Peeper's Revenge

By J. Ronald York

After years of living in the shadows, James Norris learns there are consequences when he steps into the spotlight. The sequel to King Peeper begins with the release of Norris's first book. Although promoted as fiction, it's not long before secrets are revealed and he is caught in a lie of his own making. Friendships strengthen and new ones are f

• Language: English
• Publisher: St. Broadway Press
• Release date: Sep 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736209905

J. Ronald York

J. Ronald M. York, multi-award-winning author of Kept in the Dark, Songs from an Imperfect Life, Nathaniel & the Midnight Movers, The One-Up Game, Secrets Unkept, and King Peeper graduated from Belmont University with studies in voice and piano. He spent the next two decades in the field of interior design before opening his first art gallery. When not in the gallery, York can be found in his studio painting, at his piano composing, or assisting numerous nonprofit agencies with fundraising. He currently resides outside of Nashville, TN with his cat. Miss Trixie Delight.

Book preview

C H A P T E R

ONE

The store manager of Guilty Pleasure Book Shop stood in front of the restless crowd and clapped her hands several times to get everyone’s attention. Then, speaking loudly in a voice that could peel paint, she announced: Okay everybody, we’re about to start. Please take a seat if you can find one. Turning to me, she said in a stage whisper, Really nice turnout. But, I’m not at all surprised after the reviews you’ve been getting.

I just nodded and smiled. My nerves were already in overdrive. I’m not comfortable with public speaking since I consider myself more of an in-the-shadows type of guy. Plus, this was only my third book event. I finished my manuscript last September and couldn’t believe I had secured an editor and publisher right away. They worked their magic and had Peeper on bookshelves by late March, in time for a coveted spring release.

Our local book store was one of several businesses in a small strip mall located in an affluent area of town. Shelves lined the perimeter of the store filled with books and labeled by categories. Tables circled the room where books were stacked by new releases, fiction, non-fiction and local authors. My first book, Peeper, fit into three of the categories. But tonight, it was displayed front and center on the new release table by the front door.

In the middle of the store sat two sofas with sagging cushions and four chairs upholstered in a nondescript tan fabric. Folding chairs had been added in rows facing away from the checkout counter and toward a small platform in the back with a lectern, signing table and chair. Pamela looked at me and said: Showtime, and walked toward the platform to address the gathering.

Welcome, everybody. My name is Pamela, and I’m the manager around here – have been for years, she began. Sorry that we ran out of chairs, but I’m delighted to have standing room only tonight. We’ve tried to schedule Mr. Norris ever since his book came out, but he has been playing hard to get.

Every head turned in my direction. Again, I just nodded and smiled.

April Fools! All kidding aside, we’re delighted to have him here tonight – a local boy who done good, she laughed at her comment. "There has been so much praise for his first book, Peeper. I mean, who knew so many people would be fascinated by a peeping Tom story? I guess we all have a dark side. Anyway, let me read a few excerpts from a review published in our city paper, The Hillmont Times, she continued. Oh, and by the way, Mr. Stuart from the paper is with us tonight. Raise your hand. Ladies and gentlemen, Jeff Stuart."

The crowd offered a scattering of applause for our local critic.

"As many of you know, Jeff can be a little harsh in his reviews. And yet, he was nothing but glowing for Peeper." Then like she was sharing a secret, she added: "You know, I always thought Jeff was a little kinky." She received a hard-to-interpret stare from Mr. Stuart in return.

The pulse of the room was beginning to flatline. I wished for someone to get a hook and drag her off the stage.

Sorry, I digressed, she apologized. Here’s what Jeff had to say:

I would not have thought the lead character, a peeping Tom, would arouse any sympathy from me. The thought of creeping around in the dark, spying on victims – or subjects as he prefers to call them – made me uneasy.

And yet, I did care about him. I was curious about what damage had brought him to this point. I wondered about the desperation that drove him to hold hostage, by blackmail, the one person who not only saw him for what he was but ultimately accepted him, warts and all – the one person who could help him professionally as well as emotionally.

Mr. Norris gives us a chance to live vicariously through his characters – to join them in the shadows. To be on the outside looking in. A different view. A different perspective. And to leave us questioning what is real and what is make-believe.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce our guest author, James Norris, Pamela concluded. Then, she motioned for me to take her place on the platform.

Thank you, Pamela. And thank you, Mr. Stuart, for your kind words, I began. And thanks to all of you for coming out tonight. As you know, this is my first book. Hopefully, I won’t bore you, as I’m pretty new at speaking before a crowd.

Most people want to know how I came up with the book idea. I’m afraid it’s less exciting than what you might be expecting. The truth is... I began the rehearsed lie, I bought new blinds for my window. And then, one night, I noticed the bottom two slats didn’t quite overlap when closed, leaving a sliver of space between them. It made me wonder if anyone could still see in – so I went outside and looked. I was floored at how much of my room was visible through that small gap. Then, out of curiosity, I looked higher at the slots where the strings were threaded, you know, to be able to raise and lower the blinds. Even that afforded a somewhat limited view.

