Fatal Bonds: Mischievous Malamute Mystery Series, #6

By Harley Christensen

Face down a brutal killer and risk your life in the process? Or deny a friend's final request and let a murderer roam free, while justice goes unserved?

Arianna Jackson has hunted down clues, pieced together impossible puzzles, and confronted the worst of humanity while narrowly escaping her own demise in the past. So while she's not clear why she was chosen to solve a decades-old crime where others have failed, she's never been one to back down from a challenge.  

Determined to fulfill the duty entrusted to her, AJ quickly faces more obstacles than answers in her pursuit of the evidence needed to identify a cold-blooded killer. Every time she makes a bit of progress, another thread unravels, and a roadblock is tossed in her path.

It doesn't help matters when her single line of support seems to be among those derailing her efforts, so she is forced to rely on an unlikely ally, not knowing if he is friend or foe. 

Time is ticking away, and the bonds of friendship, family, and allies are fractured, leaving AJ to trust her instincts to ensure a savage murderer is brought to justice.

If you are captivated by stories packed with suspense-filled twists—the kind that keep you turning pages and guessing all the way to "The End"—then grab a copy of Fatal Bonds today and join AJ and Nicoh on their quest to expose a vicious killer and bring closure to the loved ones of a victim who can no longer speak. 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harley Christensen
• Release date: Dec 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393530015

Book preview

Prologue

I swore Leah’s suitcases were taunting me, all perfectly lined up next to the door. Waiting. They could have ripped my heart out of my chest like a demon in a horror flick and presented it to me with a vicious, demoralizing howl of laughter, and it wouldn’t have hurt any less.

You don’t have to go. I couldn’t quite bring myself to make eye contact.

I do. And we both know it, she replied, her voice lacking any of its usual Leah-ness.

After all these years, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this crappy—the perpetual pit in my stomach, the pangs of anxiety, and of course, there were the tears. These days, they seemed to appear more and more frequently.

When will you be back? I attempted to withhold the whininess.

And failed miserably.

I don’t know. She sighed. But I will be okay.

I know you will.

Though she claimed she was heading to Los Angeles to help the Stantons with an investigation, she’d packed most of her belongings.

This isn’t about you, AJ, she replied after a moment. This time, there was a hint of emotion behind it, though it did little to relieve the feelings of loss, pain, and remorse.

I glanced at her, frowning—we both hated the whole it isn’t you, it’s me cliché—apparently, my facial expressions hadn’t improved as we both chuckled, replying in sync, Yes, it is.

I just need to feel—

Safe, I replied, finishing her thought.

She didn’t reply, and I didn’t need her to. We both knew the score.

Instead, she pivoted to a recent event—one of too many—that had brought us here. That was cool of Ramirez…with the cop.

I nodded, knowing that she was referencing my ex-boyfriend slash homicide detective’s effort to keep my biological father’s true identity under wraps when the crap hit the fan.

I also appreciate the fact that you didn’t divulge the details to anyone…about Jere. Another boyfriend—hers—that had become a casualty of the war that had somehow managed to take up residence in our lives.

I glanced at her. I said I wouldn’t.

Ramirez assured me of the same, despite the fact he’s probably kicking himself for making that promise—always wanting to be the dude to ride in and save the day. She mimicked a guy holding his hat while riding a horse.

He’s kind of like that. I laughed.

You two been talking? she asked.

Not since the hospital.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied me. Do you…want to?

I shrugged. I’d rather have him as a friend than as an enemy.

Wise choice.

We both chuckled again, and when the laughter fell away, I still felt there was something I needed to address.

I heard you broke it off with Jere. When she tilted her head, I added, Ramirez told me.

She rolled her eyes and, after a moment, responded, It didn’t feel right having a secret between us.

I’m sorry.

Don’t be.

Will you tell him? Perhaps I had no right asking, but I was curious if she would tell Jere about his true lineage. I wasn’t entirely sure what I would do in her shoes.

She shrugged. If I do, you’ll be the first to know.

Second.

Right. Second. She laughed, this time, it sounded heartfelt, which gave me hope. In the meantime, I have a parting gift.

I quirked a brow. Shouldn’t I be giving you the gift?

She chuckled. Perhaps you should review my offering first.

She extended her hand, passing me a slip of paper with a local phone number and a name.

Maria Reynolds.

When I glanced at her in confusion, she continued, It’s about time you started looking into Decker’s request to expose her mother’s killer. And finally, bring her some justice.

Before I could protest, she added, It’s the name of the woman who used to babysit for Decker while her mother and father were at work. I cocked my head, surely there was more?

My friend did not disappoint.

