Captive Company

By Patricia Letourneau Henderson

Jere Black, former police officer from Memphis, TN, only lands in Vermont after a girlfriend lured him there upon securing a promising position for herself at the state university, immediately abandoning him to pursue an even better offer in London, England. Barely settled into a new detective role in a small town, he hates every second of the solitary existence in the cold winter hell hole, nonetheless vowing to survive through all four seasons before returning defeated to the city he loves – one boasting the same population as the entire state where he finds himself.

His first big case revolves around Gillian Ingraham, a Vermont captive insurance manager from the impoverished Northeast Kingdom, whose estranged best friend, a best-selling children’s book author, is murdered as the novel begins. The prime suspect, the writer’s husband, also happens to be Gillian’s ex-boyfriend from the group’s complicated shared history at college in the Finger Lakes Region of New York.

Black is forced to navigate not only the delicate eco system that is Vermont’s Resident versus Nonresident bias but also the undercurrent of racism that inevitably taints everything throughout the whitest state in the union, all while juxtaposed against his background growing up where the majority, like him, were African American.

Ingraham’s less than cooperative stance throughout the murder investigation is a frustrating stumbling block for Black, although hardly no more so than the growing sexual tension between them. Could she actually be responsible for the crime – Nurturing a deep hatred for whom she ultimately blames for the death of her entire family in a horrific auto accident?

Trapped in a remote cabin working together to secure a key piece of evidence, is it too late to save their lives? Captive Company offers up a great read on any cold (or hot) night – enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823018494

Book preview

© 2023 Patricia Letourneau Henderson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  11/22/2023

ISBN: 979-8-8230-1850-0 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-1849-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023922465

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgments

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

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

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Sprinkled throughout Captive Company are little easter eggs I enjoyed hiding to in some small way honor all the wonderful teachers and professors I was fortunate enough to encounter throughout my years of formal education in St. Johnsbury, as well as at Essex High School and of course, Keuka College. Tyrian C., so much of this story was inspired from our wild adventures, I hope I did them (and you and our friends) justice; But most importantly, this book is dedicated to my rocks: Sisters Tina and Pamela – thank you for being my first readers and biggest supporters in all my journeys; my brother - thanks for modeling the best retirement ever and making me believe there could be an even greater second act after a challenging career; my bestie Mary Ann - thank you for always being there, for everything; George Chaffee – not a day goes by that I don’t think of you and the innumerable lessons you taught us all about not only insurance, but all kinds of people, places and oh so many facets of this thing called life; AND finally, the greatest family ever gifted, my husband David and our children Chelsea and Jared – Your love and laughter bring me such joy and happiness. I am one very lucky lady indeed.

Chapter 1

Police Detective Jere Black’s headache was excruciating – insufferable really. Of all the days to give up caffeine, why vow to do just that on this particular morning? Even after viewing the gory remains of Carolyn Baker, famous children’s book author, he couldn’t help but think he’d KILL for a cup of coffee! Contributing to that pain-yet another stereotypical winter day in Vermont (the sixtieth in a row by his unscientific count), so naturally his entire body was frozen. He blew futilely on the icicles located where fingers should be, jammed his hands into his armpits and then jumped slowly up and down in a wasted effort to warm up.

His lone comfort was the fervent hope that Mariah was as miserable in London as he was here. With every fiber of his being, he focused on all the ways he hated that woman. Then, looking down again at the murder victim and taking in the sight of her throat, slit ear to ear, he wondered who had hated this lady more.

Shit! he spat under his breath, kicking at the frozen earth with the toe of his boot, realizing the statistic generated by the crumpled body in front of him. Nine homicides in all of Vermont last year, but not one in Chittenden County. His peers were going to milk this one, but good. The jokes about his black ass bringing the crime up from Memphis weren’t going to go away anytime soon. Jesus he needed a cup of coffee . . .

Chapter 2

Sir, please try to calm down and tell me what happened, Jere implored the young bookstore clerk for the third time in under a minute. But the kid, apparently the last one to talk to the victim before she died, was inconsolable. Every time he tried to speak, his voice cracked, the choking sobs resumed. Tell you what – let’s head next door and sit down with a cup of coffee, ok? Jere asked, not feeling the slightest twinge of guilt for putting his own need for caffeine ahead of the mental health of this poor guy.

I could go for tea. Maybe a bottled water? he shrugged, allowing the policeman to lead him through the mall parking lot to the one adjacent. Jere waved to the other officers-they had enough interviews to keep them occupied, while he tried to get something useful out of this witness.

Rather than cut the line, Jere took advantage of the long wait at the juice bar to help the young man get his emotions under control. By the time they sat down with their drinks at a table in the middle of the shop, he was at least coherent.

Alright, Colin, let’s start at the beginning … you knew Ms. Baker?

