Your Addiction is Deadly: The River City Mysteries, #4

By Kat Jorgensen

Intrepid amateur sleuth Becca Reynolds believes she is leaving family, friends, and murder behind when she travels from River City to St. Louis, Missouri, to attend her first mental health conference.  But things rarely go as planned, and this trip is no exception.

 

Instead of instructional workshops with a bit of sightseeing on the side, Becca finds herself embroiled in murder and mayhem when she is discovered alone with a dead body.  To her horror, the police focus on her as their prime suspect. Visions of a prison cell with a mandatory dress code of stipes, or worse orange, and a new best friend named Bertha, forces Becca to launch her own investigation.  If she ever wants to see River City again, it's up to her to solve the case.  

 

As the body count increases, she has serious doubts about who she can trust.  But never a quitter, Becca vows she will find the killer and see justice prevail.

 

Hot men, dangerous suspects, and twisted motives keep Becca on her toes as she works to solve her latest case and clear her name.

 

Join Becca and her gang of quirky characters in the latest installment of the River City Mysteries, Your Addiction is Deadly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kat Jorgensen
• Release date: Nov 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952659089

Book preview

Chapter 1

R ebecca Lou, do you have everything? Granddad nervously surveyed my suitcase and carry-on bag sitting by the front door.

If I don’t, I can get it when I get there. I hugged my grandfather and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Flying in the winter isn’t always optimal. Make sure they de-ice those plane wings. You don’t want the plane falling from the sky and plummeting to the ground like a rock. Granddad held onto me a second or two longer than normal.

I’m sure it will be fine. I was nervous enough about my first plane trip without Granddad adding to my fears. Rock from the sky. What a visual. But that was Granddad. He always saw potential problems, often where there were none.  

Don’t know why that nutball you work for couldn’t be on time today. Granddad checked his watch for probably the tenth time in the last five minutes as we stood at the window watching for my boss, Dr. Dick Daley, to arrive.

He’ll be here. It’s probably just early morning traffic. My stomach twisted into a much tighter knot. Just where was Dr. Daley? He hadn’t been his usual punctual self since his girlfriend had left town after the latest death connected to our practice.

No sooner than I’d answered Granddad, Dr. Dick’s car pulled in front of the house. Grabbing my suitcase and tote, I gave Granddad’s cheek another quick peck and said my goodbyes. 

Granddad followed me outside into the cold January morning. The boy and I will miss you.

By the boy, Granddad meant his feckless tuxedo cat, Higgins. I knew Granddad would miss me while I was in St. Louis for the mental health conference I was attending there. But Higgins would be more than happy I was gone.  

The bedroom I claimed in Granddad’s house would be the cat’s territory again while I was out of town. 

I knew I’d have to fight Higgins over that prime piece of real estate once I returned. But I’d worry about that later. Right now, I had to hurry, or Dr. Dick would swear it was my fault, not his, if we were late to the airport.

Dr. Dick had the trunk open as I reached his car. Hurry, Miss Reynolds, they won’t hold the plane for us. He lifted my luggage and stowed it inside the trunk along-side his and motioned for me to get in the passenger door. So much for being a gentleman. But I hadn’t expected it from Dr. D.

We said little to one another on our way to Byrd Airport, which is located on the other side of town in the East End of Richmond, Virginia.  

I busied myself trying to calm my nerves while Dr. Dick seemed totally focused on the early morning traffic. 

Since the end of the year, Dr. Dick had been different. We’d stared down a killer, and both had lived to tell about it. But it had changed each of us. I hoped that this new year would get us back on track.

Dr. Dick had suggested the out-of-town conference because we were expanding our office space at Daley & Palmer. Our little psychiatric firm was growing. We needed more square footage and at least one more full-time therapist.  

So while the carpenters reconfigured the suite, we were taking a working break with the business trip to St. Louis. By we, I mean our two full-time therapists, Dr. Daley and Dr. Connie O’Toole, plus me.

I was staff. The doctors called me their receptionist. As if. I was so much more than that. I did everything for the firm. Plus, I was going to college in the evening working on my education to allow me to be a social worker. But the doctors didn’t know that. No one knew that.

When Dr. Daley learned about the psychiatric conference in St. Louis, he signed both Connie O’Toole and himself up immediately. But when he checked the details more closely, he realized that there were all sorts of educational tracks for support staff and decided to include me. My first business trip and I was going to make the most out of it. 

In the last few weeks, I’d read all I could get my hands on about St. Louis. I knew what attractions I wanted to see and what I wanted to do while I was there. The very first thing I had to see was the Gateway Arch. It stood on the original landing site of St. Louis and rose to a height of 630 feet. 

It overlooked the city and the mighty Mississippi River. Taking the tram up to the top of The Arch was number one on my bucket list. Who didn’t love a little train ride?

