The Angel Wore Black

By C. Mack Lewis

Private Investigator Jack Fox is not sure how he went from being a freewheeling bachelor to the father of two daughters: a baby girl who is the product of his less-than-stellar life choice of hooking up with a convicted serial killer and 19-year-old Enid Iglowski who is going to her court-ordered anger management counseling sessions with the intelligent and sexy Dr. Melody Stuckley who, unbeknownst to Enid, Jack can’t seem to get out of his mind—or his bed. The past comes back to haunt Jack when his dreaded ex-wife, Stella, who is the Mistress of Phoenix’s hottest S&M dungeon, hires him to find her favorite missing cowboy. He knows the last thing he should do is take her case but, as always, his curiosity sends him chasing after the truth, which sets him and Enid on a collision course with a dangerous killer who is a fugitive from the law—and who just also happens be his current wife!

A fast, fun detective story served up with wit, grit, and shocking twists. C. Mack Lewis offers up a murder mystery with a father-daughter relationship that careens from bad to worse and some unexpected places in between. High-stakes thrills and drama!

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. Mack Lewis
• Release date: Jun 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9780990610847

C. Mack Lewis

I was born in South Jersey, the land of Silk City diners, nuclear plants, cornfields, and the Jersey Devil. My youth was spent reading voraciously, everything from Trixie Belden (in the vain hope that Jim would slip Trixie the tongue) to my Aunt Mary Ellen's steamy bodice-ripping novels to anything in the stack of books my dad brought home from the library every Saturday, which got me hooked on the novels of Robert Ludlum and Donald E. Westlake.After earning a degree in Marketing at Auburn University, I spent the next five years in the business world, which is a polite way of saying that I had eleven jobs in a five year period, including door to door sales, skip tracing people who didn't want to be found, repossessing cars and collecting on defaulted student loans. During this five-year period, I did an in-depth study of abnormal psychology and sociopathic behavior - and then I divorced him.I didn't have enough money for therapy, so I decided to go to medical school where I earned a degree as a doctor of podiatric medicine. That kept me occupied for the first two years and then I had what I refer to as a walking nervous breakdown. The school psychologist, Terry Murphy (thank you!) helped put me back together and I finished the last two years with weekly therapy and a healthy dose of legal pharmaceuticals.My two-year surgical residency in Buffalo, New York introduced me to a new world of human behavior, including junkies, addicts, criminals, punks, S&M beauty queens, and angry housewives with ice picks.Upon graduation, I moved to Scottsdale, Arizona where I moved into my parent's guestroom (my standard of living sky-rocketed!) and I took a loan to open a private practice so I could (finally!) be my own boss. I've been in practice since 2000 and I've made Phoenix magazine's Top Doc list in 2010, 2014, 2015, and 2016. I am passionate about podiatry and helping people who suffer from foot pain. I write the blog Podiatry Shoe Review, which is dedicated to helping people find good-looking shoes that are good for their feet and are pathology specific.With the money from my loan to start the practice, I hired and an old-fashioned matchmaker to find me a decent man with a career. She did find me a lovely man whom I dated for a year and a half - and then I met my husband, whom I adore.I love being a podiatrist and I am not ready to quit my day gig to become a full-time writer - mostly because I think I would go bat-shit crazy without the grounding (and humbling) force of dealing with the complex, subtle and fascinating world of feet. No, I do not have a foot fetish, but one does become fond of feet when they start paying for your mortgage and vacations.My screenplay OH BROTHER won the Phoenix Film Festival screenwriting competition in 2005 and was optioned by Gold Circle Films in 2008.I'm the author of THE FALLEN ANGELS TRILOGY, which is a fast, fun detective series served up with wit, grit, and more than a few shocking twists. The Trilogy features a private detective father and his daughter who is riddled with anger management issues and has a penchant for finding trouble. This is one father-daughter relationship that careens from bad to worse and some unexpected places in between.I am a co-host of the award-winning Midnight Balloon podcast and am the host of The Hidden Gems Podcast, which features the best short stories you've never heard.I hope you enjoy my stories! They were born from my passion for storytelling and my demented sense of what constitutes a grand ole time.