Sorta. She’s a writer, of course–you know?

Not really, Jere acknowledged, so why don’t you tell me everything you can. Don’t worry whether you think it’s important or not, just talk; I’ll stop you if I have any questions along the way. He smiled encouragingly, flipping through the first few pages of his notepad, pen poised ready to record his account.

Well, I met her awhile back at a book signing. We talked for a little bit, nothing major, but we connected. I was excited to see her come in the store today. He hesitated, biting his lip. Actually, continuing slowly, that’s not true. At first I didn’t recognize her. She was acting weird, so-

Hold on, Jere interrupted, What do you mean, weird?

Suspicious. You know, kinda like a shoplifter? That’s why I followed her to the back of the store. She was all jumpy. But I forgot about that as soon as I realized it was her. She seemed to relax-once we started talking.

Jere smiled again, nodding for him to continue.

She was looking for a book for her sister, so I helped her find it. Then she left. That’s all I can tell you.

Was it this one? Jere asked, holding up an evidence bag.

Colin cocked his head, looking glassy eyed for a long time before responding. Yeah … That’s it-Trixie Belden #3–The Gatehouse Mystery. He bit his lip again and sighed heavily. Jere hoped this didn’t mean the waterworks would restart. "She got a little agitated when we couldn’t find it right away. I suggested a better one, but she insisted she needed that one."

What’s so special about this one, Colin?

How would I know? he snapped back. Adding sheepishly, It’s a series for tween girls. Geez, I read it years ago. He blushed, refusing to look the officer in the eye.

Jere feigned concentration, peered toward the far corner of the store, licked his lips and took two long, careful sips of coffee in an effort to control his laughter. The kid was finally talking, he didn’t want to do anything to shut him down. Ok, did she have other packages with her?

Colin thought for a moment. Nope-no packages, but a pocketbook. That was it.

So, after she bought the book, the two of you walked outside? Jere questioned. And you were with her when it happened?

God, no! Colin cringed, squinting, trying to recall exactly what occurred. Someone asked me for help as Carolyn was leaving, so I got distracted. Just for a minute though, ’cuz I remembered the present for my niece. He reached inside his coat pocket and extracted a small book, handing it to the detective.

Jere turned it over in his hands. The Magic Lighthouse by Carolyn Baker. The photo on the dust jacket drew his attention in particular, as it bore little resemblance to the face he had studied outside. What do you know of her personal life? he asked Colin, skimming the back cover.

Not much more than you see there, he offered. Grew up here-her parents own some big consulting firm. He rubbed his thumb and fingers together, giving Jere a conspiratorial smirk. Big bucks. She went away for college but moved back right after graduation. Published her first book and has pretty much had one best seller a year since then.

Says here she’s married, Jere pointed to the book, before giving it back to Colin. What’s his story?

Colin nodded, College sweethearts. He’s a professor over at St. Mark’s now. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, to where Jere assumed the college was located, although he had never heard of it. Colin closed his eyes and held his snapping fingers against his forehead. What’s his name? It’s not Baker, I know that. Vrooman? Something like that-Pete Vrooman? No, no … that’s who my cousin Tory married. Forman! That’s it. Peter Forman. He shook his head back and forth, resetting after the difficult exercise of digging through, dislodging the cobwebbed memories.

Happily married? Jere prompted.

Beats me, Colin shrugged. I never met him-he doesn’t do the publicity/celebrity thang. Although she’s not- he coughed uncomfortably, shifting in his chair, "she wasn’t big on that either. I think she was shy."

Ok, Colin. You’re doing great. This has been extremely helpful, and we appreciate your assistance. Almost done, I promise. Getting back to- Jere tried not to wince when he finished, when she was-attacked?

Yeah. Sorry. I took my break, so I could run after her and get that autograph for my niece. It wasn’t more than five-ten minutes?

You hoped to find her in a crowded mall? Jere asked suspiciously.

Colin smiled. She turned right when she left the bookstore. Everything is closed in that direction because of construction. It’s not exactly a secret, but not a lot of people realize there’s one exit at the very end that’s open either. Means you can always get a close parking space, as long as you don’t mind the longer walk inside. Which most people don’t this time of year. I figured I could catch up with her before she got outside. His voice caught painfully on the last word, as he stared intently at the wire mesh of the table–distractedly sticking his fingers in and out of the holes.

And-you-found her? Jere asked quietly, waiting patiently for the response.

No, I saw all the people. I figured they were fans, until I realized it wasn’t laughter I was hearing-it was people crying. And screaming. Lots of confusion.

So, you didn’t see what happened?

No, no, but I heard some people talking about it.

Jere put his arm around the clerk’s shoulders. Again, you’ve been a great help, Colin. Here’s my name and number, he said, handing him a small white card, if you think of anything else– anytime–don’t hesitate to reach out.