Miss Reynolds, do you have our plane tickets, as well as the hotel and conference reservations? Dr. Daley took his eyes off of the road momentarily to glance my way.

What the heck?  

No, you insisted we each carry our own paperwork. You were supposed to print out your information at home. Remember, we talked about this? I phrased it as a question based on the vacant way he stared at me.

No, I don’t remember any such thing. If I had, why would I be asking you about it?

Taking the next off-ramp, Dr. Dick reversed directions and sped off toward his house. This is most inconvenient. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he navigated through traffic.

I’ll say. I figured we had plenty of time for our flight since we had to be at the airport so much earlier than take-off due to airport and flying regulations. But a trip back to Dr. Dick’s place had not been factored into that padded time period.

Plus, I knew Dr. D. would blame me. He usually did. But this time I had followed proper protocol based on what he’d told me. 

Dr. Dick was a rule follower, but right about now, as we sped along Interstate 64 west, I don’t think he considered obeying the speed limit. We reached his house in short order. Since Dr. D. didn’t like computers, I got his paperwork printed out. 

Thanks to my efficiency, we were back in the car and headed east toward the airport again before I could blink. Or so it seemed.  

But then Dr. Dick got one of those insane ideas men get from time to time. He took what he termed a shortcut to the airport to avoid traffic. Never a good thing when a man declares that. And Dr. D. was not an exception.  

I’ve lived in Richmond all of my life, and I’d never seen most of the places Dr. Dick drove us through. 

At one point, I wanted to commandeer the car and get us back to the most direct route, morning traffic or not. But that would mean a confrontation with Dr. Daley, and that wasn’t wise right about now. So I let him drive on, hoping he’d figure it out.

Finally, we reached the airport. I don’t know who was more frazzled by the time we pulled into the long-term parking garage, Dr. Dick or me. Clearly, he had been as lost as I was on his little short-cut and had lucked out, eventually.

We grabbed our luggage and ran toward check-in.

I don’t know what possessed me to trust you to take care of the paperwork, Miss Reynolds. I should know by now that I cannot count on you.

I was just about to argue that statement when Connie O’Toole rushed up to greet us.

Thank goodness you’re both here. I was beginning to think I would be representing the firm at the conference. What made you so late? A traffic accident on the interstate? She talked to us as we made our way through security.

Dr. Daley and I both spoke at once.

One at a time, please. It’s too early to process multiple conversations. Connie smiled at us.

I explained my side of things and then Dr. Dick said his piece.  

Connie shook her head. Dick, I worry about you lately. Becca is absolutely correct. You were the one who put us in charge of our own reservations. Becca and I both thought she should be in charge, but you overrode that.

Leave it to our earth mother psychiatrist to set Dr. Dick straight. She was about the only one he’d listen to. Well, except for his girlfriend, Edna O’Malley. With Edna in Atlanta for the foreseeable future, Dr. Dick seemed adrift in many areas of his life. 

This thing with the reservations and tickets was just one more reminder of how off the psychiatrist currently was from his usual ways.

Dr. Daley muttered something under his breath and separated himself from us.  

Don’t let him get to you, Becca. Dick is a very nervous flyer. I’m surprised he isn’t drunk yet.

What? What was Connie talking about?

At the incredulous look, I must have had on my face, Connie O’T. rushed to explain. I’ve flown with Dick several times over the years to various conferences. Trust me when I say, he was well-medicated with his favorite Scotch before boarding the plane. It’s the only way he ever flew. Really sad. I offered to work with him on addressing his fear of flying, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

I could understand that. Dr. Dick liked to present himself in control of all situations. But in the year I had worked at Daley & Palmer, I’d seen him in circumstances way beyond any control he could exert.  

My poor stomach knotted tighter as we took our seats in the waiting area. I could see the planes just outside the large floor to ceiling window on the airfield. This was real. I was going on a plane. Granddad’s words of worry rang in my ears as I moved closer toward the windows to watch the ground crew service the plane. I said a silent little prayer that it would not fall from the sky.  

Like a rock.

Dr. Dick buried his head in a medical journal and continued to ignore both Connie O’T. and me. His feathers had been ruffled. I knew it would take him some time to get back to his normal state.  

Come sit, Becca. Your pacing won’t help anyone. Connie motioned me to sit beside her. I think I made her nervous too.

In the short time she’d been with the firm, I’d grown very close to Connie. She’d helped me with my panic attacks and PTSD issues associated with the dead bodies I’d found since I’d been employed.  

Now if she could only help me with the massive claustrophobia I seem to have developed recently, I would be good.  

I knew my panic and PTSD weren’t cured, but I managed both conditions reasonably well. It helped that we had gotten through both Christmas and New Year’s without another murder. Hohoho.

Breathe, Becca. Center yourself. Everything is going to be fine. Connie patted my hand, and I realized that she was like the mother I wished I’d had. Nurturing and kind.  

