A Deadly Row

Table of Contents

 

I didn’t have any facts about the case, or how the killer operated, but then again, it wasn’t my job to solve the case. I was there for moral support, along with a prod every now and then if I thought my husband’s investigation was going off-course. No one knew about my input but Zach, and for my protection, he didn’t tell anyone that I was his unpaid and extremely unofficial consultant.

And I liked that just fine myself. I had no desire for the limelight or any credit for solving one of my husband’s cases any more than I wanted his name on one of my puzzles, even if he did spot mistakes from time to time. Most of them went straight to my publisher, but every now and then I had Zach solve one to make sure I was playing fair. We were a team, both in our professions and in our marriage, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And now we were going to try to find a killer before he had the chance to strike again.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

A DEADLY ROW

 

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

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Tim Myers.

 

All rights reserved.

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eISBN : 978-1-101-44274-6

 

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Charlotte, North Carolina—the Queen City—is obviously a real locale, and in many respects, the city is a key character in this book. Some of the places mentioned here exist, including Luigi’s—the best pizza in the city, in the author’s humble opinion. Several of the places mentioned are actual neighborhoods and businesses, and at the time of this writing, were all thriving in real life. Other information—such as the location of police headquarters and its distance from the mayor’s office—has been fictionalized in order to aid in telling a good story. Trust me when I say that the architecture in Charlotte is beautiful, and the people as a rule are genuine, but there are killers in many locales, big cities and small towns alike, and Charlotte is no exception.

It’s important to remember that when all things are considered, Charlotte is a city with many sides and facets, worthy of exploration.

Puzzles are like songs—A good puzzle can give you all the pleasure of being duped that a mystery story can. It has surface innocence, surprise, the revelation of a concealed meaning, and the catharsis of solution.

—STEPHEN SONDHEIM

“ARE YOU STILL FIDDLING WITH THAT PUZZLE, SAVANNAH?
I need some help in the bedroom with that blasted shelf I’m putting up. You’re the one who wanted it in the first place, remember?”

“Hang on a second. I’ve almost got it.” My dear husband loomed over me as I worked on the couch with paper and pencil, toiling over my latest creation. My name’s Savannah Stone, and it’s my job to create a variety of the math and logic puzzles you find in your newspaper every morning, just as long as you subscribe to one of the forty-two papers my syndicate sells my puzzles to every day. While I might not be in
The New York Times
, I am in the
New Bern Register,
along with the
Covington Chronicle
and the
Grandfather Mountain Gazette
. I taught high school math in Charlotte until puzzles came into my life, and though the money I make now is somewhat less than I made before, the freedom my current career provides is well worth the cut in pay.

I wasn’t sweating literally like my husband was, but the math on this new puzzle was taxing me just the same. Working a puzzle and creating it were two very different things.

I looked up and saw beads of sweat traipsing down Zach’s nose and threatening to despoil the puzzle I’d been toiling so hard over for the past two hours. As I pulled my work safely out of the way, I noticed that the silver touches of frost around his temples were matted with sweat as well. Why was it that my husband’s graying hair looked so distinguished? On me, it looked like I was nearing my expiration date—though I wasn’t even up to my fortieth birthday, while he was two years past his.

He looked at me, the exasperation clear on his face. “Seriously? You can’t put that down for one minute to help me? It won’t take that long, Savannah, I promise.”

“Zach, I’ve almost got it. That shelf is going to have to wait until I’m finished. You’re supposed to be retired anyway, remember? So why don’t you be a dear and go retire somewhere else until I wrap this up?”

My husband had been the police chief in Charlotte, North Carolina, when a bullet had hit him in the chest and ended his career. The irony had been that he’d been stopping a robbery when he was off duty and heading home to me. My husband was a hero, no matter how much he downplayed what had happened. Zach had managed to save three people with his intervention. Just thinking about that night sent me into shivers. It still felt like yesterday when I’d gotten the call, the one every police officer’s wife dreads. As I’d raced to the hospital, I frantically worried if I’d be a widow by the time I got there. Fortunately the gunshot wound hadn’t been nearly as bad as it might have been, but I didn’t think I could ever go through that again. At least no one would be shooting at him anymore. Or so I hoped.

Unfortunately, the wound had left him technically disabled with an injury too close to his heart, though you’d never know it by the way he acted. Zach had taken early retirement—though not willingly—but he’d soon been bored with his idle lifestyle. Instead of puttering around the garden on our mini-farm on the outskirts of Parson’s Valley in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains or tinkering in his woodworking shop, Zach began working as a consultant to various police forces in North Carolina, and occasionally even the rest of the country. He was good at what he did, and the freedom of my job allowed me to travel with him whenever he was on a case.