Ok, I won’t. Thanks, Detective. Colin stretched one leg out in front of him, putting the item in his pocket but then immediately withdrawing it, taking a longer look and asking, Oh hey, your name is spelled J-E-R-E, not J-E-R-R-Y?

Yeah, Black replied with a slight laugh, my parents didn’t think my life would be hard enough, so they saddled me with that to forever explain to the world.

I think it’s cool, Colin answered, repeating the move from earlier to put the card away. Does it stand for anything? Or have special meaning to your family?

No, Jere responded, they came across it in their travels and thought it was low key unique.

Not sure what my parents were thinking not adding another ‘l’ to my name, so people would pronounce it the way they intended, instead of like General ‘Colon’ Powell.

Jere gave the kid’s shoulder a squeeze. I feel your pain, Buddy.

Colin’s chair scraped loudly against the tile floor, as he pushed away from the table. He hesitated for a second, looked up, contemplating. I guess I better get back to work, huh?

Probably the best thing for you. At least check in with your boss, see what your options are. Unless-is there something else, Colin? Jere asked hopefully.

It’s probably not important, he started, the detective silently agreeing in his head. All witnesses want to be like their TV counterparts and come up with the key to solve the case. But that’s rarely how it happens in real life.

Why don’t you let me decide that pal, Jere said wearily, pretending to write in his notebook, instead doodling a crude lighthouse.

The thing is, she was an only child, Colin said, sitting back down in his chair with a knowing grin on his face, as Jere looked on confused.

And that’s important because …? Jere failed to see where this was going.

"I told you! In the store? She said she wanted a book for her sister." His smile absolutely triumphant.

Comprehension dawned on Jere. "Ahhhh, but she doesn’t have a sister!"

You got it! Colin finished with satisfaction.

Thanks, Colin. That might be important after all. Tapping the cover of his notebook he added, Again, we appreciate your cooperation. Please keep in touch.

Jere watched the kid lope back across the parking lot, weaving between the cars and snowbanks, glancing back once to woodenly wave goodbye, before stopping to talk with an older woman close to the mall entrance. So, she lied about who the book was for. Big deal. Oh, that’s broken this thing wide open for me, Jere thought nastily. Let’s hope the people outside were a little more helpful. Preparing for the worst, he fortified himself by grabbing another cup of coffee …

Chapter 3

Detective Black, the uniformed officer snapped crisply, standing at attention and saluting when Jere returned to the crime scene.

Jere rolled his eyes, unconsciously crushed the already empty coffee cup in his hand and steeled himself for yet another prejudicial professional confrontation. They never tired of saying his name. As if it were somehow ironic that it matched his skin color. He was perilously close to his limit with them seeking their daily dose of entertainment at his expense; but once more, like countless other times, he chose to ignore the disrespect and simply asked, Anybody see anything by any chance, Flynn?

Well as a matter of fact, it’s your lucky day! The cop chuckled, gave an exaggerated pull to his pants and withdrew a notebook from his back pocket. He licked his finger, flipped to the first page and announced, "Mrs. Sharik saw a young A-Rab try to grab the victim’s purse. He smiled, turning the page. But wait, Mr. Parker insists it was a middle aged brotha (no offense) chasing the woman."

Jere held his tongue, shaking his head as Flynn added, "Miss Walker was a little embarrassed to admit that she didn’t see anything; however, she’s sure that the perp (her word) was screaming in Spanish at the onlookers."

There isn’t any chance she speaks Spanish, is there? Jere asked, returning Flynn’s smirk.

Ahhhh-no! But there’s this, Flynn supplied, "it’s a little strange anyway, considering Old Man Charron apologized that he couldn’t help us ID the guy, since he doesn’t speak Chinese. He fanned the pages out, shrugging his shoulders. It goes on and on like this."

You’ve GOT to be shitting me! Black stammered, fingering the cord around the sunglasses dangling from his neck. Surveying the sky, he placed them over his eyes to block the blinding reflection off the snow and stated, So you’re saying we can hypothesize a Native Vermonter didn’t commit this crime.

Now, now, Flynn offered, surveying the rest of his notes, I don’t see any British, Indian or Irish suspects either, so you put that together with the fact that they all agreed it was a man and we’re making some big-time progress here!

Ok, forgetting the who for a moment–do we have any idea why? Jere asked hopefully.

Ahhhh-negative. Flynn moved toward the body, pointing to the left. Bag from the bookstore was here. Didn’t look like it had been touched. He indicated above the woman’s head, noting, "Pocketbook appeared intact–credit cards, wallet with $200 in it, checkbook, etc. Victim was wearing expensive jewelry. Wedding and engagement rings, diamond tennis bracelet and pearl necklace. If the