My own mother was not a touchy-feely person. Plus, she was uber critical of me. No, Mother was all about my brothers. They could do no wrong, and it seemed I could do no right.  

The one time I’d done something that pleased my parents, it hadn’t worked out. That was my failed marriage to golden boy, and up-and-coming lawyer about town, Jack Davis. We lasted thirty long months. Then we’d divorced and Jack, being the great lawyer that he is, left me pretty much destitute. That’s how I ended up living with Granddad and Higgins.  

I tried the centered breathing that Connie had taught me and instantly felt myself calm. This stuff worked like magic.  

Just as I got myself all nice and calm, an announcement declared it was time to board our flight. 

Just like that, all the calm evaporated.  

Poof. 

Gone.

I got in line to board the plane on shaky legs. The cheerful airline employee welcomed me and took my boarding pass. None of us were seated together. Dr. Dick and his stupid let’s make individual arrangements. Not that I wanted to sit with a surly Dr. D., but I would have loved to sit with a calm and supportive Connie.  

I stowed my carry-on in the overhead compartment and watched as both Dr. Daley and Connie moved past me to find their seats several rows back. I took my window seat and was soon joined by a very tall young man who announced he was headed for a basketball tryout in St. Louis.

Would you mind pulling down the window shade? I don’t like to see out. He didn’t smile and looked a lot greener than I felt. Great. Another nervous flyer.

I’d really looked forward to seeing the view from the comfort of my seat. But I knew fear myself, and I would do what I could to help this guy out. The shade went down.  

Now what would I do to pass the time?

The flight attendant gave her pre-flight spiel. The young guy and I both paid attention to everything she said. My nerves caused me to break into a sweat despite the cool-ish temperature inside the plane.  

As the plane taxied out, my aisle mate lowered his head, closed his eyes, and mumbled a quick prayer. 

As if I wasn’t nervous enough. 

I’d make sure not to mention Granddad’s fall from the sky like a rock comment. But it stayed in my own mind as we taxied out.

Peering past my seating partner, I gazed across the aisle to the far window as we became airborne.  

Ohmygosh, what a rush!  

We were in the air and it was glorious.

The flight attendant made the rounds with drinks and nuts. I stuck with water. The guy next to me took a soft drink and then swallowed a handful of pills. Soon his snoring was all I could hear.  

After a bit, I realized I needed the restroom. I attempted to get the guy beside me to move, but he was out cold, so I climbed over him. Thank goodness I’d worn jeans for the trip.  

I smiled at Connie and Dr. Dick as I passed them on the way to the facilities in the back of the plane.

Once there, I found the light switch and pulled the sliding door closed, and then locked it. I fought down my claustrophobia in the confined space and decided I’d do what I needed to do and get out of here as fast as possible. 

The plane hit a bit of turbulence as I was washing up. The lights blinked once and then went out, plunging the space into total darkness.  

OMG!  

I hadn’t been afraid of the dark since I was three. But it was REALLY dark in that cramped little bathroom.  

I remembered Connie O’T.’s breathing technique and managed to calm myself with it.  

All I had to do was find the light switch, unlock the sliding door, and get the heck out of here.  

I felt my way to the front of the bathroom. In the super confined space, I didn’t have far to go. But I felt slightly disoriented in the pitch-black room. We hit another patch of turbulence and I went spinning backwards. I caught myself before I fell. My hands grabbed onto yet another one of the cabin’s walls. But now I was even more turned around than before. 

Using my hands, I blindly felt around the walls and started punching anything that I came across, hoping something would trigger the lights.  

Bells rang out.  

Buzzers buzzed.  

But still no lights.  

My breathing increased with my pulse rate and panic set in. The tiny room grew smaller by the second. I couldn’t breathe.  

I didn’t want to die in the airplane’s bathroom. I could see the headlines now. River City Girl Dies in Freak Aviation Bathroom Accident. And then a post-mortem picture of me covered in that horrible blue chemical they used in the toilets. I so didn’t want that to be my legacy.  

My panic increased with each new thought, and I redoubled my efforts to find the light switch.

After what seemed like forever, I reached the door and found yet another switch. I jabbed at it over and over again as I wrestled with the door. I threw the lock back and heard the release. But nothing happened when I yanked hard on the door. I pushed and pulled to no avail. Sweat poured down my face from nerves or exertion or both. I brushed it out of my eyes as I worked on the stubborn door without success.

My panic knew no bounds. 

I jabbed frantically at the buttons beside the door. Bells and buzzers continued to ring and buzz and do their thing.  

Finally, the door slid open maybe an inch. Just enough for a bit of light from the plane’s interior to pour inside the dark hellhole where I was trapped.  

Help! I yelled out. Help me! I’m trapped in here.