Book preview

Prologue

My devil had been long caged, he came out roaring.

—Robert Louis Stevenson

Dr. Melissa McKay peeped her head up from between her patient’s splayed legs and said, For the last time, Hargrove, you need to breathe! She returned to staring at the dilated cervix of Prisoner #127 and wondered how she, who had graduated top in her class and had three papers published in The Lancet, could have ended up in Butthole, Arizona, delivering babies for convicted murderers.

The Perryville Women’s Prison was a maximum security unit that held Arizona’s three remaining female death row inmates, including the owner of the dilated cervix that she was currently staring into. She frowned as she envisioned the practice that she should have had—a plush, luxurious private practice in North Scottsdale where she would be a concierge specialist to cash-paying preggos who would clamor to give her stellar Yelp reviews. Instead, she was trapped in this hellhole delivering babies for scumbags like Eve Hargrove who had murdered half her family and was now living like a caged animal in an 8-foot-by-12-foot concrete cell, which is exactly where she belonged.

Breathe! she practically shouted at Prisoner #127, her mind on the glass of red wine and the Netflix reruns that were waiting for her in her terribly empty apartment. She briefly thought of Jerry and felt the all-too-familiar fury when she thought of how he had cleared out everything—including his stinking Playstation—and left her for some community college liberal arts loser who works at a frou-frou health store selling bat milk yogurt to granola-crunching yo-yo’s. For the millionth time, she asked herself how she could have been so unfathomably stupid as to turn down the prestigious Fellowship in Boston to follow Jerry out to Phoenix—for love. She practically spat in disgust at her own stupidity as she struggled to fight down the hot tears that were blurring her vision under her state-issued protective goggles. She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the dilating cervix in front of her face.

Eve Hargrove was staring at the clock on the wall as if her life depended upon the movement of the second hand, which was traveling at a glacially slow pace. She gasped and clenched her toes down in the stirrups as a wave of stabbing pain swept through her core.

Breathe! Dr. McKay said.

Eve concentrated on doing her breathing exercises like they had taught her in the prison’s You’re going to have a baby class. She glanced down at her swollen belly and, despite the excruciating pain, she forced herself to focus on the cruel clock which said it was exactly 2:57 am.

Just three more minutes!

Hargrove, if you want to have this baby, you need to push! Dr. McKay said with poorly concealed irritability. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’re purposely trying not to have this baby."

Her eyes glued on the clock, Eve struggled to not push, which was turning out to be the hardest thing that she had ever done in her life. Sweat streamed down her face, blurring her vision as she struggled against the overwhelming and primal urge to push the unborn baby into Dr. McKay’s waiting face. It felt like her uterus had trapped a wild animal that was fighting to break free and, as much as she felt the urge to push, she knew that it was too soon. She glued her eyes on the clock and groaned aloud. Come on! she growled at the frozen clock.

Jesus, Hargrove, Dr McKay said, If you don’t unclench and start pushing, I’m going to be forced to give you a C-section.

Not—yet, Eve gasped, her eyes on the clock, which now read 2:58. Her eyes went to the locked door of the birthing room, and she knew that at least one prison guard would be standing outside.

When the second hand of the clock clicked onto the twelve, Eve stopped fighting and gave a herculean push that sent the baby practically shooting into the doctor’s face like a blood-slick tadpole with wriggling arms and legs.

"Je-sus! Dr McKay said, struggling to hold on to the squirming baby and get the umbilical cord clamped off and then cut. As she was putting the baby into the swaddling cloth, the baby’s tiny fist shot upward and knocked her so hard in the nose that her protective eye-wear went sideways on her face. What the—!"

A fire alarm blared and Dr. McKay jumped, yelping in surprise. In her haste, she almost dropped the baby, who squalled, revealing a set of exceptionally healthy lungs.

Eve struggled to sit up.

Stay down, Dr. McKay said, holding out her hand, It’s too soon.

Eve swung her legs over the edge of the gurney, gasping with the pain in her abdomen. As much as her insides hurt, it relieved her to know that the thing was finally out of her and she was once more truly alone. She silently swore an oath to herself that she would get whatever she needed to get tied off—with barbed-fucking wire, if that’s what it took—so that she would never have to deal with this nightmare again.

