The Kiss of Death: A John Cansler Novel

By Burt H. Slaughter

The KISS of DEATH

Jennifer Mayfield was a beautiful young woman whose life was touched by tragedy when she was only 16. She endured multiple sexual assaults, which left severe emotional scars. With some treatment from a psychologist friend, she regains some sense of normalcy, only to see both her first two husbands die a violent death.
Was the psychologist friend really a friend, or did he have ulterior motives?
When she overhears what she believes is a threat against her life by her third husband, her life is again in shambles, that is, until she hires John Cansler, the handsome Private Investigator, to do some digging. Narrowly escaping death by a bomb planted in her car convinces Jennifer she was correct.
Did a decision to take matters into her own hands and no longer be a victim make her a black widow with the kiss of death?
This story has a tragic ending but it mirrors real life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493125487

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Copyright © 2013 by Burt H. Slaughter.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 11/26/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

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www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

Prologue

BOOK I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

BOOK II

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Author’s Plea

Author’s Biography

Other Books by Burt H. Slaughter

The Unsolved Hijacking

of Flight 305/How Justice Was Denied

This book is dedicated to my wife Laura, with thanks

for her suggestions and proofreading, and my beautiful

daughters Melissa, Marcy, and Julie for being

my inspiration

Prologue

I didn’t meet Jennifer Mayfield until the summer of 2012.

At the time of her first tragedy, when she had just turned 16, I was busy trying to keep all the girls in Seattle from being sleepless (wink, wink).

Well, that’s not really true.

I had zeroed in on one girl, Dede Collins, who was the same age as me.

She was my first love. She was so sweet and pretty. She was also too young to go all the way, so we just engaged in a little petting. I lost my virginity during my senior year to a young woman four years older than I, but that’s a story for another day.

Who is Jennifer Mayfield? That’s a simple question without a simple answer.

Who are you? Who am I? Who are any of us?

There are a number of factors that determine who we are, and they go far beyond our name or our physical being.

Just as importantly are the values we hold dear, the emotional outlook we have, and our spiritual belief system.

No doubt about it: we humans are extremely complex, and who we are changes over time.

Who we are begins with genetics: that’s the basic blueprint which is the DNA we inherit from our parents that determine the color of our eyes, our hair, whether we’re short or tall, etc. You know: the physical characteristics.

Of course, the X and Y chromosomes determine whether we’re male or female. You probably already know that.

One of the determining factors that shape us into who we are is the environment we grow up in. If you’re lucky enough to be born into a wealthy family, you can’t have the same appreciation for the basic things in life like food or shelter as someone who has been dirt poor and forced to go hungry on many occasions.

The last, but not least, factor, is our life experiences.

Events of great happiness or joy, such as your first love, or getting married or having a child, can shape who we are.

Trauma can sometimes change not only our physical being but also our emotional and spiritual being, as well. And trauma has many faces.

A tragic accident may bring about significant changes. A death in the family or other loss of a loved one can alter who we are.

Many of our soldiers come back from experiencing the horrors of war a different person. But Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) can be caused by other kinds of terrible tragedies, as well.

Jennifer Mayfield suffered more than one terrible tragedy in her early formative years which, no doubt, helped to shape her into the person she became later in life.

When Jennifer walked into my office, she walked into my heart. I loved Jenny… . and then I lost her.

If you’re one of those people who believe it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, I guess you’ll say I’m lucky. I try to tell my heart that, but my heart just ain’t buying it!

I hope this story makes you laugh a little, cry a little, and above all, entertains you for many hours!

Good Reading!

John Cansler

1.jpg

I will, first, do no harm . . . .

(from the therapist’s oath)

BOOK I

Chapter 1

The afternoon sunlight streaming through the half-closed blinds cast long slivers of light onto the tan Berber carpet of the unlit room. The furnishings were sparse, consisting of a small metal desk, a rolling secretary’s chair, a semi-reclining stuffed chaise, and a small stuffed Queen Anne chair. A number of framed certificates and diplomas dotted the wall behind the desk. Sparse, yes, but certainly befitting the new practice of a beginning psychologist.

Weightless specks of dust made visible by the shafts of light floated in random patterns of chaos in the air.

Eighteen year old Jennifer Mayfield lay mesmerized on the semi-reclining chaise and studied the floating specks carefully as though they held the answer to some of the secrets of the universe. They swirled, and then disappeared, as cooler air from the AC vents began to flood the room. Her concentration was broken by the soft voice that spoke to her,

Jennifer, it’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time. I’m glad you came to see me today. The last time I saw you before I went off to school, you had just graduated from middle school, Dr. Whittaker smiled, his tone soft and non-threatening.

Jennifer said nothing, just sat there staring at her hands which rested on her propped-up knees.

