The Prey Bites Back: A Jesse Watson Mystery Book #8

BOOK: The Prey Bites Back: A Jesse Watson Mystery Book #8
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The Prey Bites Back

A Jesse Watson Mystery

Book #8

Ann Mullen

www.aftonridge.com

 

 

This book is a work of
fiction. Any characters portrayed, living or dead, are imaginary. Any
resemblance to actual persons is completely coincidental. Any places, business
establishments, locales, events, or incidents in this book are the product of
the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously.

 

Afton Ridge
Publishing

271 Entry Run
Road

Stanardsville
,
Virginia
22973

Copyright © 2014
by Ann Mullen

ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED

This book, or
parts thereof, may not be reproduced

in any form
without permission.

ISBN 13: 978-0-9828776-9-2

 

Table of Contents

 

 

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

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

 

Also by Ann
Mullen:

Jesse Watson Mystery Series:

What You See

South River
Incident

A Crying Shame

Middle River
Murders

Greene
County
Killer

Death on the Bella Constance

All About the Money

 

Short Story Collection:

Lunch Break Shorts

Chapter 1

 

When most folks tell stories
of their RV experiences, there always seems to be something disastrous that
happened along the way—a flat tire, engine problems, somebody getting left behind
at a rest stop or gas station by mistake—you name it; I’ve heard it all. So, we
did our best to prepare ourselves in advance. We discussed all the things that
could go wrong and made a pact that whatever happened, we were going to take it
in stride and enjoy ourselves. We had money, guns, cell phones and a satellite
phone. What else did we need?

Billy had rented
a Winnebago fully equipped with everything we needed, and we were just going to
get on the bus and go. No destination. No timeline.

Hello. My name
is Jesse Watson. Years ago, I moved with my parents to Stanardsville, a little
town in the beautiful mountains of
Virginia
, got
a job working for a private investigator, and then married him. Billy Blackhawk
and I have been together now for almost ten years.

Dad died
shortly after we moved here, and then a while later, my mom Minnie found Eddie.
They were married in a triple ceremony at Chief Sam and Sarah’s house along
with my sister, Claire, and her guy Randy Morgan, and Billy’s brother, Jonathan,
and his fiancée, Lu Ann Knotts. It was a huge celebration done up in grand Cherokee
style. But the party was over, the newlyweds were off on their honeymoons, and
we were still out of a job.

Let me explain.
Not long after I hooked up with Billy, I got my P.I. license and the two of us
set out together to dig into peoples’ lives. It was our job to get the dirt and
we did it very well using pretty much any means we found necessary as long as
it was legal… mostly.

Unfortunately,
we crossed the line a few times and Greene County Sheriff Wake Hudson finally
called us out on it. We reached an agreement with him that would keep me and Billy
out of jail for our dirty deeds by promising to take a hiatus from work for six
months. But not to worry, we came up with a backup plan. Mom and Eddie were
going to take our place when they got back from their honeymoon. They were going
to do our snooping for us. We had to keep the business going.

Billy and I
live in
Charlottesville
,
Virginia
, on
the Blackhawk Compound in the same house he once lived in with his first wife,
but that’s okay by me. We have two children, Maisy and Ethan, who are attended
to by Billy’s cousin Helene, the best nanny in the world. We also have two dogs
and a strange cat, making us the typical family.

Since we were
temporarily unemployed, we decided to take a long vacation and see
America
. What else was there to do if we couldn’t work?

I knew we were
going to have a great time and hopefully there wouldn’t be too many horror
tales to tell, but low and behold, we hit a snafu right from the get-go. We
couldn’t get Athena on the bus. She had always hated riding in cars, so why did
I think this was going to be any different? After twenty minutes of chasing her
around the bus, the yard, and through the house, I was about ready to give up.
The kids were getting cranky, Billy was frustrated, and Spice Cat wasn’t happy
at all about being in a cat carrier—which was only temporary until everyone was
inside and the bus got on the road.

Although it was
the end of October, the weather was still hot and humid at times. Wiping the
sweat from my brow, I glared down at Athena and Thor. They had been acting like
rats trying to find high ground in a flood. I yelled, “Get on the bus or we’re
going to the vet!” I emphasized the word vet.

Both of them
ceased their running around, stopped and looked at each other. I swear, if they
could’ve shrieked liked people do, they would have. A minute later, both were
on the bus looking for a place to claim as their own.

It was a minor
glitch to start, but now we were on our way, and after an hour on the road,
everyone had settled in. It was going to be a good trip.

Three weeks
later, after days of sightseeing and stopping at every tourist trap there was
from
Charlottesville
to
Denver
, the
thrill was gone. I’d had enough. I was ready to go back home and get to work.

We were sitting
in a roadside diner on the outskirts of
Denver
eating yummy
hamburgers when I looked at Billy and said, “I’ve had about as much fun as I
can stand. I’m ready to go home. I’ve put on five pounds and there’s no more
room on the bus for souvenirs.”