Don’t move, Dr. McKay shouted above the blasting fire alarm, If there is a fire, a guard will come get us.

Eve sat on the edge of the gurney, her long black hair hanging down in lank locks and her pale face pinched with pain. The scream of the fire alarm sounded like sweet music to her ears. She gestured for Dr. McKay to bring the baby to her as she said, Let me see.

Dr. McKay looked down at the baby and a smile broke over her face as she suddenly remembered why she had gone into medicine. Sweet thing, she whispered so that only the baby could hear. She felt a deep chasm open within her heart as she thought about the baby that she and Jerry might have had—if things had turned out differently.

Doctor, Eve said, holding out her arms for the baby.

Dr. McKay took one last look at the baby’s wrinkled raisin face, which still looked beautiful in her eyes, and then grudgingly carried the baby to the mother, wishing fervently that she could take the baby home as her own.

Eve reached for the baby and, for a split instant, Dr McKay’s mind flickered with confusion because Eve’s right arm was coming at her too low and far too fast. Dr. McKay felt pain shoot through the left side of her abdomen and she wavered, unsure. In a flash, she understood what was happening and horror swept through her.

She spasmodically gripped the baby tighter as her disbelieving eyes met Eve’s eyes, which were shining like two emerald stones at the bottom of some nameless, cold ocean. Dr. McKay opened her mouth to scream and was startled to hear only a strange squeak emerge. Not letting go of the baby, Dr McKay fought against Eve with her free hand.

Eve pried the baby free of the doctor’s grasp and unceremoniously plunked the infant down on the gurney. The baby had fallen silent for a moment, but now, safely on the gurney, she resumed wailing, which could barely be heard above the deafening fire alarm.

Eve pulled the six-inch shiv from Dr. McKay’s left abdomen where she had plunged it and then raised her arm and stabbed it deep into the doctor’s chest. The point of the blade hit the doctor’s breastbone, so that Eve had to pull it out and, stabbing to the left, she again plunged the shiv in and was rewarded with the satisfying sound of the blade slipping between the ribs and into softer regions. Dr. McKay’s mouth opened in a surprised ‘O’ that made her face look like a startled fish with bulging eyes.

Dr. McKay stared down at the crude handle sticking out of her blood-soaked chest in shock. No— she murmured.

Eve leaned in close and said, Give the devil my regards.

Dr. McKay let out a moan, which was followed by a stream of gurgling blood from her mouth.

Look on the bright side, Eve said as she grasped the doctor under the arms and eased her to the floor, no more student loans.

Dr. McKay’s body convulsed, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Eve grabbed one of her ankles and, with difficulty, dragged the doctor behind the gurney, so that she would be partially hidden from anyone coming into the room.

A prison guard opened the door and slipped in.

Eve reached down and pulled the shiv from the doctor’s chest and darted toward the guard, snatching the blue scrubs that he was holding from his hands. It’s about time!

Everyone’s been paid off, the guard said, so just follow the plan and you’ll be wherever you want to be by tonight. He turned and caught sight of the screaming baby on the gurney and his eyes tracked downward, catching sight of one of the doctor’s Dansko clogs which were sticking out from the hiding place. His face went grey and he staggered backwards, horrified. You said nobody would get hurt! This wasn’t part of the plan—

Eve doubled over, moaning in pain and clutching her belly.

The guard jumped forward to help her and, in one swift motion, Eve grabbed his gun from his holster and jammed the barrel against his gut and, aiming it upward at his heart, she pulled the trigger.

The blast of the gun added to the blare of the alarm as Eve reeled backwards from the recoil, so that she had to grab the gurney to prevent herself from falling. She watched as the guard’s massive bulk slid down the wall, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

She turned away and, despite the pain, she forced herself to dress in the scrubs that he had brought her. When she finished, she grabbed the doctor’s coat that was carelessly slung over a nearby chair and then took a scrub cap from a nearby box, pulling it over her head and tucking her hair under it. She went back to Dr. McKay’s inert body and, groaning against the pain, she bent down and removed her glasses and security badge.