The flight attendant put her face up to the crack. I’m trying. The door is stuck.

OMG! I wasn’t just incompetent at opening the door. I truly was trapped. My ragged breathing increased to a new level. I tugged at the sliding door with all of my might. But it didn’t budge.  

We both need to tug at the same time, I shouted through the door. On three. The flight attendant and I yanked and pulled. The door remained stuck. Okay, again. I counted out the cadence. We worked on the stubborn door from both sides.  

Finally, it released. 

With the next bit of turbulence, I fell forward into the flight attendant.  

I was free.

I broke a nail getting you out. She stared at her nine perfectly manicured nails and the one raggedy short nail. Clearly, she wasn’t happy at all and reached past me to the interior of the bathroom. 

She deactivated all of the alarms and stopped the light flashing wildly above the bathroom door. Then tested the interior light, which for her worked perfectly.  

What the heck happened? I tried to smooth out my wild hair, which I could feel was sticking out at weird angles like I’d been on the wrong end of an electric shock treatment instead of trapped in an airplane bathroom.

The door was stuck. She maneuvered the sliding door with ease.

Well, duh! Does this happen often? I smoothed my hair as she worked the door back and forth in its track, making sure it was operational.  

Consider yourself lucky. On our last flight, I couldn’t get the door open and the person who was trapped inside had to remain there until we landed. Then the fire department got him out.

OMG! Didn’t they have procedures in place for this sort of thing?

You should tell people that. Or put up a sign. If I’d known that, I would have waited until we got to St. Louis. 

Please return to your seat. We are observing the seat belt rule due to turbulence. The attendant seemed satisfied that the slider was now operational, but I sure didn’t trust it.  

Then, without another word to me, she turned and made her way to a gentleman at the front of the plane who needed service.  

As for me, I held on to the backs of the seats as I made my way unsteadily back to my assigned place. 

When I reached the area where Connie and Dr. Dick were seated, I stopped. You may not want to use the facilities. I got trapped in there. Did you hear me trying to get out?

Dr. Daley looked up from the article he was reading and said, Everyone on the plane heard you, Miss Reynolds. Please keep a much lower profile for the rest of our trip.

Like I’d wanted a high profile to begin with?  

When I got back to my seat, I had to work my way over my sleeping aisle mate. Once again, we hit a pocket of turbulence. And it tossed me into his lap.  

For that, he woke up. And smiled at me.

I so didn’t need this.

Sorry, I mumbled as I got settled back into my own seat and warned him that he may not want to use the plane’s bathroom.  

Just as I’d finally relaxed from my experience, I saw a man in what looked like an official airline uniform pass by on his way to the back of the plane. What the heck?  

I stood up and watched as he entered the bathroom.  

Was that the pilot? And if it was, who was flying the plane? What would happen if he got trapped, and we had to land without him at the wheel or helm or whatever they called it?  

Anxiety-ridden, I punched the button for the flight attendant and saw her expression change from happy to resigned as she approached.

Was that the captain? You know, the pilot guy?

Why, yes, Mr. Noguchi is one of our veteran pilots. She smiled tightly at me. 

But he went into the restroom, I whispered over my once again sleeping seatmate.

You really should pay attention to yourself and not worry what everyone else is doing. Another tight smile. She withdrew something from her pocket. Here, why don’t you play some cards. We’ll be landing in about thirty minutes. And with that, she left to attend another passenger.

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. I could see St. Louis from the air somewhat by looking out the window across the aisle. The Gateway Arch reached up toward the sky, and even in the gray winter weather, it appeared magnificent.

My adventure in travel might have gotten off to a bit of a rough start, but I was sure it would be smooth sailing from here on out.

Chapter 2

The hotel ran a shuttle between Lambert Airport and downtown St. Louis, where our hotel was located. 

We had a bit of a tour around the downtown as we wound through the busy streets before reaching our destination. 

Dr. Dick was still being, well, a dick. I should be used to it now, but I wasn’t. Connie seemed her usual happy, calm self. As for me, I was soaking up the total experience. My head swiveled from side to side, checking out the sites from the shuttle’s windows.  

Soon, we were unloading our luggage and doing the whole check-in process. I was on the 21st floor and Connie was on the 17th. 

Dr. Dick was on the Mezzanine floor. I realized that was probably why he’d wanted to make his own reservations. His acrophobia must be even worse than I’d imagined.

Once you get your luggage into your rooms, you’ll want to come back down and complete conference registration. There are several worthwhile sessions for all of us today. I suggest we attend and network with other attendees. You’re on your own for dinner tonight. I’m meeting someone. Dr. Dick strode off toward the elevators, although I’m sure he could have found some stairs and just walked up the one flight to his room.

Connie caught my eye and winked. He’ll settle down. Eventually. Enjoy the conference. We can meet up later. Connie left me standing in the lobby as