How’s your brother? I haven’t talked to him in a long time either.

He’s okay, I guess. We don’t see him that often since he got married and moved to Arlington.

Well, I felt badly about not getting to come to his wedding. It was right in the middle of finals. When you talk to him again, please give him my best regards.

I will..

The stocky, slightly balding, 5'10" brown haired, hazel eyed doctor pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. His slightly beady eyes seemed larger as he looked at what at one time he had thought of as a pest, kinda’ like a little sister.

Jennifer, your mom called me but did not go into detail. She felt you had some anger issues. She also felt it best to leave it up to you, as to how much you wanted to share with me.

Ronald J. Whittaker earned his Psy.D in Psychology from John Hopkins University and was serving a one year residency with the local hospital and beginning to take on a few patients in his off hours. He was undoubtedly the newest shrink practicing clinical psychology in Richardson, Texas, and also ex-neighbor to Jennifer Mayfield.

He knew he first had to re-establish a bond, a connection, with Jennifer before she would feel comfortable in baring her soul to him and letting him see her deepest, darkest secrets.

Dr. Whittaker had known Jennifer for many years, having grown up two doors down in the same neighborhood. He’d been about the same age and best friends with Richard, Jennifer’s brother, who was eight years her elder. Since he was a family friend, Jennifer’s mother Karen, had thought it would be logical for Jennifer to get some counseling from Ronald regarding the sleepless nights and the anger she often felt and didn’t know how to deal with.

"Jennifer, I know some of the memories you have may be painful, but talking about what happened to you is the first step in the healing process. You must understand, none of this was your fault, so for you, there’s no shame in any of this, and I know it’s hard not to, but there’s no reason to be embarrassed.

Without going into detail, your mom mentioned you were molested at a younger age. Is that true?"

Yes, Jennifer finally softly replied, looking away from the doctor.

Can you remember about when it happened?

She hesitated . . . .

Yes. It was the night of my 16th birthday party. She hesitated….

Can you just tell me about it?

"Well, my party was over by about ten o’clock. I had a little homework to finish up, so I went into my bedroom and shut the door. I finished about 10:30 and crawled into bed. I think it was about midnight when I was awakened by Toby, my stepdad, who had crawled into bed with me. He said to me,

Shhhhh, be quiet. If you say a word about this, I’ll kill your mother.

Jennifer began to sob. When she was finally able to speak again, she said,I was so afraid. I didn’t know what to do. I knew he had a mean streak in him, so I believed him when he said he’d hurt my mom. So I just laid there. He started fondling me and kissing me all over. It was all I could do to keep from screaming.

Dr. Whittaker handed her a tissue, sat down beside her, and hugged her gently. When her sobbing subsided, he gently said,

Go on.

That went on about once a week for two months. Each time he would threaten to kill my mother if I said anything. Then, the next time he came to my bed, after the fondling, he forced me to have sex with him. I had to bite my finger to keep from screaming. If we had had a gun in the house, I would have shot him dead.

Donald muttered softly to himself,

Sonofabitch!

Jennifer sobbed. When she was able to speak again she whispered,

It happened twice more, after that. But then one night after being at a bar and having too much to drink, he flipped his truck on the way home and died in the accident, so I guess he got what was coming to him. But I feel robbed, cheated. I wanted to be the one to put him in a grave.

Jennifer, where was your mother when this was happening?

I think she was in her room. She and my stepdad argued and fought a lot, mostly over his drinking.

After regaining his composure, Dr. Whittaker said,

"I’m sorry this happened to you, Jennifer. I can’t say we’ll cure you overnight but I believe we can help you get past this. You’ve taken the first step today to getting your life back in order… . talking about what happened."

"I’m going to give you a prescription for a mild sedative to help you sleep. Take one tablet before bedtime and also take a hot bath every night. That’ll help relax you, and here’s a mental and emotional exercise I want you to do: repeat to yourself 20 times every day, no less: "I’m free, it’s over." As you repeat this to yourself, believe it, because it’s true."

"You know, Jennifer, this type of thing is not usually about sex, it’s about power and control over another person. People who are driven to this kind of madness are sick. Unfortunately, most sexual predators that have this kind of sickness are never cured.

I know it may be a long time before you can talk about it without the pain, but you will be able to, eventually. I know it seems a little too early to talk about forgiveness, but remember, your stepdad suffered from an illness and forgiving is cathartic. I’m not saying to forget it… . it’s too soon for that… . but forgiveness for your emotional health is like an antiseptic for a wound; it helps it heal from the inside out."

Think about that and I want to see you again next week, Jennifer. He made a notation on his laptop.

I don’t know how I’ll be able to pay you, Ronald, uh… Dr. Whittaker.

