Death Knell In The Alps (A Samantha Jamison Mystery) (18 page)

Chapter 64

Final Words On The Aftermath

As for the final words on Herr Hans Kraus, infamous spy and international assassin, Clay decided to wait before telling me the gory details right away. By the time Clay worked his way down the cliff, which felt like forever to him, he found me out cold on a ledge, which saved my life. But much farther down the ravine, a grotesquely sprawled out Kraus lay dead. Kraus would finally get his fame, guaranteeing his name being in the headlines. Clay said it was eerie when he looked down at Kraus. That church bell was
still tolling
in the distance: a symbolic message.

Death knell in the Alps.

That shot I heard was Kraus’ gun. He had accidentally shot himself while trying to kill me in our struggle. As he fell off that cliff, he bounced off boulders and trees. I shiver thinking about it. It could have turned out so differently. The doctor said that because of my young age and my extraordinary good luck in landing on that ledge, I was able to withstand the fall surprisingly well.

That ledge had changed the whole dynamic.

Carlo and Maria were innocent, as they had proclaimed.

Peter was lucky. The shot barely missed his heart. His prognosis was good. In time he’d be up and skiing again.

I took another small sip of the champagne courtesy of Swiss Air. “To a job well-done,” Clay had toasted earlier.

I looked over to Clay, who was now sleeping, my cast propped up on his leg. He was smiling: his doubts and questions finally resolved after all this time. The mysteries concerning his past would finally be put to rest.

It’s funny how you think you know someone, but they keep surprising you. This was how I thought about Clay. He was always surprising me. Like he said at the start,

“Remember one thing, Sam, it will never be dull.”

He was right.

I looked over at my crew, who were laughing and remembering the crazy, close calls that were now part of our ‘ski vacation’ and the tall tales that would be told for years to come. I wondered what would be next. Then I laughed too. If anything it will be as usual: the unexpected.

Thinking about this book, I hadn’t seen spellcheck pop up once since I began typing, and was now looking forward to handing everything over to my agent and editor, who would critique it thoroughly with a fine-toothed comb.

I leaned back.
Where next?
Clay hinted at a nice respite from all this chaos and my recent death-defying antics.

“How about a romantic stay at a B & B to sightsee a historic area and deal with people who are already dead?”

But as usual, I had a feeling another mystery would conveniently fall in our laps and we’d be off and running again. That was just fine with me. As long as it was like my other mysteries: easily solvable.

…And they say some authors have no sense of humor.

This ends
Death Knell In the Alps
.

For a preview of the first book in the Samantha Jamison Mystery Series,
Volume 1, The Puzzle,
please continue reading right after this:

SPECIAL NOTE TO THE READER

Thank you for reading
Volume 6, Death Knell In the Alps
: I do hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked this book, I hope you choose to check out and read the rest of the mysteries in the series. Here are some other possible suggestions:

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Please read on for the preview excerpt of the first book in the Samantha Jamison Mystery Series,
Volume 1, The Puzzle

The Puzzle

A Samantha Jamison Mystery

Volume 1

A Novel

by

Peggy A.
Edelheit

Copyright © 2011 by Peggy A.
Edelheit

Chapter 1

Fatal Obsession

My Letter To My Dead Husband

Stephen,

For the first time, I find myself at a loss for words to describe exactly how I feel, but I will try. You see, I need somewhere to park my anger, and even though you will never read this, I must have something tangible in my hands, written in black and white. When I look back, I actually thought we had some kind of life together. Maybe not a great one, but, at least in the beginning, one that I thought was worth an emotional investment. Now, I’m not so sure. The big shocker? I didn’t expect to be a widow. It stopped me in my tracks. How and why did this happen? Undeserved as it was, it now dictates my search for the truth, regardless of what that truth might turn out to be. I ask myself, how was I to piece together all the shattered fragments of my life? To do that, I need a better understanding of where things went wrong. Initially, I felt vulnerable, but not for long. Knowledge was the game-changer. I remember the impact of betrayal, after discovering your deception, the way you used your lies and my apprehension to manipulate me. Why? For what reason? I’m exhausted from my naiveté and making excuses for your odd behavior, and I’m physically numbed by our last verbal encounter and your confusing remarks. What strange bedfellows we ultimately became, me with my ignorance and you with your secretive duplicity. It takes my breath away.

Samantha

* * * * *

I felt like I was losing it, as my fingers flew across my computer keyboard, typing away, still wondering if my obsession for the truth would be the death of me. Little did I know when I first started this book that it would be the death of him instead. I paused to sip my wine, thinking it through. I wasn’t writing the great American novel, just another book about commitment and making choices. Pretty straightforward, right?

No. Not this time. All bets were off. My concentration stunk. I looked up. That damn clock was ticking away and my novel was behind schedule. I tried typing once again…

(My book)

…Doubt and fear shadowed me, as I proceeded down the hall with more courage than I felt. Listening carefully, I moved slowly past the first room, then the second, stealing a quick look in
each. Old houses settled and creaked, right? But his death did that to me, made me uneasy, ever since I discovered there were no lifetime guarantees on anything or anyone. There were just words that made you feel safe and secure. I flicked the landing light on and the hallway switch off, tentatively glancing back, but all I heard was that same conversation rebound from the past.

