Manipulation

By Jo Michaels

What would cause a woman to brutally murder a man she loves?

January hits the big time when she marries millionaire Warren Vanderhorn. With looks, money, and charisma, he's the ideal GQ cover guy.

When he ends up murdered, all signs point to her as the perpetrator. As she uncovers some of Warren's long-hidden secrets, suspects start popping out of the woodwork, and her own history with violence starts making her question herself. People she thinks she knows—and trusts—turn out to be liars who keep things from her. Everyone around her suddenly has a reason to want Warren dead, but she's the only one who was there that night.

Now, she's questioning everything, even her own sanity, as her life unravels.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Michaels
• Release date: Oct 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463726563

Jo Michaels

Jo Michaels loves writing novels that make readers gasp in horror, surprise, and disbelief. While her browser search history has probably landed her on a list somewhere, she still dives into every plot with gusto, hoping "the man" will realize she's a writer and not a psychopath about to go on a rampage. Her favorite pastimes are reading, watching Investigation Discovery, and helping other authors realize their true potential through mentoring. She's penned the award-winning Pen Pals and Serial Killers series and the best-selling educational book for children, Writing Prompts for Kids, which has rocketed the kids that use it into several awards of their own.Most of Jo's books feature the places she's lived: Louisiana, Tennessee, and Georgia. That's given her a special amount of insight to what makes those locations tick. Her works are immersive and twisty, and she wouldn't want it any other way.

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Manipulation

Pen Pals and Serial Killers – Story Six

by Jo Michaels

***

Manipulation

Pen Pals and Serial Killers – Story Six

by Jo Michaels

Copyright © 2019 Jo Michaels

All Rights Reserved

Published October 1, 2019

License Notes:

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or re-distributed in any way. Author holds all copyright.

This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead.

Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by Jo Michaels

Typeset by Jo Michaels

Edited by Tia Silverthorne Bach

Both of INDIE Books Gone Wild

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

***

April 2020

Warren slammed his fist on the table a third time, making the decorative dishes jump and clatter together. He’d been screaming for nearly twenty minutes, and January was waiting for something to break. Every time the Waterford glasses clinked, she pictured one rolling off, smashing on the floor, and cutting his feet to ribbons as he stomped around in the crystal shards.

It would’ve been lovely to see his blood smeared on the snow-white travertine tile, hear his howls of pain as he clutched his ankle and dropped like a rock.

Would’ve served him right. He deserved a little payback. Scratch that. A lot of payback.

She rubbed her fingers over the bruises on her left wrist and winced. That had been his over-amorous side taking over, but the marks on her ass had been for talking back. Never one to hold her tongue, she’d received plenty of punishment at his hand. Nothing he did changed her behavior, and she was sure he was coming to the end of his rope with his inability to control her. Nearly five years she’d suffered, and she clenched her fists to keep herself from attacking him again. It hadn’t gone well the few times she’d launched herself at his pretty face, her fingernails bared and ready to go to war. He’d knocked her down like a buzzing mosquito.

Divorce? That was what all her friends said, but he told her if she left him, he’d kill her. She believed it.

He was all the way around the table by the time she realized he’d moved, and he grabbed her upper arms, lifting her off the chair and shaking her so hard her head snapped back and forth. Her neck cracked several times.

She closed one eye and turned her head toward her shoulder when he brought his face closer.

Do you hear me?

Tiny droplets of spit hit the sensitive skin of her neck.

How could I avoid hearing you? You’re in my fucking face! Heat blazed from her neck to her forehead—both out of anger and fear.

"You will never see him again! Warren’s mouth had froth at the corners, and his face was nearly purple. Is that clear?"

She turned back to him and nodded, her lip curling. He looked like a rabid dog. One that needs to be put down.

Daddy! We’re home! his daughter, Damaris, called out.

He dropped January instantly and turned away, taking several deep breaths as he straightened his clothes and ran his manicured fingers through his dark-brown locks, smoothing them.

Never had he let the kids see him lash out. Fucking narcissist. Everyone has to love you, don’t they? She seethed inside, but she straightened her clothes and headed toward the kitchen right as the children came into the dining room. They had no interest in seeing her anyway.