Eve limped toward the door and grabbed the handle, hesitating. Frowning, she turned and went back to the baby who lay on the table, naked and slick with blood and amniotic fluid, squalling like it was being murdered. Eve picked up the baby and looked into her face and, after a moment, she said, You are one ugly little motherfucker.

As if understanding her words, the baby hit and kicked at the air, squalling louder.

Eve eyed the baby with almost academic interest and said, Don’t take any wooden nickels, kid.

Within moments, Eve disappeared, and the baby was alone and naked on the gurney, screaming with a primal energy that demanded a mother’s love, warmth and comfort—none of which was coming soon.

Chapter 1

Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer—both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams.

—Bram Stoker

The nightmare was always the same. She was being chased, but her legs wouldn’t—couldn’t—move fast enough. Her lungs burned with the effort and her heart was a hammer fighting to break free of her rib cage. He was chasing her with an inhuman relentlessness, hunting her down like she was an animal.

Enid jerked awake, clammy with sweat and her arms numb from the shoulders down. She could feel the familiar dull ache in the right shoulder from the healed gunshot wound that had left a star-burst-looking scar that she always kept hidden. She reached up and touched her left cheek, feeling the wicked scar that ran from under her left eye downward to her jaw, relieved to feel it was still there, which was a sure sign that she was wide awake and not stuck in a nightmare. Enid had that all-too-familiar sick feeling that permeated her whole being; she heard someone sob and, startled; she realized it was coming from herself.

There was a sound from across the room. Enid froze, goosebumps prickling like insects scuttling to life under her skin. She pulled a hammer from under her pillow, which she kept for nights like this— and there were so many! Nights filled with unexplained sounds and glimpses of things that she couldn’t explain and no one to believe her if she could explain it.

Her other hand scrabbled around under the pillow, searching but not finding the military-grade flashlight that she often used to flood the bedroom with reassuring light. She gave up the search and, grasping the hammer, Enid sat still in the darkness, listening, her eyes searching the dark corners of her massive bedroom that she hated. After a long time, she called out, Who’s there?

Silence.

I have a hammer and I will bash your skull in! Enid yelled, a shudder going through her at the dark memory of another time and another place when she had to do more than make threats. Her clammy hands trembled, but she held fast to the hammer.

Another sound from the closet.

Enid bolted upright, tossed the thick comforter aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed, ready for—

What?

What do you want? Enid yelled into the darkness as panic gripped at her.

There was the sound of running steps. Her bedroom door was flung open and light flooded the room.

Enid winced from the light, fear running through her at the thought that it wasn’t who she hoped it would be. To her relief, it was exactly who she hoped it would be.

Her father, Jack Fox, stood in the doorway and his six-foot, two-inches of solidly built frame eased her panic down to something more bearable.

Without a word, Enid met his eyes and pointed her hammer at the closet.

Carrying an upraised baseball bat, which was his weapon of choice, Jack walked to the closet.

Careful! she said.

Jack paused, gave her a reassuring look, and flipped on the closet light.

Enid flinched, but nothing happened. She held her breath as he dis-appeared into the closet, listening as he pushed around her hanging clothes with the baseball bat before he reappeared at the closet door.

Jack looked at her expectantly.

Enid pointed the hammer toward the bathroom.

The baseball bat held in his hand, Jack walked to the bathroom, flipped on the light and looked in. All clear.

Enid pointed downward.

Without missing a beat, Jack crouched down and inspected under the bed. Only the dust bunnies.

Enid slid back under the covers with a shaky sigh of relief.

Jack came out of the bathroom and walked to her bed. He stood looking down at her with sympathetic eyes. He gestured at the hammer she was clutching. Dr. Stuckley said it would be better if you didn’t sleep with a hammer.

I’ll get rid of the hammer when you let me have a gun!

You’re not getting a gun, Jack sat down on the edge of her bed. Not while you live under my roof.

"It’s not your roof!"

Guns aren’t the answer.

Enid remained silent, remembering the first time he told her that all she needed was brains because brains were far more dangerous than guns. When she was younger—and stupider—it had impressed her, but now she knew better. She wasn’t about to play the game of rock, paper, scissors with her life—she wanted a gun!

