Dead Canaries

By Monica Monzon

The townsfolk had made the mistake of having faith in the Adamson name. After all, James had been a solid man's man who took little guff from anyone. Crime had never been much of a problem in Paradise, Rhode Island and James had been largely credited through his thirty-year career. It stood to reason that Scott would be just as adept at running the show as his father. The election had gone uncontested and without Scott realizing what was happening, he found himself stepping into his father's huge shoes. It did not take long for the locals to realize that they had made a mistake in entrusting their safety with Scott. He was nothing like his father, no matter how much he tried to follow on James' path. 
Now rookie Sheriff Scott finds himself being bullied by local toughs and on the cusp of a mystery...People
in the town are going missing and upon further investigation he realizes that they all have one 
thing in common... the last time anyone saw them was that when they were entering a cave that used to 
be abandoned coal mine...Will he enter the cave and when he goes in what will he discover?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trellis Publishing
• Release date: Jul 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201016708

Book preview

DEAD CANARIES

MONICA MONZON

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEAD CANARIES

GIRLS & MONSTERS

FINGERPRINT

BLOOD HUNGER

SPOOKINESS

HELLHOLE

DREAM KILLER

Scott stared blankly at the computer screen, his pale green eyes not registering anything in front of him. Behind his pursed lips, he ground his slightly crooked teeth together in annoyance. It was not as though anything on the computer was particularly pressing, not at that time of the day.

I’m the sheriff. How am I stuck here working nights? He thought miserably. As always, the echo of his father’s laughter reverberated through his head. Suddenly, Scott realized it was not merely James Adamson who chuckled like a ghost but Andy Conway also guffawed, pushing his chair back to capture Scott’s attention.

You looking for some new bras, Sheriff? the deputy sniggered. Blue ain’t really your color, is it?

What? Scott mumbled, blinking to stare at the deputy. It was bad enough that he was stuck working nights but having to spend the evening shift with his high school tormentor only added insult to injury. Andy nodded toward the computer that Scott had all but tuned out. A pop-up had flooded the monitor. A blonde lingerie model offered a three-for-one special if Scott would only act now!

It’s not like you have anyone to buy for, Andy taunted him. The computer knows your cup size and everything.

A hot flush of embarrassment tinged Scott’s pale cheeks and he quickly closed the advertisement, bringing him back to the news story he had been reading. He was saved from responding to Andy when the phone rang. Karen had long since gone home for the evening and Andy was already out of his chair, heading toward the door as if the call was his cue to disappear.

You can handle this, right, Scotty? he said, pushing open the front door. I have kids to get home to.

It was not a question and Andy was gone before Scott could respond. A deep scowl overtook the sheriff’s face and he swallowed a yell of indignation. It was pointless. Even if he argued, Andy would ignore him, just like everyone else did. It was why Andy and the other deputies called him Scotty, not Scott or, more respectfully, Sheriff. To them, he would always be the gangly legged kid they had stuffed in a locker at Paradise High.

As if that jerk gives a rat’s behind about getting home to his kids. More likely he’s meeting his mistress. Ten to one, I’ll get a call from his missus later tonight, wondering about his whereabouts.

With a sigh of resignation, Scott snatched up the ringing phone, noting the time as he did. At two o’clock in the morning, it could only be a call from Sandy’s Cove to break up a drunken brawl.

Paradise Sheriff Department, Scott mumbled into the phone.

Scott?

His displeasure slipped away to alarm when he heard the slight panic in Ruth-Ann’s voice.

What’s wrong? he demanded.

Doug Milroy and Buster Crane got into it and...well, there’s blood everywhere.

Are you hurt?

Nah...but they did get a little nasty with me.

I’ll be right there.

Scott dropped the phone back onto the cradle and jumped from the chair he had occupied, grabbing his hat and keys from the desk as he hurried toward the front door. He had an office of his own, tucked neatly back in the rear of the stationhouse but he rarely used it. Since his father had retired, leaving Scott in his place as sheriff, the younger Adamson had not bothered to update his life in accordance with his role. Perhaps a part of him was still in shock at the newfound position. He had never imagined that he would become sheriff one day, not even when James joked about it in Scott’s youth.

Then again, who would have thought that nerdy Scott Adamson would have become a cop either?