Daddy?

He was, once again, the charming father who could do no wrong, arms spread wide, waiting for an embrace. Damaris! Nicholas! How was school? Hugs and kisses were doled out.

Damaris’s car keys dangled from her fingers as she embraced him. Hi, Daddy. School was fine. How was work?

January watched from her position on the other side of the room, her eyes narrowing as she wondered how long it would take before he started on the kids, too.

One of these days you’ll get what’s coming to you, Warren Richard Vanderhorn.

One of these days.

Then I’ll be free.

***

July 5, 2020

Nausea slammed into January as she blinked against the harsh rays of the sun. Not bothering to search for her clothes, she barreled into the cabin of the yacht and into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before she vomited. One hand curled around to gather her blonde locks and keep them out of the filthy, putrescent water as she continued until she was dry heaving. She groaned and sat back against the door, regretting the third glass of champagne from the night before. As she flushed and splashed water on her face, she remembered their evening.

Warren had been in rare form. She looked down at her arms and noted the fresh bruises from their lovemaking. He’d wanted to do it on deck in case anyone was watching. He loved the voyeuristic aspect of doing the deed where they could be observed at any moment. After the sex and drinking, she couldn’t remember anything.

Warren… Was he on deck when I woke? There’d been no time to look for him—or her clothes. She shivered, wondering how many boats had passed and seen her asleep on the deck wearing only the skin God had graced her with. Rather than go back up and search for her clothing while nude, she plodded to the master bedroom and plucked a robe from the closet, securing it around her waist with the tie.

Her bare feet made no noise as she made her way topside and glanced around. He wasn’t there. Wondering if she’d missed him somehow, she called his name and waited for a response.

Nothing.

She went back inside and did it again, making her way to the guest rooms at the aft.

No response.

Well, fuck. Maybe he went home.

Gathering her clothes, she returned to the master to change and text her husband.

It went as a text message rather than an iMessage, and she wrinkled her brow. He never turned his phone off in case there was some kind of emergency at work. Frustrated, she hit the button to call him and put the phone to her ear.

You’ve reached Warren Vander— She pressed her finger to the screen to hang up and sat on the bed.

Where the hell could he be?

Deciding that it really didn’t matter, she figured that cleaning up and locking the boat was probably the best idea. She’d just go home, thinking that maybe he was there, and his phone was dead or damaged.

Yes, that has to be it.

She folded the blankets from the deck and put them away, and then she made sure all the windows and doors were locked before summoning an Uber, positive that Warren had taken her car, and stepping out onto the pier. It was a ghost town. Nearly all the other boats were still out, and the few that were there had people on them that were packing to leave.

Her ride arrived a few minutes later. As they were pulling out of the lot, she spied her Cadillac SUV near the entrance—right where he’d parked it the night before.

Excuse me? I’m sorry. Could you stop, please? she asked as she checked in her purse for her keys.

The driver pulled over and put the car in park. No problem.

Thank you. It seems I won’t be needing your services after all. She opened the door and put one foot out.

Okay. You know you still have to pay, right?

Of course. Not an issue. After leaving the driver a great review and a hefty tip, she headed for the SUV and pressed the button on the fob. If Warren isn’t here, and the car is, how the hell did he get home? Maybe he called a ride? Did he leave last night? Anger took the place of worry as she concocted a scenario in her head of her husband leaving her, naked, on the deck of their boat, to go party with friends. She yanked the door open, got behind the wheel, and stabbed the key into the ignition.

Once the vehicle roared to life, she slammed her hands on the steering wheel. I’ll fucking kill him! Gravel flew into the air as she backed out, jerked the car into drive, and headed for home.

They didn’t live far, only a mile or so from the marina, so she was pulling up to the wrought-iron gates in no time. She punched in the code with a bit more force than might have been necessary, waited for the gates to swing open, and barreled through, determined to give that fucker a piece of her mind for leaving her.

Their gardener, Bobby Lee, waved as she streaked past, but she only flapped her fingers at him as she made for the garage. Not bothering to park inside, she slammed the car into park, turned it off, and rushed for the door.