If you had a gun, Jack said, as if hearing her thoughts, are you telling me you wouldn’t have plugged me deader than a doornail as soon as I came through that door? All you’d have to do is to be half awake and confused and you’d end up shooting me—or worse, you’d shoot Katherine or Lind.

A bullet would bounce off Lind’s heart.

Jack looked around the room, aggravated. "The lights went out again? That electrician isn’t worth his weight in salt." Enid went to bed with the lights on and, in the night, the lights would mysteriously turn off. At first he thought she was sleepwalking and turning them off herself, but now he wasn’t so sure.

I hate this room and I hate this whole creepy place! Why do we have to live here?

We’ve been through this a hundred times, Jack said wearily. We have to do what’s best for Katherine.

"What about what’s best for me?" Enid said with a scowl.

Jack shot her a look. I have to be here till Katherine turns 18. You know that.

Enid tried to keep her scowl, but her face softened at the thought of her 1-year-old half-sister, Katherine. Enid wasn’t a fan of what she had previously called bags of baby barf, but from the moment she had first cradled Katherine in her arms, Enid was a goner. She was too embarrassed to admit it, but the best part of her day was coming home after school. She would run to the nursery and pick up Katherine, watching as her eyes widened in surprise and her face broke into joyful smiles as she cooed out her hellos. Never had Enid felt such pure love, and she guarded her secret from the world—and Jack. She had many fears, but the worst was that Eve Hargrove, who had escaped from prison one year ago, would someday show up and try to take Katherine away.

You have a choice, Enid. We can set you up at the ASU dorm, like we intended—

I know! Enid said, more angry with herself than Jack. She had finished her first semester at Arizona State University, where she had signed up to live in a dorm, but at the last minute she had chickened out. If she could have lived in a dorm with at least one of her two best friends, then she could have done it, but both Claire and Micki were long gone. Claire was acing her way through her first year at Harvard and Micki was hurtling herself out of airplanes in the U.S. Army Airborne School in Fort Benning, Georgia, while she was at home and muddling her way through her first semester at ASU. It was crazy, even to herself, that she had survived situations that should have killed her and then, at the mere thought of living with a bunch of girls in a dormitory, that she would crash into a panic attack.

Do you want me to stay? Jack gestured at a chair that he had frequently slept in until she fell back asleep.

Enid gazed up at him, her heart-shaped face framed with unruly, shoulder-length brown hair, and her grey eyes, large and expressive in her pale face, would have given anyone first seeing her the impression of someone younger than her actual years, except that the prominent scar below her left eye boded of some mysterious violence that left many people edging away from her, while some drew closer.

I’m okay, Enid gave an irritated shrug she hoped appeared nonchalant. At least that’s what Stuckley keeps telling me.

You meet with her tomorrow?

Enid nodded as she slid back down under the comforter, grimacing at the thought of her upcoming meeting with her court-appointed therapist for what the judge called her anger management issues. She hesitated, Keep the lights on, okay?

All of them, Jack smiled with reassurance, even the hallway lights.

Won’t matter. Mean old Lind will sneak in and turn them off again.

Don’t blame Lind, Jack said, his voice sharp. Katherine needs a live-in nanny and Lind is excellent, so don’t get any bright ideas about chasing her off.

Enid scowled and slipped lower down under the covers. She’s creepier than a jar full of spiders.

That doesn’t mean she gets her jollies by sneaking around and turning off the lights to scare you. I’ll call the electrician in the morning and have him triple-check the place.

He’s been out here so much that he might as well move in. I’m telling you—it’s not the wires!

What is it then? Jack eyed her with curiosity.

Enid hesitated, not understanding how Jack could be so dense. The truth was so obvious that she was having trouble believing that he was this stupid. I mean, he was a detective, for God’s sake! When was he going to wake up and smell the stink-bomb?

Well? Jack said.

If you haven’t noticed—we are living in a haunted house!

Chapter 2

Overpaid, overfed, oversexed, and over here.

—Tommy Trinder, of American troops in Britain during the Second World War.

Jesus, Jack crawled back into his bed, "now she thinks this place is haunted!"

