Remote Consequences

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What critics are saying about

Kerri Nelson's books:

"Nelson's novel (
Courting Demons
) is full of fun. Readers will love the hilarity and underlying danger that pushes the story forward."

-
RT Book Reviews

"Kerri Nelson offers up a lot of fun and wild magic in
Courting Demons
!"

- Linda Wisdom, Bestselling author of
Demons are a Girl’s Best Friend

"I was so into the book (
Falsify
), I even gasped out loud once... It will definitely keep readers turning the pages to see what will happen next."

-
More Than A Review

"(
Miss Taken
) Is an electrifying romantic adventure that crackles with danger and sizzles with sensuality! Don’t miss this debut!"

-
Roxanne St. Claire, National Bestselling Author of
The Bullet Catchers Series
and RITA Award Winner

"I was pulled in (to
Double Take
) from page one…the story will restore your faith in love. An entertaining read that will leave the reader wanting more."

-
Book Wenches Reviews

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REMOTE CONSEQUENCES

by

KERRI NELSON

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Copyright © 2014 by Kerri Nelson

Cover design by Lyndsey Lewellen

Gemma Halliday Publishing

http://www.gemmahalliday.com/Halliday_Publishing/

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Dedication & Acknowledgements:

To all the hard working women out there who routinely put their families first and their careers last. You have something to teach a girl like Mandy.

To Gemma, for believing in me and my cast of crazies.  You remained patient and calm in the midst of my editorial insanity and for that I’m forever grateful.

And to my husband for coming up with the idea of a cable girl who solves a mystery. Thanks, baby.

I’d also like to apologize to the real Mayor of the real Millbrook, Alabama (whose last name is Kelley not Mills).  And who is neither a country club snob nor involved in the cover-up of any crimes whatsoever.  And from what I hear, is an all around amazing guy and one heck of a dancer! 

For those of you who live in or have visited Millbrook—you’ll find that I took some literary license with the business names and locations.  Please forgive me or thank me, whatever the case may be.  For those of you who have never visited our fair city—you don’t know what you’re missing.  Please come by and see us sometime.  I can’t promise that you won’t fall in love with it, but I can promise that the city’s motto is more than true…comfort…convenience…community.  Oh, and lots of great food.  If Mandy left any there by the end of this book.

* * * * *

It is better to exist unknown to the law. –Irish Proverb

"Your buns will be firm in no time or your money back."

The shrill television voice squawked, and I reached for the remote on the end table but found a large, furry head instead.

Jerking my hand back, I turned to peer into the square face of my sister's dog—Pickles. A mix between a retriever and bullmastiff, also called a Bullmasador, his head was bigger than the entire cramped sofa that held my exhausted body.

The truth was, I didn't sleep much anymore and I'd just sort of zoned out here after my latest night shift. Who knew being a cable installer would be such physical work? All the crawling around and juggling dust bunnies behind sofas was taking a toll.

"Hi, boy." I patted his head as he clutched the missing remote between drool-laden jowls. Pickles climbed onto the sofa with a graceful nonchalance uncommon for a dog his size.

He yawned in response, releasing the device.

"Gee, thanks."

I punched the channel up button up to The Forecast Network and was not surprised to learn today's temperature was a high of ninety-eight. The end of summer might be rapidly approaching, but the weather couldn't care less. I was, however, surprised to see the current time flashing in the right-hand corner of the screen.

I'd missed Paget's breakfast time and hadn't heard so much as a peep out of little sister. A niggle of concern pinched at my neck. It was unlike Paget to get off schedule. Paget's diagnosis of Kenner syndrome, a form of autism, was something I'd lived with for years and something I'd studied in greater detail more recently. The bottom line was that there was no cure in sight, but keeping her on a tight schedule was the best way of reducing her "episodes."

A rather insistent knock sounded from the kitchen area. Someone at the back door. Probably another neighbor or someone from the church bringing the umpteenth covered dish. They meant well, but if I never saw another plate of pear salad, it would be too soon.

I dragged myself up from my aunt's crummy sofa, cringing at meeting the sympathetic face of another neighbor in my ratty novelty T-shirt sporting
You're my Favorite Dish
, which I suspected had traces of my new best friend, Pickles "the drooler," on it.

Pickles followed me to the door to check out our visitor. The bright morning sun reminded me how little sleep I'd gotten, hurting my brain and blinding me as the door swung open. I cupped my hand over my brow for much-needed shade as I made out the silhouettes of two people.

"We found her in Village Park on the swing set."

Blinking them into focus, I saw a young police officer beside my sixteen-year-old sister, who was grinning like a child on Christmas morning.

"He let me turn on the lights," Paget exclaimed.

"Oh, Paget. You know you're not supposed to go out alone."

My words came out a tad too harsh, and the grin fell from my sister's face.

The sandy-haired officer looked apologetic. "She's fine, but I don't have to remind you that with the interstate running nearby, we get drifters through here from time to time."

I nodded. The warning was clear enough. I was already falling down on the job. Only a month back home, and big sister had put sweet, innocent, autistic Paget into harm's way.

I sighed.

"Uh, thank you, officer. It won't happen again."

I pulled Paget inside by the hand, and she fell to her knees, embracing Pickles with dramatic flair.

"Have a nice day, then." He tipped his hat and allowed his eyes to linger a moment too long on my bare legs before shuffling back off the porch and into his cruiser.