Don’t worry about that. Just think of it as visiting with a friend. When you become rich and famous we’ll talk about payment. And please just call me Ronald. Just come on by after you get out of school next Thursday and we’ll talk some more, okay?

She arose, picked up the prescription for the sedative, and walked toward the door.

Okay, Ronald. Thanks for seeing me. See you next week.

Jennifer left Dr. Whittaker’s small one-room office located in a strip mall in Richardson, Texas. She and her mom lived together in a small three-bedroom house nearby. Her mother was working as a dental assistant not far away. She had not remarried since her husband, Toby, Jennifer’s stepdad, had died in the accident. Jennifer’s older brother Richard had moved away to Arlington after graduating from SMU.

Jennifer was excited about her upcoming graduation from Richardson High School. She viewed the event with mixed emotions, however, since it meant she would not be able to see some of her many friends as often.

Jennifer was a very popular girl at school and had been on the cheer-leading squad. She had been elected the Homecoming Queen and had already won a number of beauty contests and many prizes in both local and regional beauty contests.

Money was tight for Jennifer’s mom, so it was agreed she would attend a local community college for the first two years, unless she won a scholarship to another college.

Dr. Whittaker thought about Jennifer after she had left. When he’d moved from Richardson, a Dallas suburb, to go to John Hopkins University, she’d been just a kid only 14 years old with braces on her teeth… barely out of middle school. Now at 18, she was about the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. He cursed again under his breath. How could someone hurt such a beautiful, young, innocent girl? Someone who would commit such an atrocious act did not deserve to live. There was simply no place for people like that in a civilized society.

Chapter 2

When Jennifer arrived home to the house she shared with her mother, she darted up the front steps and entered the cheery living room. After dropping her books on the sofa, she stepped into the all-white kitchen where her mom, Karen was just starting to prepare dinner.

Hey, Babe! How was your visit with Ronald, or should we call him Dr. Whittaker? Oh, would you set the table while we talk, please?

Jennifer opened the white-painted cabinet, retrieved two plates and went about setting plates and silverware on the small maple kitchen table as she spoke,

He’s okay, I guess. He seemed very nice. It just seems kinda’ strange to think of him as a doctor. He wants me to call him just Ronald. Oh, and he wants to see me next week. I told him I didn’t know how I could pay him and he said not to worry about it. He said I could pay him when I’m rich and famous. Ha! Do you think I’ll ever be rich and famous, Mom?

I’m sure you will, dear. After all, you’ve already won the Miss Dallas title and the Miss Texas pageant is coming up right away. I believe you’ll win that and then next year you can enter the Miss America Pageant. I believe in you and I’m so glad we decided to continue with your piano lessons. That will get you through the talent portion. And I realize I’m a little prejudiced, but you are absolutely the most beautiful girl around anywhere. You can do it! I just know you can!

Jennifer was very close to her mom. Her mother had been crushed by the knowledge that her husband had assaulted her only daughter. Of course, she did not learn about this until after the accident which killed her husband and Jennifer was able to confide in her. She was beside herself and sick with remorse that she had not seen what was happening under her own roof. She did want Jennifer to receive the benefit of some counseling with the hope she would not be scarred for life. She prayed this horrible experience would not prevent her from having a normal healthy relationship with men.

Okay, Mom. If you really think I can win, I’ll enter. You’ll have to help me, you know.

Certainly, Darling. I’ve already picked up the entry forms. All we have to do is fill them out and turn them in. We’ll do that this weekend. Be thinking about which cause you would like to promote when you are entered into the Miss America Pageant. Also, be thinking about and practicing whichever musical selection you decide on for the talent portion. I’ll help you pick a good one… . maybe a classical piece, like Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Everyone likes that one."

Okay, Mom! Jennifer said. That’s one of my favorites, too.

Jennifer enjoyed the pomp and ceremony of the pageants and the adoring looks she got from all the judges, especially the men. At 5'8", 130 lbs. she had a slightly hour-glass figure and honey-blonde hair. Her teeth were straight and white (thanks to the braces and good dental care), and her complexion was very light and creamy without a hint of imperfections. Her soft brown eyes and extra-long eyelashes gave her an inviting look. Her lips were full and sensuous. She was an absolutely perfect female specimen, or so at least many people thought.

She had not had a boyfriend since the incident with her stepdad, partly because she felt most young men were interested in only one thing… . sex. Having experienced such sexual trauma left her with bitter feelings toward most men. As a result, she tried to avoid relationships that would normally ultimately lead to sex. She needed the soothing balm of time, coupled with counseling, before she could learn to trust and to love.

Chapter 3

Thursday came and Jennifer once again parked her little Nissan Sentra in front of Dr. Ronald Whittaker’s small office. She knocked, then entered.

