Shades of Envy: Samantha Barclay Mystery, #4

By Suzanne M. Hurley

Dead bodies are stacking up! Teenagers want to be vampires! The sheriff is acting secretive! Psychologist Samantha Barclay sets out on a wild ride to uncover the truth. Her discoveries lead to confrontations of the deadly kind. Will she survive with her life, as well as her heart, intact.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597052658

Book preview

September 8 - Notes to myself

Ms. Perfect. That was her nickname.

Secretly. Behind her back.

Hair was always brushed just so and styled by professionals.

Clothes were top of the line.

She moved well. Like a model. Graceful, elegant.

Spoke well, too.

Everyone watched her, listened to her, and envied her.

She didn’t know.

She was one of those humble, sweet kind of girls.

Always nice to people.

Used to be sick.

Bulimic.

Threw up daily.

Vulnerable. Dependent.

Leaned on everyone.

Then she got better.

Became a shining star.

A success story.

People were enthralled with her.

She started coming round less and less.

Said she was too busy.

Damn her.

She had no right to do that.

No right at all.

She was better off ill.

How dare she smile and help others?

How dare she teach them to survive? To heal themselves?

How could she just leave her loved ones behind?

Missed her a lot, in spite of her rudeness.

Looked like love was just one sided, though.

She was not thankful at all.

She will pay for what she did.

For her neglect.

Her ignorance.

Little did she know that her life was at stake.

She would die soon.

Really, really soon.

But first things, first.

The other one must go!

Immediately.

One

W hat the...?

Draped across a wooden pew was a body.

Was it the student I was looking for?

Had she fallen asleep?

I moved closer to check it out.

It was obviously a woman, as I noted the long tangle of jet black curls secured by a shiny, red ribbon. Large golden hoops dangled from her earlobes.

Not the one I wanted, though. I was searching for a blonde.

Odd!

She was lying flat on her stomach, face hidden, snuggled in her arms.

I stared, trying to make sense of it. Certainly wasn’t the usual sight you’d see in a church.

If she was worshiping God, it was definitely in a strange position. I was not much of a churchgoer, but even I knew that sitting, standing or kneeling was the norm. Not lying down.

Was she sick? Had she passed out?

Meditating? Praying?

Some kind of new religious ritual I hadn’t heard of?

You okay? I asked softly, so as not to startle her.

No response.

I reached down to give her shoulder a little shake. Nothing happened. She was obviously in a deep sleep.

I looked at my watch. Time ticked by. Any minute I expected her to wake up and raise her head.

Was I being too nosy? Should I just keep looking for Lindsay and leave this woman alone?

After all, it was none of my business why she decided to doze off in the church. Maybe she was just plain tired.

I stared at the body again, getting irritated by the minute. It was misdirected anger because my visit here had so far been a bust. But for heaven’s sake. Who curls up and goes to sleep in a place of God? A homeless person looking for warmth? Drug addict? Runaway?

Couldn’t be that. Her clothes reeked of class. I took in her black silk shirt tucked into leather pants of the same color. Red suede high-heeled boots peeked out from below the cuffs. They were certainly not purchased at any discount store, that was for sure. This was high fashion. Costly, too.

My name is Samantha Barclay and I am the counselor at Milton High in Paxton, West Virginia. One of our tenth grade students, Lindsay Williams, was always late for her first period class, the excuse being that she dropped into St. Jude’s Church every morning and lost track of time. The vice principal found it hard to discipline someone who claimed God spoke to her. Who wanted to mess with a possible divine occurrence going on? So, he kept sending her to me.

Frankly, I didn’t know what to do with her either. She rarely talked, just bowed her head as if in silent prayer. Who understood what was going on in that holy head of hers?

Yesterday, I’d had another endless session with this student that went nowhere, and I was frustrated as hell. I had a long fuse, slow to ignite, but today I’d had it and decided to drive over myself and see if she was telling the truth. I could have walked, as the church was just down the road, but figured I’d scoot here, check out the scene and be back in under half an hour. I was dying to know if she was a liar or not.

Oops!

I stared up at the statue of Jesus hanging on the huge wooden cross at the front of the church and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’ Shouldn’t be swearing or thinking of hell in a place of God and since I believed the Almighty could read our thoughts, not saying it aloud wasn’t much better.

Convinced I was forgiven, or at least hoping so, I left the sleeping girl alone and walked up and down the rows, again searching for Lindsay.

Was she as into God as she said she was?

Or... was she just stealing time to smoke or engage in some other bad habit, making her late? Did she hate school so much she would create such a ridiculous excuse so her parents wouldn’t be told? Or was she really that committed to prayer and just had to be in a church atmosphere?

My search was fruitless. I couldn’t find her anywhere. I even snuck a peek in the dark, eerie rooms at the back. Confessionals, the signs read.