Billy looked
hurt. “Aren’t you having a good time, `ge ya? I thought you loved eating out
and stopping at all those quaint little shops.”

“Of course
she’s having a good time,” Helene said as she wiped catsup from the corner of Ethan’s
mouth. “She’s just had enough. So have I. It feels weird being on vacation for so
long… and you two have been spending money like drunken sailors on shore leave.
It’s time to pull the plug on this party.”

We talked,
laughed, and joked as the bus carried us back home. That all stopped when a
young punk tried to carjack the Winnebago at a gas station in
Topeka
,
Kansas
. He made it a half mile down the road
before the cops stopped him. The guy was barely twenty years old and said he
only did it on a dare. What an idiot. Who in their right mind would ever think
they could make a getaway in a Winnebago?

Fortunately,
our kids weren’t on the bus, but the dogs and cat were. The cops said the guy
was trying to fight off the dogs and the hissing cat sitting on the dashboard
when they pulled him over. The young man couldn’t get out of the bus fast
enough. They arrested him without incident, but after it was over, I told Billy
to remind me to never visit
Kansas
again.

“You can’t
blame the great state of
Kansas
for what one criminal does. The scenery’s
beautiful and the people seem to be so nice.”

Helene popped
up and said, “Except for the kid who tried to steal our bus. He wasn’t such a
nice person. What if the children had been on the bus?”

Billy didn’t
have a response, but I knew what he was thinking. He would’ve gone after the
guy, even if he had to steal the car on the other side of the gas pump to do it.


Kansas
was the name of that guy who tried to kill my mother,” I
added. “No more
Kansas
for me, thank you very much.”

And wouldn’t
you know it? Just before we reached the
Kansas
state
line, about ready to leave that fine state behind, the skies turned dark and a
wall cloud appeared on the horizon. Way off to our left, a funnel cloud was
well on its way to touching down. The tornado was behind us, but it could be on
us any minute.

Poor
visibility, gusting winds, and heavy rain made it almost impossible for Billy
to control the bus. Then the hail started. A minute later, a bicycle came careening
through the air like a rocket, slamming into the passenger side and knocking
the mirror off in its wake. The mirror disappeared into the black abyss. Much
to our relief, the tornado disappeared before it caught up to us, but it had
been a mighty close call.

After the
initial shock wears off, being carjacked gives you plenty of fodder for
conversations, and almost being sucked up into a tornado really ups the ante
for things to talk about.

“Now we can
tell our friends about our
busjacking
,” Helene said, chuckling. “Who
would ever believe…”

“And what about
that tornado?” I added. “That was about the scariest thing I’ve ever been
through. The whole time I kept thinking about Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
.”

“So was I,”
Helene agreed, chuckling. “I kept waiting for a house to fall on us.”

Then, while we
were cruising through
Kentucky
in the middle of the night, Billy hit a
deer. I freaked out and Helene had a spaz attack when we saw the poor thing
lying in the road, squirming and kicking in agony. So, Billy did the right
thing. He shot the deer and dragged the carcass off the road into a field. Try
explaining that one to a state trooper when he pulls up and sees a man in his
headlights, covered in blood up to his elbows, coming out of a field. That was
another exciting experience.

We had a fun
time from
Charlottesville
to
Denver
, but once
we turned around and headed home, the trip back left a lot to be desired. Busjacking,
tornado, hitting a deer—what next? I kept asking myself that question over and
over. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger and worse was about to
happen. The answer came all too soon with a single phone call.

We had just
pulled into the rest area on I-64 for one last stretch when Billy’s cell phone
went off. It was a
9-1-1
from Jonathan. Billy said little, and
when the conversation was over, he turned to us and simply said, “My mother is
in the hospital. We must go.”

Like zombies,
we sat motionless, doing a steady seventy-five in a Winnebago all the way to
Charlottesville
, not slowing down for anything. Once we
reached the
Hydraulic Road
exit, Billy eased off the gas pedal and
kept it that way until we reached
Martha
Jefferson
Hospital
. He had said little the whole time, but I
could feel his pain, and I could see it in his eyes. His mother was seriously
ill and the doctors were doing their best to find out why.

Billy is a
Cherokee Indian. They feel things differently than we do. They cover their
pain. We shout it from the rooftops. We cry out loud. They suffer in silence.

I was numb. I
knew there was something wrong with Sarah. Her health had been declining over
the past few months, but nobody had talked about it. I just didn’t know it was
that bad. I should’ve seen it coming. All the signs were there.

Our stop at the
hospital was brief. Billy had gone in to see his mother, but she was out of it
and didn’t even know who he was. She was hallucinating and screaming at anyone
who got near her.

Once we got
home, everything seemed so gloomy. The house was dark, the sky was overcast,
and a strong wind was blowing in from the northeast. A storm was brewing. 

“Are you okay?”
I asked Billy as we stepped out of the Winnebago. “What can I do? I want to
help, but I don’t know…”

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