The townsfolk had made the mistake of having faith in the Adamson name. After all, James had been a solid man’s man who took little guff from anyone. Crime had never been much of a problem in Paradise, Rhode Island and James had been largely credited through his thirty-year career. It stood to reason that Scott would be just as adept at running the show as his father. The election had gone uncontested and without Scott realizing what was happening, he found himself stepping into his father’s huge shoes. It did not take long for the locals to realize that they had made a mistake in entrusting their safety with Scott. He was nothing like his father, no matter how much he tried to follow on James’ path.

It seemed to Scott that problems had escalate tenfold when James left, although if that were a fact or something the new sheriff imagined, he couldn’t be sure. He was certain, however, that these late-night phone calls from Sandy’s Cove came with more frequency than he ever remembered before. No one would have dared bother James Adamson for a barfight at two a.m.

I need to put my foot down, he told himself firmly as he drove to the bar, his head beginning to throb. If I don’t throw one of them in the drunk tank overnight, they’re gonna keep getting into trouble and I’m going to keep getting calls in the middle of the night. I need to arrest at least one of them.

Even then, Scott knew it was easier thought than done.

The fight had spilled into the parking lot by the time Scott arrived in the Jeep but Doug and Buster had been pulled apart, even if they continued to lip off to one another from a distance. As Ruth-Ann had forewarned, splatters of blood painted the pavement and the onlookers, Buster looking a little worse for wear than Doug. Yet the bigger man had clearly received his lumps.

What is going on here? Scott demanded as he forced himself out of the Jeep. The anger between the two men was a palpable wave but when they laid their eyes on the sheriff, Doug scoffed.

Who in the hell went and called on Adamson? the burly bear of a man growled. Ruth-Ann?

Nevermind who called, Scott replied shortly, shooting the bartender a wary look. As always, Ruth-Ann looked nonplussed, her face ashen and pale. She looked at him with wide, blue eyes, her chin quivering slightly as she met his gaze.

Why does she continue to work here? She doesn’t have the stomach for this.

It was a stupid question. Jobs were far and few between in Paradise. Ruth-Ann worked at Sandy’s Cove because it was all she had. Scott knew he had no right to judge her, not when he loathed his own job just as much as the bartender did hers.

Is someone gonna answer my question? Scott demanded, trying to force some authority into his voice. What’s going on here?

Ain’t nothin’ happenin’ here, Sheriff, Buster drawled through a bloodied leer. Ain’t that right, Dougy?

Ain’t nothing you need to worry yourself about, Scotty, Doug chirped. Scott felt his neck stiffen, a familiar heat stinging his cheeks but he refused to balk under the condescending tone.

Ruth-Ann? Scott turned his attention fully toward the bartender but she shifted her eyes away and shook her head.

I don’t know anything, Sheriff, she mumbled, backing away. Scott stifled another sigh and stared evenly at the men, debating what to do.

Come on, Darryl, Doug called out to his brother. Some of us have work to do in the mornin’.

Scott opened his mouth to protest, the desire to make an example out of one of the men battling with the yen to keep his mouth shut.

Ain’t you a prince, working in the copper mines, Buster barked out sarcastically. Doug whipped his massive head around, dark eyes glittering.

At least I got a job and ain’t freeloadin’ off the government, Doug retorted. Scott barely had time to register the words before the two men were on top of one another again, fists flying. In the midst of it, Scott was sent flying back, his back impacting the hood of a nearby car.

STOP IT! someone yelled out as Scott ambled to his feet and made his way toward the dueling pair. Awkwardly, he stood, his hand hovering over his holster, unsure of how to break up the brawl. Abruptly, a gunshot rang out and everyone froze in unison.

That’s enough!

Parker Wilson lowered his rifle and shook his salt and pepper head. Even from the distance between them, Scott could make out the red rim of his bloodshot eyes.

Go home, Parker growled at the pair. All of you.

Buster frowned but released Doug, the two men splitting apart to move off in opposite directions.

Wait a second now... Scott started to say but his voice was lost in the grumbling din as the patrons of Sandy’s Cove found their way to their respective vehicles or wandered toward the roadway beyond the parking lot.

Let them be, Parker muttered at Scott, tossing his gun back into the cargo bed of his truck and slammed the tailgate shut. It’s all said and done now.