Paget looked up at me. The grin had returned. "Did I tell you about those blue lights on the
real
police car?"

*  *  *

As soon as I'd settled Paget and Pickles in front of her favorite reality show rerun with breakfast, the house phone rang. It was the dispatcher from Flicks Vision Cable Company, my new employer. She'd alerted me, with a generous thirty-minute notice, that my shift would begin early today because Mayor Mills had requested an emergency service call. So much for sleep.

That was one thing that hadn't changed in the ten years since I'd escaped Millbrook. The powerful families in town were still the Mills and the Brooks. And I'd not been lucky enough to be born into either.

However, I had been lucky to catch the day sitter at home, and Kendra lived only two streets over. In a matter of minutes, Paget was in good hands, and I was free to rake in some much-needed cash. Not that I was looking forward to my next shift in those medieval torture devices they referred to as blue coveralls, but with student loans and other assorted debt piling up, I'd take all the hours I could get.

Half a banana and a travel coffee mug in hand, I headed for the work van parked in our postage-stamp-sized yard.

"Woo-hoo, Mandy Murrin, is that you, dear?"

My mouth stuffed full of over-ripened banana, I nodded and waved at my neighbor. Ms. Lanier was all of about four foot, eight inches tall and ninety pounds soaking wet, but her voice did not belie her size. She may have been considered frumpy by most, but I knew that there was a sharp wit contained in that small but nosey package.

"I saw that Prentiss boy over there this morning. Is everything all right?"

I forced the mush down my throat and chased it with a scalding slurp of bitter coffee while I tried to recall who the Prentiss boy could possibly be.

The cop?

"Oh, yes, Ms. Lanier. No problem at all."

I kept moving toward the van, tossing my tool belt into the passenger seat as I fumbled with the key in the ignition. This was the last thing I had time for this morning.

"Well, I'm glad I caught you before you left for work, dear. Can you pop by later this evening?"

"Sure thing. Gotta run now, though. Duty calls."

I plastered on my customer friendly smile as I started to swing shut the van's creaky door. But before it clunked into place, I heard Ms. Lanier's follow-up words.

"Oh, that would be wonderful. I have this boil I need you to look at
on my left buttock
."

The last few words were spoken in an exaggerated stage whisper, but I caught them nonetheless.

Gag.

The engine roared to life, and I dialed the air to full blast as I waved once more at the now overjoyed Ms. Lanier. I may not have completed my medical degree, but apparently a four-year undergraduate degree in biology and one semester short of completing med school was good enough for my neighbor. And if this was what I had to look forward to after work, a full day of remote-control programming didn't seem like such a chore after all.

It is better to be a coward for a minute than dead for the rest of your life. –Irish Proverb

Mayor Douglas "Dougie" Mills lived in a two-story, Georgian-style home overlooking the eighteenth hole of Sugar Pines Golf Course. I pulled the van up the circular drive and parked it behind a shiny new BMW.

My long legs came in handy when exiting the mile-high van seat, and I was soon at the front door, tool belt affixed to my waistline and clipboard in hand. A real blue-collar soldier, ready for battle.

As I reached up to knock, the door swung open, revealing a tanned, twenty-something male in starched tennis whites. He gave me a dismissive once-over and then yelled back over his shoulder, "There's someone at the door, Amika. I'm gone to the club."

I stepped aside as he trotted toward the BMW Z series roadster. I gave a small finger-twirl wave as the hot car roared to life.

Goodbye, my fair stallion.

I meant the car, of course. Not the apparently spoiled rotten mayor's son.

My mourning was interrupted by a voice with a moderately strong German accent.

"Are you from the cable place?"

I turned my focus to a rail-thin woman with crystal-blue eyes and pearlescent skin. She was probably in her early sixties, but she'd aged well and was still very attractive. I could tell she'd been a true knockout in her day.

"Yes, ma'am. We received an emergency call from Mayor Mills. What seems to be the problem?"

I stepped into the crisp, cool air and admired the marble floors, the cherry wood stair banister, and a vase full of fresh roses perched on an antique secretary near the entryway.

Nice digs.

"This way."

I couldn't remember if I'd ever seen her before, but I could tell from the tidy yet inexpensive dress she wore that she was not related to the Mills. No Mills would be caught dead in anything but the most designer of outfits. I assumed she was the housekeeper and followed as she led me toward a large open den with a theater-sized television mounted on a corner unit. She pointed toward the blank screen that flickered with muted static.

"Can you fix?"

"No problem. I'll have this up in a jiffy." I spoke with a confidence that I did not possess. Consulting my checklist, I made my way to the television and began troubleshooting a digital diagnosis.

*  *  *

Two hours, three sneezes, and a half a box of Tic Tacs later, I was crouched in the oppressive heat of the attic. After two phone calls back to the office to ask my boss questions, I'd finally deduced that there must be a faulty coaxial cable somewhere in the house's wiring. Finding it was going to take time and patience. And I was low on both.

My stomach grumbled with hunger, and the dispatcher had radioed twice to ask when I might be able to take the next service call. But I was stuck here in the mayor's dreadful attic until I could find the source of the problem.

I inched along the perimeter in the near dark. When it came to blood and anatomy, I could stomach almost anything. But when it came to bugs and creepy crawlies, I was as girly as they came.