Dr. Melody Stuckley threw a leg and one arm over Jack’s body as she pulled closer to him. Just don’t tell her you’re boning her therapist.

God forbid! Jack reached over to cup her breast and lightly kiss it. We’d never hear the end of it.

We? Melody pushed his head away, "You mean you. I’ll have dumped your sorry ass by then and moved on to greener pastures. She got out of bed and gathered her clothes, which were on the floor. How in the hell am I supposed to sneak out of here when you leave the hallway light on? You live in a 15,000-square-foot mansion, so why in the hell do you have to sleep in the bedroom across the hall from your kid?"

It’s the nightmares. I promised her I’d stick close. He propped him-self up on his elbow, his eyes following her. Has Enid talked to you about this place being haunted?

Patient confidentiality, Melody pulled on her jeans and, jumping up and down, she slid in with ease.

Jack grinned. I think we left professional ethics behind the first time I—

Oh, shut up! Melody’s smile belied her words.

You should jump more. It’s quite becoming.

Melody flicked him the bird, but her face softened with a smile as she struggled to put on her unwieldy, ugly bra.

Bye, bye, Jack waved to her spectacular breasts as she put them in what he called the vault. He once asked her why she wore hideous bras and she shot back that wearing a lacy little bra would be as foolish as asking a fat man to sleep in a flimsy hammock. He answered it would be fun to have her give it a go, and she suggested it would be more fun to watch him try to jam his junk into a flimsy lace Speedo and see how he liked it.

Jack grinned at the memory as he followed her every movement with appreciative eyes. He wasn’t sure why he liked Melody so damned much, but he did. Except for his brief, tumultuous marriage to his ex, Jack never spent this much time with one woman only. He was happy with Melody and he was not looking for it to end. Every other woman he dated, and he had dated many, pushed to get more from him than he wanted to give. He liked that Melody often pushed him away, which suited him just fine. It gave him the freedom to be himself and not worry that every word out of his mouth was scrutinized for hidden meaning. He didn’t have to be on his guard because she only wanted one thing from him—and he was more than happy to comply.

What are you looking at? Melody said.

Jack grinned, thinking it wasn’t many women who made a supportive granny-bra look sexy.

Dr. Melody Stuckley was on the uncivilized side of her thirties and was not beautiful, but no one ever seemed to notice. Her face was captivating despite her too sharp nose and irregular features. If anyone noticed she wasn’t beautiful, her spectacular cleavage and her thick, dark red hair spilling over the shoulders of her statuesque physique diverted them.

When can I see you again? Jack wincing, knowing he sounded like a whipped schoolboy caught up in his first crush.

Dressed, Melody grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. She stood with her hands on her hips, shaking her head with disgust. I can do so much better.

Don’t let the door hit that luscious ass on the way out.

Always the gentleman, Melody headed toward the door.

Hey! I let you come first, Jack jumped out of bed and reaching the door before her.

Let me? Melody raised her eyebrows.

Hold on.

Melody rolled her eyes and stepped out of his way. Here we go.

Jack opened the door and made his way across the hallway to Enid’s bedroom door. The hallway was ridiculously wide and between their bedroom doors stretched the landing to the massive marble staircase covered with plush red carpeting leading downward into the entranceway foyer, which was lousy with marble statues, priceless art and a chandelier bigger than Jack’s first car. Enid once said it looked like the stairway Scarlett O’Hara tumbled down toward the end of the movie—and he didn’t disagree.

Jack walked to Enid’s door, opened it and looked in. She was an unmoving lump of blankets in her massive four-poster bed that was so big that she needed a stool to get up into it each night. He gestured to Melody, but when he turned he saw she was already walking down the marble staircase. The carpeted staircase ate up the sound of Melody’s otherwise noisy heels.

He watched her go, liking that she didn’t turn around to wave goodbye.

What are you doing? Enid said from behind him.

Jesus! Jack spun around, hoping he would block Enid’s view of the staircase—and Melody.

What’s going on? Enid craned her neck to see around him.

I was checking on you, Jack tried to guide her back into her room. Is that a crime?

Enid gazed up at him, her right hand gripping the hammer.

Enid, Jack made an exasperated sound, enough with the hammer already.

