Second Cousin Once Removed

By Kenneth L. Toppell

Family can be murder. Just ask Henry Atkinson. A slam-bang series debut “reminiscent of those stories told by Dashiell Hammett . . . dark, and gritty” (Tessa Talks Books).

Henry Atkinson’s life as an attorney is slow, predictable, and lonely, given his divorce and his ex-wife’s custody of the kids. He recently took up genealogy as a hobby to fill the time, but it doesn’t do much to spice up his mundane routine.

Until the day he prods at a dead end of one of the branches of his family tree. Who is this cousin Shelley, whom he’s never met or even heard of in years? Ignoring a warning to leave well enough alone, Henry still doesn’t find much in his deeper dive into the mystery—just a concerning criminal record for the man that finally convinces him to drop the matter. But Shelley is a man who doesn’t want to be found or even looked for. And now he knows someone has been looking.

Faster than he knows what’s hit him, Henry is propelled into sudden mayhem, receiving ominous threats, meeting mysterious strangers, and running for his life. Second Cousin Once Removed is a fast-paced, sweaty-palm thriller that will keep you hooked until the last page.

“An enthralling, unique, and captivating story that makes it impossible to put the book down.” —The Artsy Reader

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Sep 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781612544939

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

HENRY

Shelley Garçon kills people. I want you to know this about him because he’s still out there.

He’s also Ira Thomas’s nephew, the one nobody talks about. Ira’s my cousin on my mother’s side. I hadn’t thought much about Ira until last week, when I began my latest project, compiling my family tree. I’ve met Ira. I’ve never seen Shelley, only heard about him. Not Sheldon, but Shelley, a name almost always female.

Shelley, the felon.

I’m Henry Atkinson, a semiretired lawyer. I spend most of my time now watching old movies on cable or baseball. I played ball in college and like to think I’m still in pretty good shape, thanks to my racquetball buddies who bug me if I miss our weekly game. I’m tall and have most of my hair, which is now more gray than brown. People have said I’m distinguished looking, whatever the hell that means. I live alone in a high-rise condo with a view of downtown Manhattan and no yard to worry about. When I was a full-time attorney, I did good work, but I didn’t always tell people that I was an attorney. Lawyer jokes are one step below Polack and Aggie jokes. I don’t care for Polack and Aggie jokes.

Furthermore, I don’t apologize for doing a good job. I never sued anyone. I’m a senior partner with Foxglove Associates LLP, a research firm. We can find anything on the internet and provide top-notch legal resources for our clients. We look up things like old patents, copyrights, and deeds. In other words, we help companies check on ownership issues in their businesses. I could never be a defense attorney who deals with real crime. Those guys get threatened or sometimes worse. I’m not usually a wuss, but I am careful, too careful, my ex used to tell me. Take a chance, for once, she’d say. Maybe I had, with her, and you see how that worked out.

Anyhow, my day job was really the impetus for my dive into genealogy. If I could find things for others, why not for my family? After all, I was no longer married and my children had stayed with my ex-wife, so one branch of the family could be ending with me. I wanted to contribute in some way. Thus, the family tree.

That brings me back to Shelley, the ex-con, and his uncle, Ira. As I said before, I knew Ira Thomas. We weren’t close, but I met him and some of the other family from the New York side when I was a kid. He was the closest cousin in age that I had. I had even spent some time with him, most recently at a funeral. I needed to add him and Shelley to my tree. OK, I was curious, too, maybe even nosy about what the guy, Shelley, was doing now that he was out of prison. As a teenager, Shelley had been arrested once, but those records were sealed due to his age. That’s all I knew. Now, I had the time. I wanted to find out more about the notorious second cousin I’d never met.

It was a warm October day in Brooklyn, one of those days that teases you into thinking winter isn’t close, when of course, you know it could be snowing and thirty degrees tomorrow. As was my custom, I was spending the morning downtown in my office at the firm, the corner office, which was mine because of seniority. Rumor had it that the office was mine because I paid the rent. Actually, I had spread the rumor. Now everyone believed it.

Evelyn, my administrative assistant—hell, when did we stop calling them secretaries—had just brought me some coffee and was passing on the latest office gossip while I was answering emails. Old school, I know, but I loved the attention, and she understood my need for it. I think she also may have thought of me as more than just her boss, but we don’t go there. I guess single, older men who can still breathe are a premium these days.

I sat at my desk sipping my coffee—light with two sugars—and called Ira. We chatted for a while; the catching up one does in lieu of conversation. I told him of my project, the Atkinson-Thomas family tree. He was politely interested until I asked about Shelley. Ira hemmed and hawed a bit but in essence said he knew almost nothing about his ephemeral nephew.

I haven’t seen you since your wife’s funeral, I said. Was Shelley there? I thought I knew everyone there from our side. I set down my coffee cup and fiddled with a paper clip, a nervous mannerism I’d picked up in law school.

