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  A Killer Column

  ( Mystery by the Numbers - 2 )

  Casey Mayes

  When puzzle columnist Savannah Stone's editor is found stabbed to death, the police look at her as the prime suspect. But Savannah knows she wasn't the only puzzle-maker to cross words with him.

  Praise for

  A DEADLY ROW

  “Do the math—this book’s a winner! Make this number one on your must-read list.”

  —Laura Childs, New York Times bestselling author

  “A dazzling debut indeed. Combining the police procedural knowledge of Zach Stone with the [deductive] reasoning of his wife, Savannah, the equation adds up to a delightfully intelligent couple who are a pleasure to get to know. Fans of mysteries that make you stop and think will find A Deadly Row the start of a brilliant series.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Fascinating . . . Character driven with several terrific twists . . . Readers who enjoy mysteries like those of Parnell Hall’s Puzzle Lady will enjoy observing the two Stones methodically work separately and together on their first joint case.”

  —Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine

  “Mayes is quite good at planting clues and red herrings. There are many possibilities for the reader to consider . . . A Deadly Row is quite a pleasant traditional mystery, with just enough police procedural thrown in to keep it interesting.”

  —ReviewingTheEvidence.­com

  “The mystery is engaging and well constructed . . . A Deadly Row reads a bit like a younger, hipper Carolyn Hart or Nancy Fairbanks novel. It makes a welcome addition to the cozy scene, and I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out for the sequel.”

  —The Season

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Casey Mayes

  A DEADLY ROW

  A KILLER COLUMN

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  A KILLER COLUMN

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / August 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Tim Myers.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-51713-0

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  For Puzzling Looks, Puzzling Glances, and Puzzling Dedications Everywhere!

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The cities—in particular, Raleigh, North Carolina—featured in this novel are real enough. However, each place has been modified for the sake of the narrative in many subtle ways, and the author hopes that the residents of each locale can forgive him, since they are indeed filled with many gracious people and spectacular sights.

  The art of simplicity is a puzzle of complexity.

  —DOUGLAS HORTON

  Chapter 1

  NO ONE IS GOING TO GET AWAY WITH TREATING ME LIKE that.

  I won’t stand for it.

  Derrick thinks that he can replace me, that he’s so much better than I am, but he’s wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  But I’m not going to be stupid about it. Just because I want him to die doesn’t mean I’m willing to trade the rest of my life in prison to see it happen.

  Someone else is going to have to take the blame for his murder, or get all of the credit, depending ultimately on how they feel about Derrick.

  It’s too bad an innocent person is going to have to take my punishment, but the military have a term for it, “collateral damage,” and if it’s good enough for them, it’s going to have to work for me.

  As long as Derrick dies and I get away with his murder, I can live with anything else that happens.

  I won’t be cast off, and it’s going to be a lesson he learns, the hard way.

  Chapter 2

  “ARE YOU SURE YOU CAN’T COME TO RALEIGH WITH ME?” I asked my husband, Zach, as I packed my things into an overnight bag at our cottage in Parsons Valley, North Carolina.

  “I wish I could, but I’ve got to go back to Knoxville today to testify. Why can’t Derrick meet you here in Asheville instead of making you drive halfway across the state?”

  “My syndicator claims he’s meeting me in the middle between here and Richmond,” I said as I added a few more tops to the growing pile. I had a tendency to over-pack wherever I went, and even though I was just going to be gone three days, it felt as though I was taking enough clothes for a week.

  “Don’t forget your pads and pencils,” he said as he added a handful of each to the heap.

  I picked them up and moved them to another stack. “These go in my briefcase. I really wish you were going with me, and not just for selfish reasons. If you drove the four and a half hours to Raleigh, I could come up with two of my puzzles for next week.” That was my job, creating logic and number puzzles found in some of the best secondary market newspapers in the country. The puzzles varied from week to week, and sometimes it was a real challenge making everything come out in the end.

  “Sorry, Savannah. If I don’t testify, the Slasher might not get convicted, and we don’t want to live with that on our consciences, do we?” My husband, the former chief of police for Charlotte, North Carolina, had been shot in the chest while off duty, and the bullet had left a scar too close to his heart. He’d been forced to retire, and we’d moved to the Blue Ridge Mountains. His departure from law enforcement hadn’t lasted long though, and he was currently working as a consultant to any police department that had a tough case and the budget to hire him.

  I shivered at the mention of the case he would be testifying at soon. The Slasher had been a bad one, preying exclusively on single mothers alone in the world. I was sure there was some psychological reason for his obsession, but as far as I was concerned, once he was in prison, he could have all the therapy he wanted until they marched him down the hall to the electric chair.