What’s that smell? Enid wrinkled her nose.

I don’t smell anything, Jack said, knowing it was Melody’s perfume. He hated to admit it, but he lived in dread Enid would figure out he was having sex with her therapist. He had considered telling Enid, but decided not to because he kept expecting Melody to dump him or for him to lose interest in her. To his surprise, they were still going strong.

Enid’s brow furrowed. I recognize that perfume—

Desperate, Jack grimaced and somehow produced a silent but deadly fart.

Gross! Enid jumped backwards and ran toward her bed.

Sweet dreams, Jack walked to the head of the stairs in time to see the front door close. He sighed with relief, knowing Melody parked her car far enough down the long driveway so that no one would hear her when she came or went.

Jack turned around and surveyed his kingdom with distaste. For reasons he preferred not to think about too often or too hard, he had signed a contract and now lived in the massive monstrosity. He would have felt better with something far more modest. His previous two-bedroom house, all 1200-square-feet of it, had suited him— until it had burned down.

From down the hallway, he listened as the baby woke up crying. He wondered where Eve Hargrove was hiding and what she was doing at that moment. Who was she doing was more like it? He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, and he could almost believe it was true. Another thing he liked about Melody—when he was with her, he forgets about everything—even Eve.

It felt like a lifetime ago, but it had only been a couple of years since he’d been crazy about Eve Hargrove. They’d been together briefly, but his feelings for her left a wound which, although it was healing, it was also still bleeding.

He remembered the horrible moment when he realized the woman he loved was a murderer. It came as a terrible shock that still reverberated through his life, but he’d done what he needed to do and made sure she ended up in prison, where she belonged. The evidence she murdered her stepfather and stepsister was so overwhelming that the trial had been short and conclusive: Eve Hargrove received two life sentences with no hope of parole, but not before she told Jack she was pregnant with his baby.

When she was eight months pregnant and in prison awaiting her trial, Eve blackmailed him into marrying her. She had done so by saying if he didn’t do as she said, then she would kill their unborn baby. It had tempted Jack to let her do just that—but in the end, he couldn’t and agreed to her demands. Eve hired the best attorney in town to make sure Jack signed an iron-clad contract to do exactly as she desired, which was to not only marry her, but he also agrees to raise the baby in Eve’s mansion until the child turns 18 years old. Eve also insisted on a live-in nanny, and her attorney found the formidable Lind who sometimes reminded Jack of a scarier—and hairier— version of Mrs. Danvers from the movie Rebecca.

Jack sighed, feeling a strange satisfaction that Melody somehow caused the memory of Eve to fade a little more every day. It often surprised him that Katherine looked more like Eve than himself, and it was a reminder Eve was out there somewhere—plotting and scheming. He envisioned Eve living on some exotic and remote land, surrounded by servants and luxuries, and he hoped she would stay gone forever.

Jack stood at the top of the massive staircase and listened to the distant sounds of Katherine’s crying as Nanny Lind ministered to her needs. Jack sighed, wondering how in the hell, in the space of a couple of years, he went from being a bachelor to a man with two daughters, a scary nanny and a lover he snuck in and out of his bedroom like he was a pimply faced high-schooler. He had told Enid that Lind was an excellent nanny, but he couldn’t deny that Enid nailed it when she said Lind was creepier than a jar full of spiders.

Life was strange and, if it wasn’t for his work, he knew he would have gone schizo long ago. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t working to pay the bills, and he knew he would continue to be a private detective even if he did it for free. To immerse himself into the depths of a fresh case and dig until he emerged with something akin to the truth was the closest he came to feeling like he understood his place in the universe. Of course, it wasn’t always clear or easy. Some cases, mostly the is my wife cheating on me ones, tended toward drudge. There were those other cases, few, where he got handed a complex puzzle of human actions, emotions, and what he called murk—and then he would dig down to reveal the ever-elusive and rare thing called the truth. That was when he felt most alive.

He hadn’t needed to work for over a year. Ever since Eve blackmailed him into marrying her, he was over-the-top rich, but he found he not only didn’t want to stop working—he couldn’t stop working, because, to do so would be to give up the best part of himself. It would be easier to chop off his own right hand