Hi, Ronald

He rose from his small desk to greet her.

Hello, Jennifer. Come in and sit down. I’m glad you could come again. How has your week been? Are you sleeping any better?

She sat on the stuffed semi-reclining chaise reserved for patients and said,

Yes, thanks, Ronald. Your advice has helped a lot. The hot baths routine worked, also.

Good. Do you trust me, Jennifer?

Yes, of course.

Good. Today I want you to be completely comfortable. Just lie back and close your eyes for a moment.

After she had stretched out on the chaise, he continued,

"Alright, I’d like to set the stage to explore your sub-consciousness to begin to uncover and deal with some of the hostilities and anger you may be feeling and may not even be aware of, through a session of hypnosis called hypno-therapy.

In this process we allow your conscious mind to go to sleep but are still able to reach your sub-conscious. This method of therapy is quite effective in many cases, and I’m certified in this procedure. I basically talk to you as you fall asleep to the sound of my voice and then ask you a few questions. At the end we slowly wake you up and normally you don’t consciously remember anything but your sub-conscious does.

I might add: contrary to what you may have heard, no one can persuade you to do anything while you’re hypnotized that goes against your core beliefs, so you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not gonna’ make you jump up and down and crow like a rooster, or anything like that. Is this something you would feel comfortable with?"

Sure, I guess so.

Good. Now think about soft, white, puffy clouds floating overhead and any other events in your life that made you feel at peace with the world. I want you to be completely relaxed while we explore your feelings about what happened to you. It is so important that you are able to verbalize your feelings about what happened and how it affected your relationship with your mother, your other family members and men, in general.

Okay, Ronald, she said as she closed her eyes for a moment and tried to think of happier times.

Good, he said as he moved his small chair besides Jennifer, facing her. He sat down and pulled out a pocket watch and, resting his arm on her knee, which she had raised, held it in front of Jennifer, swinging it from a small length of chain slowly from side to side.

Okay, Jennifer. I want you to look at this watch until your eyes get really, really tired and listen only to the sound of my voice. Do you understand?

Yes, Ronald. She stared at the watch swinging slowly from side to side. He began to talk in a low mellow, soothing voice,

You are becoming more and more relaxed. Your eyelids are getting heavy. There are no sounds except the sound of my voice.

After about a minute, her eyes began to tire.

Your eyelids are becoming heavier and heavier. They are now so heavy, you must close them. She began to blink.

Alright, Jennifer, close your eyes and listen only to the sound of my voice. You are feeling relaxed, very relaxed. You are in a happy place. All is well. The sun is warm on your skin, the breezes are cool. You are feeling very warm and safe and comfortable. You can hear only the sound of my voice as you are drifting off to sleep.

His voice was warm and soothing and melodic in his cadence.

You are drifting deeper and deeper into sleep but you can still hear only the sound of my voice. You are resting, at peace with the world, with no cares, no worries. You are falling deeper and deeper into sleep.

Jennifer’s eyelids began to flutter as she reached a state of semi-consciousness.

Dr. Whittaker recognized the signs of success in his efforts to reach her sub-conscious with the fluttering eyelids and the slow, shallow, rhythmic breathing.

Okay, Jennifer you are asleep but you can still hear my voice. We’re going to talk about what happened to you and then we’re going to help you cast aside or throw away any resentments or feelings of anger you may have.

How do feel about your mother being unable to protect you from your stepdad?

Jennifer spoke slowly, her eyes still closed,

Mmm… . at first I hated her, but then she didn’t know, and I couldn’t tell her, so I can’t blame her.

How about your brother. Do you resent him for not being there for you?

No, I don’t blame him at all. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t there. He had already moved away from home.

How do you feel about men, in general?

I think most men are pigs who can’t be trusted.

That’s understandable, Jennifer, but the fact is 99% of the men out there are good people who respect women and would never do anything like what you’ve been through. You must believe that. Don’t let what happened to you cloud your vision of all men.

We’re going to do a little exercise, Jennifer. Let’s pretend there’s a window next to where you are lying. Now, we’re going to throw all the resentment and anger you feel toward anyone in general and men in particular out that window never to be seen again. Are you with me now? Take all that anger and resentment, squeeze it from your body into your hands, then I’ll help you throw it all out the window. As he said this, he placed his hands on her shoulders, applied a slight pressure and began to work his hands slowly toward her hands, saying,

All the feelings of resentment and anger are now being squeezed down into your hands. When his hands reached hers, he said,

Okay, now all your hurt and anger are in your hands. He held her hands along with his own and made a sweeping motion toward her left side, as though they were tossing something out the window, saying,

"Now we’re casting