It was locked.

Beyond confused, but still irate, she put the key in the lock and turned, screaming her husband’s name as she opened the door.

No response.

Stalking through every room, she continued to yell for him, fear and worry taking the place of rage with every call that went unanswered. Again, she pulled out her cell and called him. Straight to voicemail.

Okay, January, think. Where else could he be if not here and not at the boat? At the office? She knew she looked a little crazy, talking to herself aloud, but that was something she often did when worried—sometimes not even realizing she was doing it. No. His office is closed. Snapping her fingers, she remembered where else he might be. Nick had spent the night with a friend. Warren was probably going to pick the boy up.

She spun on her heel and marched toward the garage, but when she turned the lights on, she found Warren’s car in its usual spot.

You fucker. That solidified her earlier theory: that he’d left with friends to go party the night away after his wife had passed out. His phone had probably died, and he likely didn’t have access to a charger—or he’d lost the damned thing again.

Deciding not to fret over something she couldn’t do anything about, she opted for a long, hot bubble bath in the garden tub. Her clothing hit the floor, and she cranked the handles until steaming water started to pour in. She added bubbles, waiting a moment for the first of the delicate, lavender-scented foam to appear, and then slid in, sighing as she immersed herself in the liquid. When her shoulders went under, she winced. Sunburn, even a slight one, sucked.

So much for her daily ritual working. The least he could’ve done was cover me with a blanket or something. There were two right there.

It was about an hour later when she emerged, ravenous.

Their maid, Anne, was in the kitchen when January entered, and she struck up a conversation as she flitted around, making her sandwich. When she finally sat down to eat, her stomach was trying to turn itself inside out to ingest something. She lifted the bacon, lettuce, and avocado treat and took a huge bite, closing her eyes as the creamy avocado coated her tongue.

You look like you’re enjoying that way too much, Anne said. By the way, where’s Mr. Vanderhorn?

January shrugged. No idea. When I woke up on the boat this morning, he was gone. I thought he might be here, so I came home. Have you seen him? She took another huge bite, chasing it with some orange juice.

I haven’t. Not since y’all left yesterday.

I keep thinking about it… Would he have left me there to go party with friends? It’s in line with his character, but I’m not positive he’d leave me the way he did.

What way is that?

Nude, exposed, on the deck of the yacht. She widened her eyes to punctuate the point.

That certainly doesn’t seem like something he’d do. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about him in all my years working here, it’s that he’s very possessive. Of course, you know that, too.

That’s why it seems odd to me. Grabbing her phone off the counter, she punched the buttons to call Warren, hit speakerphone, and put the device on the counter.

Straight to voicemail.

Has it been doing that all morning? Anne asked.

Yep.

Wow. That’s not like him at all.

"I know. It’s literally the one thing that has me worried. January popped the last piece of sandwich in her mouth, put her plate in the sink, and snatched the phone off the kitchen island. All I can do is wait, right? She headed toward the master to put her bathing suit on. A swim would clear her head. Thanks for the talk, Anne."

Anytime, January. Anne had been a good friend over the previous two years, and the fact that she’d married the gardener, and was always a breath away, was priceless. Pushing open the doors to a massive closet and stepping inside, January admired the racks upon racks of clothes and shoes. It was a huge consolation for all she had to put up with out of Warren. She ran her hands along the wall, loving the way all the different fabrics felt as they passed over her palms.

Finally, she got to the drawers in the back and pulled the top one open. There were suits in every color and style, but she wanted to get some sun on her stomach and back, so she chose a tiny bikini in blue and white and quickly changed, throwing a long-sleeved crop top on to cover her shoulder burn. On the way out, she snatched a sunhat off a hook and stuck it on her head.

She spent several hours going between the pool house and the water, reading, floating, and enjoying the sunshine. Every twenty minutes or so, she was checking her phone to see if her husband had returned her calls or texts. The sheer number of them might have pissed him off, though. Worrying her thumbnail with her teeth, she called again.

Straight to voicemail.

Her brain registered the time: three p.m. She punched a button and called Damaris.

Hey, January!