  “I know you have to go. I’ll be fine,” I said as I finally finished packing. “If I’m going to make it in time for our meeting, I’d better hit the road.”

  My husband wrapped me up in his arms, and I felt my heart skip a little, despite all of our years together. I couldn’t help myself. Whenever he held me, I felt safe, and not just because he was over six feet tall and built like a bear. It was more because he was mine and I was his, and neither one of us would have had it any other way.

  After a lingering kiss, he said, “Don’t forget to call me when you get to Winston-Salem.”

  “That’s just halfway to Raleigh from here. Should I call you from Hickory, too?”

  “That depends,” he said as he picked up my overnight bag. “Are you going to go see Tom?”

  My Uncle Thomas lived in Hickory, and though I didn’t visit him very often, I tried to pop in whenever I could manage it. He was all that was left of my mother’s generation, or at least he had been until my Uncle Barton had come back into our lives.

  As we walked to my car, Zach had my bag and I had my briefcase. I said, “No, he and Uncle Barton are still in Alaska.”

  He looked surprised by the news. “I thought they were supposed to be home last week.”

  “I guess when you have the kind of money Barton has, you can pretty much play things by ear.” My prodigal uncle had made a fortune after leaving home with my grandparents’ money, and ever since he’d come back into our lives, he’d been trying to make up for his past
sins.

  “I suppose that’s true, though I doubt we’ll ever know what it’s like,” Zach said.

  After I unlocked my car door, I slid my briefcase onto the seat beside me.

  As I buckled my seat belt, my husband added sternly, “Savannah, I don’t want you working on any puzzles while you’re driving, do you hear me?”

  I laughed. “I’m not crazy. It takes too much concentration to do that. I’m not about to take any stupid chances.”

  “Good,” he said as he slid my bag onto the backseat. “I still think you should have let Barton buy you a new car when he offered to.”

  “You know me better than that.”

  “I do,” he said with a grin as he leaned in and kissed me again. “Be careful, sweetheart.”

  “You’re testifying in open court against a serial killer, and you’re telling me to be careful?”

  “Are you kidding? I’d love it if he took a swing at me.”

  “I know you would,” I said. There was a side to my husband that he kept hidden away most of the time, but I knew he could be swift, cruel, and even deadly, if the circumstances called for it. It was as though there was a beast inside him, one he kept carefully chained away unless he needed it.

  “Talk to you soon,” I said as I drove away.

  From Parson’s Valley, it was a short drive to Asheville, where I picked up I-40, the road I’d be taking all the way to Raleigh. Interstates were great for getting from one place to another, but they weren’t much for scenery. The miles seemed to melt into each other as I drove almost due east. I made a quick stop in Statesville for gas and a bathroom break, and then, against my better judgment, I picked up a Snickers and an icy cold Coke for the road. My husband always protested that he loved me no matter what size I was, but as a rule I didn’t want to put that belief to the test.

  I was lost in my own thoughts when my cell phone rang on the seat beside me. How sweet. It appeared that my dear husband couldn’t wait until Winston-Salem to talk to me.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t the one who was calling.

  “WHY AREN’T YOU HERE YET?”

  “Our meeting isn’t for another two hours, Derrick,” I said as I glanced at my watch. I’d left myself plenty of time to get from Parson’s Valley to Raleigh, and if I was being honest about it, I was in no hurry to get there early.

  My puzzle editor and syndicator, Derrick Duncan, wasn’t a pleasant man on his best days, which were too few as a rule in the minds of anyone who had ever had to deal with him. I’d signed a contract with him to distribute my puzzles, and each of us had grown to regret it many times since. I wasn’t that thrilled dealing with his abrasive personality, and he felt that his commission was less than it should be.

  “You should have planned better, Savannah.”

  “I planned it perfectly,” I said. The less time I spent with him, the better. Since Zach had to stay at the Slasher trial at least two days, I’d budgeted some fun time for myself once I was finished with Derrick. I planned to go to the North Carolina Museum of Art, have a hot dog at the Grill, and generally just act like a tourist. I had a friend in town I’d be staying with, Jenny Blake. We’d been roommates in college, and we tried to do something together every year, though she was still trying to make partner in her law firm and worked some horrendous hours. She’d been thrilled when I’d told her about my meeting with Derrick in Raleigh.

  “I need you here now,” Derrick said abruptly.

  “I can’t drive any faster than I already am,” I said. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  “You’d better,” he said, and before I could say another word, he hung up on me. I slammed the phone down onto the passenger seat, determined not to let him ruin my trip. We’d have his precious meeting, and then Jenny and I would have fun, and I’d do my best to forget that the man ever existed.

  The phone rang again not three minutes later. I was still fuming when I answered. “What do you want?”

