Coming To Climax
Climax, Virginia Mystery Series

Excerpt

Good till the last one drops.

Hunched in his blind, Eclipse snickered and took another sip from his thermos cup of extra bold Italian coffee. His throat burned as he gulped it down.

The sound of crackling leaves brought him to attention. Slowly he lowered the cup to the ground and steadied his rifle, training it on the opening in the densely wooded countryside. He peered through the high-powered scope. Nothing visible. Yet.

The man stepped into the clear dressed in camo vest and orange hat. Orange? My, my Aubrey. Couldn’t miss if I tried. He squeezed the trigger. The man fell backward. Eclipse flinched at the dull thud.

Saw it, then heard it. Fast. No groan, no twitch.

One drop down.

Eclipse sniffed the air. Hickory smoke. He smiled. Maybe I’ll have barbecue for dinner. Yep, barbecue, red and juicy. He licked his lips. There’s nothing like the fall.  

Chapter One

“Coming to fucking Climax is harder than it was twenty years ago.” Margaret Palmer slammed the shade shut on her airplane window.

The gray-haired lady sitting next to her turned. “No need to curse, dear.” She leaned closer. “A good vibrator will do the trick.”

Margaret reared back in her seat. “I was referring to the air service to Lynchburg. I’m on my way to Climax, Virginia.”

“Of course you are.” The old lady winked.

Everone’s gotta’ be a cynic. Margaret turned her back to her seat partner and, trying to ignore the rattling overhead bins, popped the top off her bottle of extra-strength acetaminophen. She tossed three capsules into her palm, threw the pills into her mouth and chased them with a swig of lukewarm coffee.

“Sorry if the trip’s been a little rocky.”

Margaret glanced up to see the attendant standing in the aisle. “Unfortunately, we can’t control thunderstorms. How about a cocktail?”

Wearing a puppy dog trying to please expression, the woman hovered over Margaret.

“No thank you.” She glared up into the woman’s eyes. “I want to be sober in case I lose my ID in the crash.” Margaret watched as the attendant walked back to the front of the plane. “Rocky, my ass. Woman might as well have thrown each of us a life raft and a vial with a cyanide capsule.”

“What did you say, dear?”

Margaret turned toward the woman seated next to her. “Bad weather. It makes me suicidal. Falling into air pockets does that to me every time.”

“You just need to calm down. Release, dear.” The woman patted her on the hand. “Take my advice and you’ll feel much better.”

Margaret sighed and closed her eyes. Ignore her and maybe she’ll go away. She sighed. Considering they were twenty-thousand feet in the air, that was wishful thinking.

She dug her nails into the arm rests. Nothing was going to help her anxiety level. She was going back to face her past, and nothing would ever change what had transpired. Her decision had seemed logical back in New York. The closer she got away from any evidence of civilization, the more she questioned her sanity.

You’re sane, Margaret. You refused to let Carolina back you in a corner about her adoption.

Margaret kneaded the back of her neck with her fingers and groaned. That’s not what’s got you in a tizzy, not really. Why not admit it? She was most afraid of facing Blue again. Damn it to thunder. I will be in control.

She shook her head, remembering she’d never been in control around him. But, that was ancient history, right? Patty had married Blue. Margaret sighed. She’d married Clarence for solace after she lost the baby.

Solace. Right.

Margaret took a deep breath, willing Clarence’s image to go away. She punched the call button.

“Yes, Mrs. Palmer?” The attendant stood next to her.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have a glass of ice and two of those little bottles of Johnny Walker Black. I know there’s no way you carry the gold, not when you can’t even afford to maintain the upholstery in first class.” Margaret flicked her hand at a loose piece of trim on the tray back in front of her. “In fact, make it three. I’ll save one for later.”

The woman nodded and headed for the drink cart.

Better to be slightly anesthetized when she got there. Considering how long they’d already been circling Lynchburg, it wouldn’t matter. She’d have more time than necessary to wear off any negative effects of the alcohol.

Last time I was in Climax, Patty’d just died.

Margaret clenched her jaw. She was returning to Climax, a fifty-year old matron with crow’s feet and gray roots that refused to stay colored honey blonde.

“There you are, Mrs. Palmer.” The attendant handed Margaret her glass and her scotch.

Margaret nodded her thanks and poured two of the bottles quickly into her glass. With a salute to the clouds below her, she took a large swig, then laughed.

“Here’s to all the rednecks in Redneckville. Your worst nightmare is about to arrive.”