Hey there, Dee. Would you mind picking Nick up on your way home? I can’t seem to find your father, and I’m not sure whose house Nicky is at.

No problem. I was planning to leave here at four, so I’ll grab him after that. Daddy not picking up his phone?

Perfect. No, he’s not. Would you shoot Nick a text and let him know?

That’s so weird. Not like him at all. Sure thing! We’ll be there in a little bit.

Love you. Drive safe.

Love you, too.

January pressed the end button and opened her text messages. Warren still hadn’t responded. Because the messages weren’t going as iMessage, she couldn’t even tell if he’d read the damned things. She typed out another one, saying how worried she was and asking if he could please text her back just so she’d know he was okay. When she hit send, she held her breath. No delivery receipt. Dammit.

Calling the police started to seem like a very good idea, but she was worried she’d look stupid, or like a jealous wife, for reporting a man who’d only gone missing that morning.

But was it this morning? When do they start the twenty-four hours? Remember Christmas.

Rather than sit and stew, she went in the house, changed, and pulled the SUV into the garage so Damaris could pull into her spot easily. January was walking out the side door when she saw Bobby trimming the hedges. She lifted a hand in greeting, and he quickly stopped what he was doing, pulled off his gloves, and headed her way.

Good morning! he said in his chirpy way.

Afternoon, isn’t it? She held a hand up to shade her eyes and gazed at the sky.

Ah, yes. Sorry about that. I get so lost in my work…

I was talking to your wife earlier, and she said she hadn’t seen Warren today. Have you? Did he maybe stop by while you were on the grounds, and I just missed him somehow?

Bobby’s eyebrows nearly touched, causing the worry wrinkle on the bridge of his nose to grow prominent. Mr. Vanderhorn is missing? He wiped sweat off his brow with a handkerchief.

Since this morning. She nodded. Or last night… Maybe? I’m really not sure. I can’t remember a whole lot about it.

No. I haven’t seen him. His gaze flitted around the yard like he was looking for something, and he shuffled his feet. Should we call the police?

I’m not sure. I don’t know when the twenty-four hours starts.

Twenty-four hours?

Yeah. You know, from the time someone goes missing, there’s that twenty-four-hour window before the police will even consider it a crime. Before then, it’s just someone not contacting anyone—especially when it’s an adult. Her own inclination to just call the cops and check was growing stronger by the moment.

I didn’t know that was a thing. Sorry.

It’s fine. Maybe I’ll just call them anyway and ask.

That’s a good idea. He shoved his hands into his pockets. I hope he turns up soon.

Me too. Thanks, Bobby.

One hand came out of his pocket and waved as he walked away.

She stood for a moment, watching, and just about the time she was going to head inside, she saw his other hand emerge. It was holding a phone. He typed something in, wiped his brow again, and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

That’s strange… Shrugging, she went back in the house, her mind wheeling with ideas about what could’ve been so urgent—and to whom the message had been sent. Maybe he knows more than he’s letting on. If I find out he’s covering for Warren… She’d fire Bobby, along with his wife, friend or not.

January puttered around the kitchen, making dinner for the kids, trying not to obsess over her missing husband but failing miserably. Every few minutes, she was pulling her phone out of her apron pocket, just in case she’d missed a text dinging through. She put the roast in the oven, shut the door, and leaned against it as she pulled the phone out yet again and dialed the police.

Emergency services. Where is your emergency?

Hi. Uh… This is January Vanderhorn. I’m at 402 Beechwood Circle in Palm Beach.

What’s the nature of your emergency, Mrs. Vanderhorn?

My husband is missing, and I’m uh… I guess I’m wondering how long he has to be gone before you guys start looking for him.

When did he go missing, ma’am?

I noticed him missing this morning, but I’m not sure. It could’ve been last night? She hated the way she sounded—like a whiny, uneducated housewife, she was sure.

What time did you see him last?

Um… I’m not sure. I think it was around ten? It was right after the fireworks. Well, about an hour or so after. So, eleven? Midnight? We fell asleep together, and when I woke up, he was gone.