Scott felt a flush of humiliation shoot through him as his father’s best friend opened the driver’s side of his vehicle.

I wish you hadn’t done that, Scott heard himself say before he could stop himself. Parker paused and glanced at Scott, a puzzled expression on his face.

Done what now?

Interfered. I had it under control, Parker.

Parker smirked slightly but when he spoke, his tone was neutral.

Just trying to help out a friend, the older man replied evenly. Ain’t no shame in asking for help when you’re in over your head, Scotty.

That’s Sheriff, Scott barked, unable to smother the resentment forming inside him. A slight surprise crossed over Parker’s face but he did not react.

Come again?

I’m the sheriff of Paradise now, Parker. You’d do well to remember that.

Anger colored Parker’s eyes but his leer did not falter.

Sheriff. I’ll be going now.

Parker slipped inside the vehicle and slammed the door before Scott could continue the conversation. In seconds, the older man had backed up, narrowly missing the sheriff with the bumper of his truck.

Suddenly, the parking lot was still and quiet. Scott stood alone, wondering why he had bothered to come. There was no point, but to say he had done his duty by responding to a call but in the end, nothing ever changed. He only served to embarrass himself and look weaker in front of everyone.

No doubt Parker’s gonna get on the horn with Pops and tell him how I botched things up—again. Even with Pops in Florida, I can’t escape his shadow.

Come inside, Sheriff. I’ll get you a beer.

His attention moved toward the front door where Ruth-Ann stood, offering him a wavering smile.

I probably shouldn’t, Scott started to say but caught himself.

Why the heck not? I might as well.

Sure, he replied instead, adjusting his belt as he swaggered toward the deserted bar. Only Big Al and Kat remained, nursing the last of their drinks as the jukebox spat out an unbearably crooning country tune. Scott ignored the two ancient regulars and they did the same for him as he took a stool in the center of the bar.

A Bud, right? Ruth-Ann asked, shooting him a timid glance as she bent down to the beer fridge.

Aren’t you closing? Scott asked. Instantly, he regretted his question as she straightened herself and paled.

Are you going to fine me? she asked worriedly, her aqua eyes blinking.

No, of course not, Scott replied quickly, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. Ruth-Ann exhaled and slid the bottle across the counter where the sheriff grabbed for it, taking a long swig. He had never been much of a drinker, even in his youth when there had been nothing else to do but sneak off into Snake Den State Park and indulge in bush parties. That had been for the cool kids like Buster and Andy. Scott had much preferred his magic tricks and science kits, much to his father’s chagrin.

Still, he relished the sensation of the alcohol seeping down his gullet and warming his stomach before he placed the bottle back on the counter.

So what happened? Scott asked, watching as Ruth-Ann hastily wiped down the taps behind the bar.

With what? she asked in her innocent way.

With Doug and Buster?

Oh... Ruth-Ann laughed nervously. I shouldn’t have bothered you, Sheriff. You know how those boys get...

She trailed off, her eyes trailing toward the end of the bar and Scott followed her gaze. He grimaced when he saw the smear of red. A bright white dab sat among the pool of blood.

Is...is that a tooth? Scott demanded, rising to take a closer look.

Could be, Ruth-Ann replied lightly. They were really goin’ at it before you got here.

On closer inspection, Scott confirmed his suspicion and shook his head with disgust.

Animals, he muttered, spinning back toward his drink. Next time don’t wait so long to call on me, Ruthie.

Ruth cast him a shy smile and ducked her face, causing a long, spiral curl to fall over her cheek.

I won’t, she promised. Honestly, I’m still getting’ used to the fact that the Sheriff is comin’ out for calls these days. Ain’t somethin’ your daddy would do very often.

The appreciation in her voice sent a warm flutter through Scott’s body.

At least someone around here thinks I’m good at my job, he thought, a flood of proud puffing out his chest slightly. He ran a hand through the thick of his auburn beard, removing his hat to drop on the counter.

Ruthie! Get me another! Big Al slurred from his end of the bar.

Nah, Al, it’s time to close up now, Ruth-Ann replied.

What? Kat screeched. It ain’t last call is it?

It’s last call, Scott said firmly, rising to his full height to glower at the resident drunks. Pay your tabs and get going.

Big Al scowled at him but suddenly, he seemed to realize that the Sheriff