Now that I had their attention, I asked: For those of you who have already read my book – be honest, did you try looking through your own windows from outside at night?

A slight murmur rumbled through the group. Raise your hand, if you tried that, Several hands were lifted into the air, including that of our respected critic, Mr. Stuart.

I thought so. Were you shocked? I asked as people nodded their heads. It’s alarming when you think about it. Your privacy invaded that way.

Well, that was the start of the idea. If someone looked in my windows, what would they see? I continued. Next, I made a list of things that people might be doing in their homes, unaware that someone could be watching. From there, I started thinking about what other things might happen that someone lurking in the shadows could observe.

An older woman near the back raised her hand. Do you have a question? I asked.

She stood and said, Did you go out peeping to learn more about it?

No, I lied once again. As my editor said, I have a vivid imagination.

Are you aware of anyone looking through your windows? another woman inquired.

No, I lied one more time, realizing that it had become second nature to me. But I have blinds and have added drapes just to be sure.

I had not planned for the question-and-answer part of my presentation to start this early. But when another hand went up, I acknowledged the young man. What about the therapist in your book? Is that part true? he asked.

I couldn’t help but notice he looked to be fresh out of high school or college.

There is some truth in the story of the therapist because I asked a friend for his insight. I wanted to make sure my description of that relationship seemed believable, I recited from my rehearsed speech. I’m fortunate that one of my dear friends is a licensed professional counselor and was willing to let me pick his brain. And I’m flattered that many of you think that there is truth in my story. That makes me feel as if I succeeded in making it seem realistic.

Are you talking about Matthew Miller? The young man surprised me with the follow-up question.

I looked over at Matt, my Matt, sitting in the audience. I had purposely not thanked him in the book’s acknowledgments, wanting to protect his anonymity. However, I had dedicated my book To Matt – no last name. He nodded, giving me the go-ahead to answer truthfully.

Before I answer, I’m curious why you would think that, I replied.

Your dedication in the book and my own recent research to find someone to talk with. I saw that there is a therapist in town by the name of Matthew Miller, he answered innocently. I sensed that he was telling the truth.

Well, the cat’s out of the bag, I said with laughter. Yes, Matt Miller was instrumental in helping me with the terminology. I’m grateful to have a friend willing to share so much of his experience and training with me in my quest to make the story work.

Another hand was raised in the back but was blocked by someone standing in front. When she moved aside, I gasped.

What about the Donna Green character? she began. Was there someone from the Bureau who helped you with that?

Damn, if it wasn’t Diana, aka Donna Green herself, asking the question. I looked over at Matt again, who was now laughing.

No, I just made up that stuff. I mean, who would believe it? I answered with a smirk.

I don’t know. She seemed pretty kick-ass to me, Diana replied.

I’m not sure if the audience was aware of the inside joke, but I felt I was losing focus and needed to get back on track.

I have a question, another voice from the back said. That cop character seemed pretty cool. Was he based on anyone you know? asked Carl, who had been standing behind Diana.

I decided to call their bluff. Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my two friends, who know all too well that the characters Donna and Karl are based on them.

With that, every head turned and looked to the back. They both forced a smile and waved.

"Okay, please allow me to read a passage from my book. For those of you who have not read Peeper, I’ve chosen an early section so as not to give too much of the plot away. This is the beginning of the song and dance between the peeper and the therapist, and the peeper is speaking to the therapist. Then I’ll take a few more questions before signing copies."

You are the catalyst to make me share my adventures. I want to be able to tell them to you, gauge your response, and I’ll welcome your feedback, I explained. You are also the only one with whom I have had interaction with about what I’ve done. Granted, I’ve known people who, at a later time, I’ve ended up peeking through their windows – acquaintances who to this day haven’t a clue what intimate details I know about them.

I notice you say acquaintances, not friends, he commented. Is that because you don’t spy on friends. Or because you don’t have friends?

That’s a little harsh, I answered. But it’s true. I don’t really think of myself as having friends. Sure, I have those whom I grew up with or went to school with, and even worked with at one time. But it’s all superficial.

Just like you said last week about romantic relationships.

Yes, I replied.

But you prefer knowing your victims – I mean, what should I call them? Specimens? he asked.

Let’s call them my subjects, I suggested.

Subjects, as in you’re royalty, and they are beneath you? he asked. Or subjects as in – lab rats?

You have an interesting take on things, I said.

Once I had finished, another brief round of applause broke out.

Now, are there any more questions? I asked.

Two hands went up, one of which was the young man from earlier. I pointed to the woman seated in the row behind him first.

Thank you, she said. "I was wondering if the story about Matt’s, I mean the therapist’s wife, was true."

Again, this is a book of fiction, I replied, as Diana gave an exaggerated gasp and pretended to clutch imaginary pearls. Matt was a wonderful sounding board for my ideas, but the therapist character is not based on his personal experiences.