I slowly turned my head back and forth, taking it all in. It was my first time here, and as a matter-of-fact, the whole building was pretty darn spooky. Smelled weird, too. I sniffed, recognizing a subtle blend of beeswax, furniture polish and perfumed incense. A few streamers of light seeping through several stained glass windows, plus a couple of flickering candles off to the side, provided the only illumination. I peered at the ceramic pictures hanging on the walls. Gruesome stuff, as I took in the bloody, beaten Christ figure in one of them. Looked like he’d fallen down on the ground. Pretty creepy. I quickly walked away putting as much distance between them and me as I could.

Intense silence wreaked havoc on my claustrophobia and I desperately wanted out of here. I felt trapped. Locked in.

I padded over to the sleeping woman again, wondering if she’d woken up. Maybe she’d seen the missing girl and could tell me which way she headed. Then I could find her and get out of here.

Nope, no movement. She was still sleeping.

I just stood there, my thoughts riddled with frustration over Lindsay. What a wasted trip this was. I glanced at my watch and realized I’d better get a move on or I’d be really late getting back to work. I took one last look at the woman, hoping she’d get up. No such luck. Oh well, not my problem.

As I walked away, my conscience suddenly kicked into high gear. A strong sense of responsibility sliced through me. What if this woman really was in distress? What if she needed my help?

Spooked, I turned back. This time I pushed harder on her arm and said loudly, Excuse me. Please, get up. You’re scaring me.

No acknowledgment of my frightened demand.

Wait a sec!

Was she okay?

Was she in some kind of medical crisis while I just stood there gazing at her? Daydreaming? Doing nothing?

Heart pounding, I squatted down and carefully watched her breathing. I panicked as I saw that her chest was still. Like, really still. There was no up and down motion.

Why hadn’t I noticed that before?

I guess I’d been too focused on finding Lindsay.

Oh no!

Was she in cardiac arrest?

Deciding not to waste any more time, I quickly called 911, and then gently moved her head to the side, preparing to begin first aid measures, if needed.

I jumped back as a pool of blood oozed out.

I screamed.

Whoever it was, had been shot.

Right between the eyes.

Two

W hat in hell happened here? barked the sheriff.

He hurried over to the medics, consulted with them, took a quick look at the body, called for backup and then stormed over. He exhausted me just watching him at work but he really didn’t have to worry about anyone messing around with the scene, as no one was in the church but professionals and me. However, I knew I was in for a huge confrontation as he stood over me and glared.

I hated the ‘glare.’ Reeked of arrogance. Made me want to run away and hide. Instead, I got up but said nothing. Just stood my ground.

How did it end up that you, of all people, found the body? And... His eyebrows almost shot off the top of his head. Why are you in this church? You’re not even Catholic.

I stared at him. The love of my life. My sweetie, my honey, my best friend. Most important—my boyfriend. The Sheriff, Al Michaels.

After calling 911, I had contacted Al and urged him to get to St. Jude’s Church as soon as possible. He had been at a meeting nearby and managed to arrive in less than five minutes, much faster than I thought. I hadn’t even enough time to pull myself together and appear composed, at least on the surface. A good state for a counselor to be in, even if it was a fake job.

I looked higher, very high as Al was well over six feet tall, avoiding his intense blue eyes. Had to get the glare off me somehow.

He’d taken his hat off out of respect for his surroundings and his sandy blond hair was sticking up on end. A sure sign he was upset and had been running his fingers through it, a habit of his when under stress. As I took in his red face, I realized that upset was too mild a word to describe him. He was livid. But I knew it was probably out of worry for me. I always managed to find myself in the thick of things, or to be more honest, the dead of things. Either trouble followed me around or I sniffed it out. I couldn’t tell.

Al struggled hard to accept my idiosyncrasies, although I noted that he was more angry than compassionate over my being in this particular situation. He had a hard time coping with the many predicaments I found myself in and felt I should leave the sleuthing to him. Many people in my life would agree with him. I, however, was not one of them.

If I could help someone in need, I would do it. No questions asked. I had a well-developed conscience and sense of duty. I also cared deeply for people’s sadness and worries, having lost my mother as a teen. My father tried to be there for me, but was busy coping with his own grief, and it had been an excruciatingly painful time for me back then. I struggled alone, cried a lot and vowed to grow up and become a counselor to help people, not wanting anyone else to feel the way I did. If I could aid in the recovery and peace of mind of another, I was in. They could always count on me.

I shuddered but remained silent, still caught up in the horror of my find. I wasn’t even sure I could croak out a word.

Are you all right? Al asked, his voice softening.