No, he doesn’t show up very often. He had flown in earlier that day, but he didn’t stay for the service. Ira was clearly uncomfortable talking about Shelley.

I asked him where this wayward nephew lived. There was only silence on the other end of the line. Ira? Are you still there? It was so quiet I thought the connection had gone dead.

After several more seconds, he said, Don’t go looking for Shelley. He’s unmarried, so there is no one else you need to worry about. Just leave him alone.

What do you mean, ‘Just leave him alone?’ All I want to do is add him to the tree.

Look, Henry, just leave him alone. He hung up.

Ira was odd. He was a widower and Shelley was his only nephew. I didn’t really need to follow that line in the tree, but now it bugged me.

Why was Shelley a secret? How could he fly in and out of town with only a few hours in between flights? Was it a long connection, or did he have his own plane? What did he do? Where did he live? Where the hell should I start to look?

I tried some different online search sites. All I found was an article in the Belladonna, New York, newspaper. There were many other citations for people with similar names, but none for Shelley Garçon. I went back to my genealogy sources and saw only the one mention of him that I found before.

My mother had always liked the extended Thomas family and had tried to keep up the relationship. It had been a chance to visit upstate New York, Niagara Falls, Cooperstown, and the vineyards, years before wineries became tourist traps. Now the bonds were more than tenuous. Hell, Shelley was a cousin I had never met. Why did I need to follow up on him? Most of the family in my generation of Atkinsons had had no interest in the Thomas family anyway.

Over lunch at my favorite deli, salami and swiss on white, mustard, no mayo, extra pickles on the side, I wondered why Ira was so evasive about his nephew. Was he being protective? We all knew Shelley had spent time in juvie as a kid. Why was Ira acting so strangely? Now I was more than interested. It must be a damned personality disorder of mine.

Later that evening, rather than watch Burt Lancaster and Shirley Jones heat it up in Elmer Gantry, I turned on my computer and browsed social media. No luck finding any info on Shelley. Then I tried the phone number and background sites. I often use them to find deadbeats, scofflaws, and other shirkers I need to find in my legal work. I felt foolish that I hadn’t tried them before, and they cost money, but this was for the family tree, right?

Anyway, there Shelley was on Whitepages.com, along with addresses, last known phone numbers, aliases, and a criminal record. I didn’t need to look any further.

Alias: Sheldon Garson. Addresses in New York, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts. He had multiple phone numbers and a criminal record. Evidently he still rode on the dark side. Christ, no wonder Ira didn’t want to talk about him.

That’s when I said, Enough! I didn’t need to know anything else about Ira or his nephew. I said no más to myself and went on to research the rest of the family. I went back to Facebook because it’s a great source for pictures. Even old farts like me can get comfortable with social media.

This was when I got myself seriously tangled up with Shelley. No one can find out if you are nosing around for someone on Facebook. That’s not true with background sites. I thought I was through with Shelley after I had paid my money and received the report from them the following day. I stopped looking for him after that. But, somehow, Shelley was wise to my hunt.

How does someone find a search? How did he find my search? In all the searches in all the world, how did he find this one? (Bogie will forgive my misquoting.)

Of course, I didn’t know Shelley. All I knew was that three days later I got an email telling me that I had a message on Facebook from a close friend. Hah! Relatives I’ve got, not close friends. By then, I was back in the office, coffee in hand. I had a few business matters I needed to handle but they could wait. I clicked on the link.

Henry. It’s me, Shelley. You’ve been looking for me. Why?

That’s all he said. Ten words that scared the hell out of me. He had found me. It couldn’t be through Facebook. Damn! What can of worms had I opened?

Maybe it was the knowledge that he was an ex-con with a foot-long rap sheet. Maybe it was Ira’s insistence to leave him alone. Maybe it was a warning. A frisson of fear ran through me, a shiver previously unknown to me.

Still, I didn’t know if I should answer. He would know I saw his post. I felt like hiding but knew I couldn’t. I tried to be upbeat as I private messaged him. Hi Shelley. We’ve never met, but your name came up as I was creating a family tree. Your uncle Ira confirmed who you were. Thanks for getting in touch, but I have what I need now.

Did that sound as sophomoric as I thought?

In moments, Shelley’s reply came in. Ira’s dead.

Son of a bitch. I read that over and over again. Ira’s dead. I had just talked to him a few days ago. Now that scared me. Christ! Had Shelley killed him? This wasn’t some bizarre coincidence. I don’t believe in coincidences. Coincidences are just situations that we can’t figure out. I knew I had to figure this one out fast.

I quickly replied, Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Is everyone else OK? He sounded so good when we talked. Was it an accident? I knew I was rambling, but I was trying to think of what to do next, not how to respond.

His immediate reply made my stomach muscles clench. I caught my breath.