Okay, ma’am. I’m making a note of your call. If he doesn’t turn up by tomorrow morning, call us back. There’s nothing we can do until then.

After a long sigh, January thanked the dispatch person and hung up. Resisting the urge to chuck her phone across the room, she put her face in her hands and let go of the tears she’d been suppressing all morning. Tears of rage, worry, and pain soaked the skin between her cheeks and her palms. Right about the time she was really getting into her cry, the front door opened and closed.

We’re home! Damaris yelled.

Nick’s footsteps came rapidly, and he was rounding the corner as January turned to check the roast.

Oh. It’s you, he said as he came to a halt. Where’s my dad?

I’m not sure, sweetie. Why don’t you go wash up for dinner?

It’s not even five.

Nicky, just go to your room, dude. Damaris’s voice filled the space.

Whatever. His footsteps faded as he ran up the stairs.

You okay? Her hand was suddenly on January’s shoulder. Any luck with Daddy?

All she could do was shake her head. Her words were stuck in her mouth like glue. When she turned, Damaris wrapped her arms around the woman, pulling her in closely.

It’ll be okay.

I called the police. She sobbed and wiped at her nose. There’s nothing they can do until tomorrow!

I’m sure he’ll surface before then. You know Daddy.

That I do, kiddo.

Have you called Grandma? She’ll want to know what’s going on.

Not yet. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. He turns up, you know?

Would you rather I do it?

No. I’ll just fill her in on what’s happened so far, let her know he does this often and it’s pure courtesy, and cross my fingers she won’t explode.

Okay. I’m going to my room. If you need anything else, holler. Dee gave January another hug and left.

She picked up her phone and dialed Elizabeth’s number, breath coming in ragged gasps.

What? Liz’s shrill voice said.

Awesome. Bitch. January tried to stay calm but failed miserably. She hated talking to her mother-in-law. Hello, Elizabeth. I’m afraid I have some concerning news.

***

March 2004

Sharp, acrid cigarette smoke dragged January from sleep, and she blinked against the sun’s rays sliding through the vinyl blinds.

Her stepdad, Darryl, was sitting on the edge of her bed, leering. He slapped her ass. Time for you to get up. Don’t you go being late for work again.

She skittered away, clutching the blankets to her chin, trying to get as far away from his grabby hands as she could. Get out of my room.

Calm your tits, woman. Norma Jean sent me in here to get you moving. Don’t you go upsetting your mama, now. The Miller can in his hand crackled as he brought it to his lips and took a long pull. After he swallowed, he smiled at her, showing his brown teeth. His gaze drifted from her face down to the leg that had been exposed when she yanked on the threadbare quilt. He licked his lips.

I said, ‘Get out!’ she screamed.

Jumping to his feet, he held up his hands, the ash from his cigarette dropping onto the carpet. He rubbed it in with his toes. Dammit. Now look what you made me go and do.

Out! Lifting one hand, she pointed at the door. Now.

Snarling, he made his way through the door, leaving it open.

She made sure he was out of sight before getting up, shutting the door, and turning the lock. Tears filled her eyes. It hadn’t gone that well the last time he’d been in her room. Quickly, she dressed in jeans and a tee, shoved her feet in her sneakers, and slipped out the back of the house. No way was she going to shower with him lurking and her mother drunk or high.

It was only about a mile to the Save-A-Buck, and January almost had enough money to leave home for good. Six thousand was her goal. Darryl had only been grabbing, slapping, or insinuating so far, but she could see the gleam in his eyes and knew she didn’t have much time before things escalated. He’d started his peeping-Tom grabby-hands shit around the time she turned fourteen, and three years… Well, she was pushing it.

She had to pee, but there was nothing but a grungy gas station between home and the grocery store, so she held it and prayed. No way was her ass going anywhere near the toilet in that place—there were probably crabs on the seat, and there was always shit on the walls and floor. A shudder had her picking up the pace.