I guess I didn’t look so great. Didn’t feel great, either. I also wasn’t good at hiding my feelings, a trait I was always trying to work on. It wasn’t professional for a counselor or a sleuth, amateur that I was, to be so obvious.

I’m okay, I managed to whisper, not wanting to worry him even more. I was as good as anyone who discovered a dead body could be. Not sure how to feel or which emotion was the strongest. I was also trying not to hurl up my breakfast which fast wanted to make an appearance. Definitely wouldn’t be a pretty sight in a house of God or in front of my boyfriend.

Did you see who did this?

No. I swallowed hard. I was looking for a student and ran across her. Is she... really dead?

Dumb question, since I knew the answer. Not too many survive a hole in the head but I was still clinging to a strand of hope and had to be sure.

Yes.

Crap, I thought. So much for hope.

"I’ve called for the coroner as well as the crime unit. Did you touch anything?’

Yes. Sorry. I did move her head to the side. Thought she might still be alive, but backed away when I saw the bullet hole. And the blood... oh, the blood.

I shook, just thinking about it and felt another gag coming on. Fortunately, a deep breath helped me control it. Still, didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of Al as he’d yet to see me actually throw up. Thought I’d save that messy experience for when we’d been going out longer. A whole lot longer and definitely when I could be sure he wouldn’t be so grossed out he’d run the other way. I was still in that insecure part of the relationship when you realized how much you loved the guy and feared he’d break up and take off, leaving you heartbroken.

Back to the present, I sighed loudly, still in shock. What a way to die. Tragically and all alone. Poor girl.

So she was lying face down? he asked.

Sure was. Like this. I demonstrated with my head resting on my hands. Almost looked like she was shot and then positioned on the bench, although I didn’t notice any blood around until I moved her a bit. My voice became stronger as I concentrated on the details, not my emotions. Maybe the killer figured if she was off the floor and lying down, no one would notice her for a while, which would give him a huge head start when making his escape. I figured she was just sleeping. Others would too. Besides this, I know enough not to mess with a crime scene.

He nodded approvingly. Good. Did you see anyone else? Hanging around or coming and going?

Not a soul.

He moved closer and wrapped his arms around me. You’re looking pale, Freud. Want to sit down?

My lips curled up. His nickname never failed to coax a smile out of me, even in the midst of a murder scene.

I knew it was in honor of Freud, the renowned Austrian neurologist who founded a school of psychiatry. Al started calling me this because he said that my inquisitive, psychoanalytical brain always seemed to keep ticking away, never stopping even for a minute. Much like Freud’s. I thought it was hilarious. Most boyfriends had endearing names for their loved ones like darling, honey or dear. Not Al. Freud, it was. But still I thought it was cute. It was one of our little secrets.

I leaned into his shoulder and took a deep breath, sucking in a whiff of Hugo Bass cologne, a Christmas gift I’d given him. Man, he smelled good. Allowing myself to be comforted for a while, I finally pushed away as sirens drew nearer and came to a screeching halt outside the door. Al’s arms tightened.

I’m okay, now, I reassured him, knowing he had work to do but would be in a quandary about leaving me alone. Just a bit shaken. That’s normal, considering the circumstances. Go do your job, Sheriff.

As his arms dropped, a small parcel fell to the floor. It was wrapped in what looked like colorful comic strip paper. It probably slid out of his pants pocket. I reached down to pick it up.

Stop.

I jerked back up, surprised as well as hurt by the anger in Al’s voice.

I’ll get it myself.

He quickly grabbed the small item, unzipped a pocket on the inside of his jacket, shoved it in and fastened it back up.

That was odd. What was the big deal with my retrieving it? He acted as if it was something he didn’t want me to see.

My suspicious mind sped up into full gear. What could it possibly be? Was he hiding something from me?

Couldn’t be. His big mission in our relationship lately had been total honesty. He gave it and wanted it back. I was the one who kept things hidden. I was the one with secrets. Not Al. He was a man of few words, but those he said exposed his life as an opened book.

But I soon forgot about the parcel, as a herd of firefighters came swinging through the doors. All the troops were out today. Murder was rare around here.

Al’s facial muscles tensed up again as he favored me with a wink before going back to get a better look at the dead girl, as well as preside over the proceedings.

I also noted how the newly arrived Deputy lit up when he walked by. Deputy Krissy. Too darn sweet for her own good. Even the name was cutesy. Curvy and blonde, she turned many heads as she followed Al up the aisle. Like it was a wedding or something. She also looked like she had a huge crush on him as I watched her reach her hand up to pat her hair down as if making sure she looked her best. What was she going to do next? Pull out a compact and apply some lipstick?

Damn. As if I needed this.