It wasn’t an accident, Henry. Now drop it. No more questions. Get outta my life or you’ll be very sorry. Maybe you’ll be sorry no matter what.

He wrote with a menacing flatness to each line. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I had no desire to hold any kind of conversation with him. I wanted to leave.

Leave what? My office? He didn’t know where I was. Our discussion was in cyberspace. It was as if I had to get away. I knew it wasn’t logical. It didn’t make sense. Now I know, but not right that minute. He scared me shitless.

I closed my laptop, grabbed my jacket, and left my office. Moving with as much finesse as a terrified child, I knocked over a chair in the reception area on my way to the firm’s impressive main entrance. Why wasn’t that door closed? We don’t leave the doors open to the attorney’s offices. I looked back at my office. Someone was there.

CHAPTER

TWO

HENRY

Awoman in a tailored suit with a pencil skirt, an open collar blouse, and a rather pleasant smile watched me. She was leaning in my doorway. I’m talking Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not leaning. I just gawked at her. Where had she come from?

Curiosity replaced fear, at least for a moment. She didn’t work for us. She wasn’t an attorney for one of our clients. I knew almost all of them, a group of sorry old white men.

If I were a private detective from the books I’ve read, she could have been a femme fatale, but I wasn’t, and she wasn’t. I shuddered as a chill ran through me.

She pushed away from the doorway. Mr. Atkinson, are you all right?

How did she know my name? I picked up the chair I had knocked over and sat down, still shaking. What was the matter with me? Why was I suddenly freaking out? She walked over to me, tissues out as she saw me sweating.

Wait here, she said. She handed me the tissues. I’ll get you some water.

I swallowed it greedily. Only when she started to loosen my tie did I snap out of my fugue state. I grabbed her wrist, then dropped it with apologies. I stood up quickly, taking hold of the side table for balance. Calm, cool, and collected, I was not.

I came to see you, she said. Maybe I should come back another day. You’re obviously in a hurry. She was the calm one, concerned as well, and certainly cool. She was also very attractive.

No, no. Please follow me. I’m too late for my other meeting anyhow. I was struggling to regain my composure, though with little hope of success. Come in, and I’ll cover up for my tardiness. I gave her a wretched excuse for a grin and led her into my private office. She walked in and looked up at me. I guessed she was on the other side of forty. She was small. Even in high heels she barely reached my shoulder. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was pulled away from her face. Despite my agitation, I was aware of her generous red lips. I had become conscious of her arrival, of her presence.

She touched my arm. She wore pale pink nail polish but no rings. Are you sure you have time? You looked as if it were a matter of life and death out there. She pointed toward my door.

That hurt. It was as if she knew my panic, my lie about having to be somewhere, but of course even I didn’t understand why I was reacting this way. After all, it was just a stupid Facebook message. It’s over, I told myself. Move on, you old goat. I smiled and reached for the phone.

Evelyn, please call Donaldson and cancel for me. Tell him my morning meeting ran over. I was holding the end call button and hoping my visitor with sparkling green eyes didn’t notice.

Mr. Atkinson, Evelyn is out for lunch, and the button just popped up.

My visitor smiled all the way to her eyes, and her face lit up. I turned red and dropped into my desk chair. I knew I wasn’t looking like the senior attorney I was. Hell, I couldn’t pass for a law student. I was no longer thinking about Shelley. I just wanted to disappear.

My unknown guest reached forward and patted my hand. It wasn’t a romantic act; she was simply reassuring me that I was OK, but even that fleeting touch evoked more than I could explain. I straightened and tried to regain some remnant of my dignity. I looked at her directly for the first time. She was good looking, professional in both attire and demeanor, and clearly bemused by my condition.

"May I ask to whom I’m speaking? I know I’ve just made an ass of myself. I would

Reviews for Second Cousin Once Removed

[avoraciousreader · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Book source ~ TourHenry Atkinson is a research attorney in New York. He’s semi-retired and single, so for a project he decides to dig into his family tree. When he gets to Shelley Garcon, his cousin’s nephew, he discovers a killer. And now the killer knows Henry is looking into him. Before Henry realizes it, his life is in danger and he runs, taking an unsuspecting woman with him. Trying to stay out of Shelley’s sight and keep Carolyn Trellis safe he creates a new life away from NY and Carolyn goes along with him. But things are never that simple.This story has a great premise and it starts off fine. But then it becomes wildly farfetched and extremely hard to believe. In addition, the skeleton of a good story is here, but there’s no real meat to it. It jumps from scene to scene, the world and characters fall flat, and the timeline is wonky. I honestly think it reads more like a first draft than a finished story. This author is new-to-me, so I don’t know if this is his typical writing style or not. If so then it’s not to my liking. I like characters who step off the page, a world that becomes my world, and a plot that is, at the very least, slightly believable. I like the premise and Henry’s a decent character, but the rest of the book is a disappointment to me.