It seemed like a lot more than a mile that morning because of her overly full bladder, but she made it to the bathroom at work before she peed her pants. She then washed her hands, brushed her teeth with the toothbrush she always carried, and clocked in right on time. Her manager, Mrs. Dodge, offered up a friendly smile and nod that made her wig rock back and forth on her head. If she wasn’t such a sweet old woman, January might have laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

She grabbed her till from the window and logged into her register. Time flew by as she rang customers up, made change, and bagged groceries while chatting. Customers in the area were pleasant enough—especially on Saturdays—and she enjoyed what little time she got with them.

At the end of the day, she did her count, ran the report, and turned her till in before going to the bathroom again. It was a warm day, the bright March air filling her lungs with the smell only Florida could boast: a mix of sunshine, sunscreen, and seawater. She smiled.

Hey, January. Where you going? a voice called from behind.

June. January groaned because her younger sister was a notorious bad egg. She smoked pot, screwed boys, and was always getting into some kind of trouble. It was never a good thing when she popped up. Determined not to be sucked into anything, January turned and crossed her arms over her chest.

Home.

Aw. You’re no fun! Come out with us! June cocked her thumb over her shoulder toward a group of guys. One was leaning on the side of a ’67 Chevy Camaro, and his eyes were feasting on her sister.

No thanks. January clutched her bag and took a few steps away. From things she’d seen on TV and heard about the locals, she’d learned to be ready to run when guys looked at her like that.

Please?

All her sister wanted was money. It had happened time and again. She’d cut January off after work, convince her to go out, and then get her drunk so she spent money she was trying to save. Time for the cycle to end.

Absolutely not. I need to finish up a project for science.

It’s Saturday, you nerd.

Backing away, January shook her head. It’ll take some time. No. Then she turned and ran.

Bitch! June screamed.

January didn’t slow down until she was near the gas station. Still, she stayed alert and kept her eyes open for places to hide. June wouldn’t give up so easily, and any moment, that Camaro could come roaring down the road.

Nothing happened. It wasn’t until January was walking up the back steps, intending to go in the way she’d left that morning, that she realized the dude’s car was parked outside the trailer. She inhaled deeply, reached for the knob, and turned.

It was locked.

Her teeth ground together. There was no way in but the front door. She inched her way back down the steps and crept around the side of her home. No one was outside on the tiny porch. Knowing she had to go in to at least get a bag, she straightened, stalked up the steps, and marched inside, giving her sister a glare that would cut through ice.

Good to see you, sis. How was work? June curled her lip and took a swig of the beer in her hand.

Darryl’s palm was on her thigh, and he looked like he was either very drunk or high as a kite.

It was fine. As January moved toward the hallway, one of the guys stepped in her path.

Where you goin’, sweet cheeks?

To my room. She kept her gaze averted and tried to inch around him. When he didn’t budge, she dragged her eyes from the roach carcass to his face. Move.

You want me to come with you? He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

No. Now get out of my way! Her hands connected with his chest, and he staggered back a couple of steps, but he grabbed hold of her upper arms to steady himself. Take your nasty hands off me! Again, she pushed him.

He caught the momentum and used it to drag her body flush with his own. I do like a woman with spirit!

Laughter filled the room, and white-hot fury filled January. She pulled one arm loose, tightened her hand into a fist, and swung.

He ducked, but at the last moment, she changed the trajectory of her hand and hit him in the balls. Screams filled the air as he dropped.

More laughter followed her down the hall and into her room. Even when she closed the door, the sounds echoed through the thin wood. She turned the lock and sighed as she started filling bags with her clothes. It was time to go. Whether she had enough money or not, she couldn’t stay there. Mentally, she calculated as she packed.

A knock sounded. Hey, you fucking cunt. Let me in, an angry male voice said.

She shivered, her eyes darting around, searching for an escape route. That door wouldn’t hold him for long.

He beat on the wood. Let me in, bitch! No one hits me and fucking gets away with it!

Pulling the cord on the blinds, she tried to open them, but ended up yanking them clear off the wall. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the window lock, but she got it open and jerked the sash up. One good kick sent the dingy screen flying over the lawn, and she threw her bags out after.

His knocking became thumping, like he was hitting the door with his shoulder.

She swung one leg out, then the other, and was up to her head when the door flew inward, crashing against the wall, punching a hole in the paneling with the knob. Her