Enough women lured Al out at all hours of the night pretending they’d heard prowlers, or that someone was stalking them. Yeah, right. Most of them were false alarms. Al never clued in to what they were doing, but I sure did. They were after him. He was single and a good catch. One of Paxton’s finest bachelors. To be even more honest, there were few of them around in this small town. Most people married and settled here while single people left for bigger cities. Al was in hot demand as a date and didn’t I know it. I felt I had to fight off other women trying to grab him as their man.

From the glint in her eye, this Krissy woman seemed mesmerized with Al’s lean, good looks, but then, who wouldn’t be? But she could just butt out, because he was mine. Yeah, I knew I sounded insanely possessive, but too bad. I was in love and didn’t want to lose him. But I did acknowledge the fact that it would be hard for Krissy to ignore him since unfortunately he was her boss. She couldn’t help but be around him all the time.

Yep! Al was head honcho now. The Sheriff. Elected to serve a four-year term in a landslide vote last June. I was proud of him because he worked hard and deserved the promotion. Of course, it meant longer hours and less time for us to rendezvous, but he loved what he did and that was what was important. I could work around his schedule, my time being more flexible, unless, of course, I was on a sleuthing mission. Then, I got really busy.

Al’s promotion had left a vacancy and along came Krissy. Smart, competent, and good at her job. Apparently amazing with a pistol. Hit the target every single time. She had even taken down a violent, armed bank robber in the previous police job she held in Pennsylvania. Al had sung her praises to me several times. Did he really think I wanted to hear about her?

Green envy shot through me. Get a grip. What a rotten thing for me to be thinking now. Who cared about my jealous thoughts when a young woman had been murdered?

Prioritizing, as well as searching for distraction, I looked back toward the church doors, checking out who else was arriving. Wait a sec.

Where in hell was Lindsay?

With all the commotion going on, I’d forgotten the real reason for my visit. I glanced around, searching hard for any sign of her. Nothing. She obviously wasn’t here.

Oh, no!

It was Al. He sounded shocked. I swung my head back to see what was going on.

His face was pale.

I ran over, ignoring Krissy’s rolled eyes, as she had no choice but to step back to let me get close to Al.

What is it? I asked, grabbing his arm.

I know this woman. He shook his head as if not believing what he saw. It’s Ashley Stiles.

Who is she? Never heard of her before.

Er... He looked at me, then down at the floor. An old girlfriend.

Did I really see a flash of guilt race through his eyes, or had I imagined it?

Three

NEWS ALERT: MURDER VICTIM FOUND IN CHURCH!

Oh, no!

Terri Miller’s heart pounded wildly when she saw the subject title of the email. Nausea reared up as she stood on the brink of a full-blown panic attack. Shock threatened to overtake her, so she gulped in a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to get herself under control. She refused to give in to her fear. She’d come too far and fought too hard to lose it now.

But this was a news alert from Paxton’s local newspaper, ‘The Chronicles’.

She sighed one of those big, long groans.

She knew in her gut that it was a bad omen. It would be horrid news. She’d bet on it.

Could it possibly be the beginning of a nightmare? The one that grips you in the dark and holds on tight all day, leaving you horrified?

Terri knew for a fact that the person who’d tried to murder her years ago had never been caught. She knew because she’d kept tabs on the vile killer. Or almost killer, to be more exact. It was all her fault because she’d never reported her suspicions. She’d survived. Just barely. A little bit longer and she’d have been dead.

The Shadow.

That was the nickname she gave to this evil, despicable human being. A big black spot that haunted every day of her life.

Everywhere she walked, the Shadow walked with her, creeping her out and blackening her world. Not in reality, or at least she didn’t think so, but in the dark places of her mind.

She always thought her past might catch up with her one day. That was why she engaged in spying every now and then, making sure that lowlife piece of darkness stayed away.

But was this it? Had she run out of luck? Out of time?

Terri had signed up for these news’ alerts six months ago, the minute her husband Joel was transferred to this area. She hadn’t wanted to move, as she loved living in New York City. Ironic, that in a city full of crime; she’d felt safe and couldn’t bring herself to disclose the real reason why she didn’t want to go to Beckley, West Virginia. So she went along with it, hating every moment. The nice, new house brought her little joy. She was too close to the Shadow. Too near a darkness that could obliterate her, as well as, her family.

How could she have explained to Joel that a menace lived nearby? Especially when she’d kept so much from him? Maybe the truth would have helped, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. She feared he’d leave her and she couldn’t survive without him.

She also wanted to back him a hundred percent, the way he always supported her. He loved his job and heading up a new branch of City National Bank was a coup they couldn’t turn down. She worked for social services as an addiction counselor, and at his request, looked into whether she could get a transfer as well. She was off on maternity leave and secretly hoped it wouldn’t happen, but sure enough, it came through. She’d be back working the same month an employee was retiring. She hadn’t an