That was a big lie and would be easy to disprove. But still, I needed to give the pretense of separating truth from fiction. I pointed to the young man again.

Did you have another question? I asked.

Yes, sir, he said politely, causing me to feel 100 years old. Not wanting to give anything away for those who haven’t read your book, but there were a few – and one scene in particular – that I wondered if it was emotional for you to write.

Oh, yes, I replied. When you live with these characters over time, they tend to become real. So what happens to them matters. I care about them.

Thank you, he said softly.

Any more questions? I asked. If not, then I thank you again for coming out tonight. And if anyone wants their book signed, please step forward.

I sat in an uncomfortable straight-back wooden chair with a black felt-tip pen in my hand as the line began to form. Pamela had set up a folding table with a stack of my books to one side. Matt was now in the back talking with Diana and Carl. They turned toward me and broke out in laughter. I just stared.

Six or seven customers had come through the line – and next was the inquisitive young man. I couldn’t quite read his expression, but he appeared to be holding back tears. He said his name was Dylan. I wrote To Dylan, Best Wishes, James Norris. I wanted so badly to talk with him, but the woman behind him practically pushed him aside to place her book in front of me. She then proceeded to ramble on about a friend of hers who got arrested for peeping in windows.

Looking past her, I watched as Dylan stopped to speak with Jeff Stuart and then with Matt. My curiosity was piqued.

It took nearly thirty minutes to sign and chat with everyone. I had hoped to speak with Diana and Carl, but they had already slipped out. Matt was patiently waiting for me and helped gather my belongings to leave.

I hope you’re pleased, Pamela said, practically gushing. It’s been a while since we’ve had such a large turnout. I think people were curious to meet the mysterious author who wrote about things that go bump in the night.

Thank you for everything, I replied. I was surprised myself and delighted that people find my novel intriguing.

I love it when you try to be modest, Matt added.

Again, thank you, I said to Pamela, ignoring Matt. She hugged me as well as Matt and sent us on our way.

Diana and Carl were going to Langford’s for a drink and asked us to join them, Matt said as we walked to my Jeep. You interested?

Yes, I’d love to see them. I can’t believe they came tonight, I said. It makes it harder to pull off the lie that my book is fiction when three people in the audience know for a fact that it’s not.

You handled it well, Matt added.

It’s been a few months since we’ve seen them, I reflected.

Only one time since everything came to a head, Matt confirmed.

Julie, Matt’s now ex-wife, and her brother, aka accomplice, Chris, who had been Matt’s lover, were now serving time for their actions. They had schemed to kidnap Matt and force him at gunpoint to empty his bank accounts so that Julie would receive more than her already generous prenup divorce settlement. What they hadn’t planned on was that my concern and peeping Tom skills would thwart their plan, save Matt, resulting in Diana and Carl arresting them. Explanations and confessions became so convoluted that each kidnapper took a plea deal rather than go to trial.

What about that kid with the questions? I said. Putting it together that my dedication was to you. I probably should have given you an alias.

We both know you’re good at that! he said. I had to go through two of your aliases before finding out your real name.

You know it was worth it, I reminded him. The kid’s name is Dylan. What were the two of you talking about?

He said he had made an appointment online with me for next week, Matt revealed. I don’t know what he wants to discuss, but I felt his urgency, which leads me to think he’s troubled.

He read my book, realized your connection to the story, and now has made an appointment with you, I summarized. You don’t think he’s a peeper, too?

Who knows? Matt answered and then reminded me, But I won’t be discussing it with you.

You’re no fun, I said.

On the drive to the restaurant, I told Matt that we probably ought to figure out a better explanation just in case these questions came up again.

You can’t change your story at this point, Matt stated. Stick with it being fiction. I’m okay if people realize I helped with the details.

Helped? I said. You are the details. Your story, including your crazy ex-wife, has overshadowed my peeping stories.

I don’t think so. But if anyone did a little digging, they’d find out about Julie and Chris. We’re lucky their kidnapping scheme didn’t get much coverage. Diana and Carl did a great job of keeping it under the radar, Matt said.

We really owe them a lot, I added.

No one knows for sure that the late-night activities in the book are true. You’ve never been arrested for peeping. And thank God, you’ve quit, Matt added.

Hopefully, your ex-wife or ex-brother-in-law won’t get a book deal, I said.

Whatever comes out, we’ll face it together, Matt replied, reaching for my hand. Hell, it might even sell more books!

Looking at Matt, I’m amazed that he’s in my life. The situation that I had put him in would have caused any other man to file a restraining order instead of beginning a romantic relationship. I still remember how angry he was when he realized that I not only had watched him through his windows at night but had taken compromising videos to blackmail him. In spite of everything, he moved in next door to me, shares my bed and my life. I was always the loner, thinking I was not deserving of love, and yet, Matt saw past that and took a chance on me.

C H A P T E R

TWO

Well, it’s about time, Diana