But that’s not what makes Ms. Reynolds interesting. At least not entirely. She used to serve as the personal assistant—pretty much a glorified housekeeper—of a prominent criminal attorney’s wife. On the night Decker’s mom was murdered, she allegedly reported seeing this man enter the apartment shortly after dark and emerge twenty-eight minutes later, covered in blood.

Terrence Edwards, I murmured. But twenty-eight minutes? Seems pretty exact. Wait—what do you mean by ‘allegedly’? She either saw something, or she didn’t.

Didn’t, she replied. Maria Reynolds didn’t make the call, and they never found out who did.

I nodded. I’ll admit, that’s…odd. But if that’s the case, other than working for Edwards, how is she relevant to solving Decker’s mom’s murder?

Because Decker wasn’t the only witness to the atrocities her mother endured.

No… My mouth went dry, my heart thumping against my chest.

As Leah collected her suitcases, she glanced over her shoulder to reveal the remainder of this parting gift.

Maria Reynolds’ young daughter, Danielle, spent the evening playing in the apartment of her best friend, who lived across the hall, on the same floor. That best friend just happened to be…

Kelly Decker, I whispered, as she offered me a single head nod before walking out the door.

Chapter One

I stared down the street long after her vehicle had disappeared—a scene that had played itself out in eighteen seconds flat. I know because I counted. A difficult feat while holding one’s breath, but it was a necessary exercise, especially if I planned on retaining my sanity.

My best friend had just walked out of my life.

And I’d let her.

Perhaps I needed to revisit that sanity bit.

There was a lump in my throat and an ache I would not soon forget. I’d felt it before.

When Ramirez left.

What did it say about me—that the important people in my life felt they needed to leave?

Had they been given the option, would they have run, rather than walked?

Would they have left sooner?

I sucked in a breath, puffed out my cheeks, and released it before focusing on the paper Leah had given me. Talking to Maria Reynolds would be beneficial, as it could lead me directly to Decker’s childhood friend, who would be crucial in helping to decipher the murder of her mother.

Question was, now as an adult, would Danielle be willing to resurrect the past and relive what must have been the most terrifying moment in her young life?

As I collected my thoughts and punched the number into my cell phone, I had to wonder why Leah hadn’t supplied a direct connection to the friend. Considering how thorough she was in her research, there had to be a good reason.

Hello? The woman’s voice was hesitant.

Hello, is this Maria? I asked, forcing as much cheerfulness into my voice as I could muster without sounding like a chipmunk.

She’s not available. Hesitation quickly transitioned to suspicion. "Who is this?"

My name is Arianna Jackson. I’m a friend of Kelly Decker’s. I was hoping to speak to Ms. Reynolds about a matter of mutual concern—

Is this about Ellen? I wasn’t sure who Ellen was but never had a chance to ask as the woman continued, I swear—every time the anniversary of her murder comes up, you reporters turn over every stone and stick your noses where they don’t belong. The woman’s been dead and buried for nearly thirty years. Can’t you just let her rest in peace?

I was about to respond when the connection abruptly disconnected.

I stared at the phone. The brief conversation—albeit one-sided—had yielded three things. One: Ellen was likely Decker’s mother. Two: The woman, while not Maria Reynolds, had some association of her own with Ellen and/or Decker. Three: I needed to get my act together before proceeding any further.

I no longer had the benefit of Leah’s crack investigative skills, and had I not jumped the gun making the phone call, might have taken an approach that would have provided some actual results.

Sighing, I shuffled to the kitchen, where my laptop slept on the island. Waking it up, I searched for all Maria Reynolds listed in the metro Phoenix area, as per the area code, and found seven. Letting my fingers do the walking, I was quickly able to narrow the selection by age and, with a few more clicks, obtained an address in nearby Mesa.

It’s pretty amazing what you can find on the Internet with relatively little effort.

And a little frightening.

It was also fortuitous that Maria had moved from California to Arizona at some point. After several attempts to contact Maria Reynolds without receiving as much as a voicemail, an in-person visit was next on my list. I wasn’t about to let Maria’s self-appointed phone monitor stand in my way.

Pausing to glance in the hallway mirror to ensure I was somewhat presentable, I noted that the face staring back looked a bit road-worn. Sleep deprivation and stress tended to have that effect on me. At least my hair, which at some point I’d managed to wrangle into a high ponytail, looked somewhat smooth, and my long bangs helped to obscure the dark circles under my eyes.

I pasted on a smile that would have made the Joker cringe. Eh, best not to overdo it on my first visit.

Patting down my shirt to ensure there were no stray Alaskan Malamute fluffies, I noted my jeans and Chuck Taylors’ had seen better days, though I gave myself a few points for their cleanliness.

Just then, Nicoh sauntered out of my room, looked around, and shook off. The more I backed away, the faster he advanced.

