-year-old hold a fist full of sparklers until her hand caught fire?

Luther’s parents, Floyd and Sheryl, had just purchased a new twenty-eight-and-a-half-foot class B RV. Not as big or as long as a bus, but the gigantic front window gave you the impression that you were driving a city bus. Danielle had gone with them for the maiden voyage, Luther had picked her up and carried her into the RV. He said it was practice for their wedding night. Danielle was so nauseous from riding shotgun that she vowed never to step foot in it again. She would soon be going back on that promise.

Danielle knew that there was superstitious risk if bride and groom saw each other before they gave their vows. But three things were bothering Danielle. The open bar. The sighting of Cynthia Scott. And nobody had seen her groom-to-be for at least a half an hour.

A half an hour ago was about the time the open bar had shut down. As far as open bars were concerned it wasn’t anything fancy. For a campground open bar, all that was really required was three or four bottles of cheap vodka, some orange juice, and somebody to pour the drinks while making sure that they didn’t run out of ice. Danielle’s maid of honor, Peaches, was the designated bartender. She had a couple of bags of ice in the back of her truck and had once worked as an underage bartender for a strip club.

Danielle has vague memories of Peaches trying her hand at stripping for that same club. She was a terrible bartender, and she hadn’t been