  “This isn’t a good time, is it? You’re not in bad weather or heavy traffic are you, Savannah?”

  It was my husband, and I’d just bitten his head off for no reason whatsoever. “I’m sorry. I thought you were Derrick.”

  “Wow, that’s just about the most insulting thing you could have said to me.”

  “I know. I’m really terrible. Forgive me?”

  “Sure, why not? What did your fearless leader want?”

  “He expected me to move up our meeting,” I said as I clinched the steering wheel with my free hand. “When I told him I wasn’t going to be able to do that, he had a fit.”

  “You should find a new syndicator,” Zach said.

  “Our contract’s pretty airtight, and you know it. We’re stuck with each other until Derrick exercises his escape clause, and you know he’s not going to do that, at least not as long as I’m making money for him. Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

  “But can you do it without giving him a taste of that famous temper of yours?”

  I laughed. “I’m not going to make any promises. Sometimes I think that the only time he really hears what I’m saying is when I raise my voice.”

  “Fine, yell at him all you want then.”

  We’d wasted enough time discussing my editor. “Let’s change the subject. I thought you were going to let me call you. You’re not checking up on me, are you?”

  “No, ma’am. To be honest with you, I’m a little lonely here. I decided to go ahead and leave myself, so I’m on the road to Knoxville.”

  I glanced at my dashboard clock. “You weren’t supposed to head out for an hour.”

  He paused, and then admitted, “What can I say? This cottage feels kind of empty without you in it.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t like being apart either. We’ll see each other soon.”

  “Sure we will. Listen, I’d better hang up now; traffic’s starting to get a little busy. Don’t let Derrick get you too riled up, and give Jenny a hug for me.”

  “I can promise the latter, but the former’s a wasted wish, and we both know it. I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” he said.

  BY THE TIME I GOT TO RALEIGH, I’D MANAGED TO GET MYSELF in a state of mind that would allow me to deal with Derrick without losing my cool.

  At least that’s what I hoped I’d be able to do.

  But as I parked in the guest lot of the Crest Hotel where we were having our meeting, all my good intentions vanished. I didn’t like being summoned now any more than I had when he’d ordered me to appear three days earlier, and I was going to make certain that he knew it. I started building up a good head of steam as I walked swiftly toward Conference Room C.

  At least that was the plan. However, when I got to the meeting room, someone else was already waiting to see him.

  It appeared that my little diatribe was going to have to wait.

  “ARE YOU HERE TO SEE DERRICK, TOO?” THE MAN SITTING by the door asked me as I joined him at the empty row of seats. He was a nondescript little fellow, with thinning gray hair and a sallow complexion.

  I glanced at my watch. “Apparently not for another twenty minutes.” I offered my hand. “I’m Savannah Stone.”

  His face suddenly lit up. “I love your puzzles,” he said. “They’re part of my daily routine.”

  “Why thank you,” I said. I wasn’t a celebrity in any sense of the word, but it always pleased me when someone let me know they enjoyed my puzzles. “They’re great fun to create.”

  “Are they? Honestly?”

  “Of course they are,” I said, startled by his reaction. “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “I’m Brady Sims. I do the Wuzzle World puzzles for Derrick,” he said. “I struggle with them every day. To make matters worse, I don’t earn much making them, but they’re all I’ve got.” He grew even more somber as he added, “Even worse, I think Derrick’s about to fire me.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Come on, think about it. We’re all away from
our home bases, and Derrick is lining his clients up like dominoes ready to push over. This can’t be good news any way you look at it, can it?”

  The thought that my syndicator was about to drop me had never entered my mind. “I’m sure you’re wrong.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Savannah. There are computer programs to make word jumbles all over the Internet now,” he said. “The only really creative thing I do is the drawings that go with them, and frankly, they’re the weakest part of my puzzles.”

  “I don’t know; I find them charming.” In truth I did, but much like a mother might enjoy the masterpieces of her kindergarten children. “Much the same thing can be said about my puzzles as well.”

  “Oh, I love your snippets,” he said as he smiled for a moment, referring to my little musings that accompanied each published puzzle.

  “So, there you go. No computer can replace your drawings, or my writing. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  At that moment, the conference room door slammed open, rattling it in its tracks. A large woman stormed out with a red face and unnaturally platinum hair, shouting, “If you think you can just write me off, you’re mistaken. My Bridge column is too popular with the readers; you’ll see that when you crawl on your knees begging me to come back, but Sylvia Peters will not budge.”

  As she stormed off, Brady turned to me and asked, “Do you still think it’s just my imagination?”

  Before I could reply, a mousy-looking woman with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and thick glasses perched on her nose came out of the conference room. “Brady, Derrick will see you now.” Was that an expression of pity on her face? She said his name so softly it was almost too low to hear.