Sighing when he pressed his massive head into my hip, I gave into his low whoo-whoos and scratched him behind his velvety ears.

Ready to go for a ride, buddy? He responded by whipping his curly tail from side to side before trotting to the rack near the door where his lead was hung. Alright, then, guess I don’t need to ask you twice. I chuckled.

As we exited the house, he paused to sniff the ground where Leah had placed her luggage and released a quiet whimper before glancing back at me.

I know, buddy. I miss her, too.

According to the address I’d looked up, Maria Reynolds lived in an apartment complex off Ellsworth Road and Southern Avenue in East Mesa. After a few wrong turns, I eased my way into a parking spot near the C building. I wistfully looked at Nicoh after spotting a sign that read: NO Dogs Exceeding 50 Pounds Are Allowed. NO EXCEPTIONS.

There was no way I could disguise those extra forty-plus pounds.

You’ll hold down the fort, while I attempt to have a chat with the mother of Decker’s friend? Rolling my eyes when he turned so that his back was facing me, I added, Great. My wingman has gone from a snarky blond to a passive-aggressive canine. I’m not sure which is worse, but I certainly didn’t get an upgrade.

Though it was a cool day by desert standards, I rolled the windows down to an acceptable level, scruffed Nicoh’s nose, and made my way to the apartment, which, according to my search, was on the ground floor. I rounded the corner into a courtyard and nearly stumbled over a woman in a wheelchair sitting in the middle of the pathway leading to Maria’s.

She was slumped to one side, mouth partially opened and eyes closed with hands carefully folded in her lap. Though the ebony halo of frizzy tufts was graying at the temples, her tanned face showed only the slightest hint of creases, suggesting that her physical condition had betrayed her. I pegged her for at least two decades younger than she appeared.

I approached carefully in an attempt not to rouse her as I passed to knock on Maria’s door, but something alerted her to my presence, and she awoke with a shudder. Her eyes were wide as she peered around without moving her head. Finally, her gaze rested on me, though it was difficult to tell if she really saw me.

My apologies if I startled you. I am here to see Maria. Do you know if she is home? I gestured toward the door behind her, but her eyes never moved.

I started to repeat myself when a stout woman clad in baby blue hospital scrubs rushed out of Maria’s apartment. Her messy reddish-brown topknot swayed precariously as she hustled toward us.

Mother! What are you doing out here? Ignoring me, she gripped the handles of the wheelchair, swiveled it around with ease, and began to retreat into the apartment.

Excuse me. Is Maria home? I hastened after them, stopping short as the woman pushed her mother across the threshold of the apartment before turning.

Listen, I told you on the phone. Leave it alone! Can’t you see—she jabbed a finger in her mother’s direction—that she’s already been through Hell and back? Have you no compassion? No mercy? She stepped closer until we were eye to eye and whispered between clenched teeth, Leave. Before I do something we’ll both live to regret.

When I didn’t respond, she huffed, turned on her heel, and stomped into the apartment, grasping the wheelchair where her mother sat idle.

Are you Danielle? I called after her in a last-ditch attempt.

She spun, her eyes narrowing. Leave. It. Alone. Danielle is dead. She slammed the door in my face.

The woman had asked about compassion and mercy, and while I had no idea the extent of what their family had endured over the years, I was quite clear on one thing.

The man who had mutilated and killed Decker’s mother had possessed neither.

Chapter Two

I slipped a business card into the crack of the door and left another hooked behind the plastic apartment numbers before heading back. I overheard a few of the landscaping crew talking about a giant wolf and hustled to the vehicle to find Nicoh sitting behind the wheel, looking quite pleased with himself as he howled out the window, sharing his tale of woe with anyone within earshot. His shark-like grin broadened when he saw me, and his tail whipped back and forth as he hopped to the passenger seat and popped his head out the window for scratches like he’d been there the entire time.

Behaving ourselves, I see.

I received a round of delighted whoo-whoos when I gave his head and muzzle my full attention, before settling behind his ears to finish my penance for leaving him behind, though I’d only been gone for less than five minutes.

Nicoh begrudgingly grunted and accepted my scratches, and once he was satisfied, jumped the seat and curled up in the back on the floor, sighing as though the day had been as hard as it was long.

I hear ya, buddy, I really do, I murmured as I crawled into the driver’s seat and retreated, no more informed or encouraged than I had been when I’d set out on this adventure.

I was just about to merge onto the freeway when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen, huffing out a breath at the Unknown Caller. I was in such a mood I decided to answer and was prepared to give the sales bot on the other end a piece of my mind when I heard a soft, almost hesitant, Arianna?

The voice was vaguely familiar.

Yes, this is Arianna Jackson? How can I help you?

Oh, good. This is Larissa. Larissa Reynolds? We just spoke…a few moments ago? I found your card and wanted to explain… Her voice was shaky and when it trailed off, I wondered if she was rethinking the call.

Okay… I prompted, not wanting to scare her off or force her to change her mind.

All bets were off, however, if Larissa Reynolds had called me for the purpose of continuing where we’d left off. I was in no mood for another tongue-lashing.

Can we meet? she finally managed to blurt out. After a moment of awkward silence—I was still trying to formulate a response—she added, Somewhere away from the apartment. I don’t want to upset Mother. Upset her any more, I guess.

What did you have in mind? I asked, trying to keep the sharpness out of my tone. If she had only come to this conclusion about me ten minutes earlier, it would have saved us both time. And frustration.

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice my attitude. Either that, or she was willing to overlook it.

I have a shift in a few hours but can meet once Mother’s nurse arrives unless that is too soon?

I bit my lip to keep from spouting a snarky retort. Not at all. Just tell me where you’d like to meet, and I’ll be there. How’s that for playing nicey-nice?

How about the outdoor seating area on the east side of Tempe Marketplace, near the theaters? Say…in forty-five minutes? It’s near my workplace, and if you don’t mind the scrubs, it should be fairly mellow this time of day.

And public, I noted, though I made no comment. Instead, I had to get something out of the way.

Sounds fine. What changed your mind?

Larissa heaved out a long sigh, then another, before responding, Honestly, you caught me off-guard with your phone call. And then, when you showed up… I started to apologize when she added, I overreacted. A lot. I tend to get overprotective where my mother is concerned—call it a habit. Anyway, I’m truly sorry about that first impression. It was not a good showing on my part. But to answer your question, once I met you in person and then found your business card, I realized I needed to calm down, put things into perspective, and give you a chance.

My business card? My brows raised, wondering what could be so compelling about a three and a half by two-inch piece of cardstock.

She chuckled. Anyone who names their business Mischievous Malamute Photography has probably had a few dogs in their life. That simple fact alone tells me a lot about you. Having said that, I’m guessing you’re a pretty good human being, Arianna Jackson. And I’d like to hear what you have to say.

Color me speechless. Only Nicoh had words and howled from the back seat, causing her chuckle to morph into full-blown laughter. It also sealed the deal.

I wouldn’t have time to drive home, get Nicoh situated, and drive to Tempe Marketplace before the meeting with Larissa, so I headed straight there, nestled into a parking spot, and followed-up with the clients on my current projects. Business had been steady lately, especially with everyone gearing up for the resort season and those out-of-town visitors trying to escape temperatures I couldn’t begin to fathom. Just thinking about it made me shiver, despite the sun’s warmth through the windshield.

In addition to those seeking refuge from colder climates, wedding season was also on the horizon, which meant brochures and ads needed to be updated and re-shot to reflect the current trends and offerings. Most were in a holding pattern, meaning there was little required on my part until panic mode hit on their end. Fortunately, I was used to it and had learned to plan for such contingencies.

My clientele in the real estate market had also amped up, thanks in part to my friend Charlie Wilson, who had increased the size of his own already sizable portfolio. This was after I’d suggested and then created videos of his more lucrative real estate properties. One included a historic Frank Lloyd Wright-designed estate that had been featured by local media and a few national and international magazines. And while it was quite an honor and a feather in my cap, not to mention a boost in my bank account, it also made me a bit squishy coming from Charlie, as it felt more like a payoff for helping him out of a bind than an act of goodwill on his part.

I glanced at my watch as I pondered that and realized I had used up the extra time. Now I’d have to hustle to not be late meeting with Larissa. After our first go-around, I certainly didn’t want her thinking I had blown her off and was no longer interested.

Nicoh didn’t seem to care one way or the other as I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. Instead, he looked bored and chewed on his paw as I gave him the up and at ‘em command, and we rushed to the outside seating area that Larissa had suggested.

Despite the weather, the outdoor fireplaces were fully ablaze, and the portable patio heaters were strategically positioned around the chairs and couches, where a couple wearing puffy winter coats and Ugg boots hunkered around one while eating double-scooped waffle cones from a nearby creamery. I chuckled and shook my head—only in Arizona.

I heard my name and turned to see Larissa sitting off in a corner, looking only slightly less disheveled than she had earlier, the messy bun a little more under control and baby blue scrubs changed out for navy. There was a sadness in her eyes and a tightness around her mouth as she quickly tucked the remains of a sandwich into a crumpled paper bag and gestured me over.

Brown-bagging it today. Coming here is a bit more peaceful than my home or workplace, plus the aroma of the surrounding restaurants helps me pretend my PB&J is more interesting and perhaps less pathetic. She shrugged sheepishly