“I don’t have time right now!” snapped Stephen. “I’ve got to catch that plane. Let’s get a move on, or I’m going to miss it. We’ll sit down and talk when I get back.”

“Don’t you see? You always say that!” I knew the drill.

He turned back to me, grabbing my shoulders. “I’m sorry. I swear, this time I mean it. I have to tie up a few loose ends and have a feeling that everything will go my way. And if it doesn’t, well, you know me. I still manage to cover all my bases.”

I searched his intense, unreadable eyes. I wasn’t willing to let it go. “But what about me? What about us?”

Stephen smiled. “We’ll always have us,” he reasoned.

Was I overreacting? I tried yet again. “But, Stephen….”

His smile abruptly vanished, and he released me. “Samantha, don’t push. This is important to me. Now, drop it!” He glanced down at his watch. “Let’s go!” He turned, grabbed his bag and walked out toward the car, calling over his shoulder, “Are you coming? You have to drop me off at the airport, remember?”

I stood there, staring down that hallway, recalling his words. How could I forget them and all the anger that still lingered? I closed my eyes briefly, took a deep breath and moved on.

I knew how many times I had gone this way and it was always twenty-four, and then six footsteps, so predictable, just like our arguments. I descended to the landing and was about to swing to the right and go down those last steps, but stopped. Something caught my eye and I turned to the left.

There on the wall hung a familiar picture, another reminder of my life, the one that used to include Stephen and me. I was still trying to piece together what I may have overlooked. How could I have been so oblivious? Suddenly, what I thought was secure was unexpectedly reduced to nothing. Poof! Right for the jugular! Just like that!

Stephen, why did you lie? Were you dishonest with me from the beginning?

These considerations were long overdue since I was finally questioning his motives and confronting mine. How could I change my future if I didn’t understand his past?…

Chapter 2

The Book Of Revelation

I slammed my laptop shut, tapping my fingernail in frustration. This whole thing was driving me crazy. Yet again, it was happening, figuratively and literally. I glanced down at my computer. Where was my book going? Leaning forward, I rested my forehead on crossed fingers, as if in prayer, and then sat upright, annoyed. For the life of me, I couldn’t think straight.

Restless, I shoved my chair back and began pacing. My neck was killing me. I tried massaging my muscles, as though that would ease all my uncertainty. I knew full well what was affecting my writing: Stephen’s death and that unknown factor just waiting in the wings. They influenced every word I typed. My life and my novel were becoming one. I couldn’t stop it.

Stuck on replay, my mind kept returning to that point in time when I had made deals with God to give my life back. And as usual, denial, pain, grief and doubt all found their target, and like clockwork, anger showed up and slapped me out of it. I remember standing there in shock…

(My past
)

…“What?” I had asked the police, stepping back from the door. “My husband?” In minutes, I was practicing denial, refusing to acknowledge their sympathy, and stunned as they explained Stephen’s fatal accident.

In a heartbeat, my life shifted. I reached out, trying to latch onto reality, as I knew it should be. What did they just say? Surely I hadn’t heard correctly.

“Sorry that it took so long. His identification, rental info, and plates were all missing.”

“It’s not…He couldn’t…” Dead? Car rental? Their information wasn’t registering. None of it made any sense. What happened to the plane he was taking?

Doubt lingered at the edges as Stephen’s picture, sitting on my desk, vied for my attention. Every time I passed it, more questions began to surface. I felt his eyes follow me, as though he was trying to…

I leaned in closer, confused and upset, demanding, “What are you trying to tell me, Stephen? What were you thinking? Where were you going?” Silence. No response, real or imagined.

That nightly ritual grew unsettling. No matter how I struggled to walk away, I felt certain he was trying to communicate something. What? Then I gradually began to consider what other unknowns might be out there.

I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Days later, the police said his brakes were tampered with, and told me to be “available.” For what? More pain? My frustration sat there, right beside my former blind acceptance and ignorance.

I had never considered foul play. That changed everything.

Anger simmered, as I gave them a newly memorized address and my cell number. I really didn’t have any choice. Unwilling to wait for their answers, and with nothing holding me back, I decided to pack up what was left of me, go back to North Carolina and find out for myself…

Now I stood there thinking about that decision. I should really start that packing instead of getting more frustrated and going nowhere with my book. But then I glanced down at my laptop and reluctantly sat back down to try and concentrate once more on my book. I had a deadline to consider. But my fingers, poised over the keyboard, wouldn’t move. It was like a disconnect had taken place between my hands and my brain. I stared at the lettered keys and then at the screen, thinking about what I continued to do day after day.

Why was I compulsively interjecting our lives into my book? My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, working freelance, asking questions, but where were they leading me? After five years of marriage, it only took one fatal accident to find out I didn’t know Stephen at all. So many questions remained unanswered. What was he involved in? Why was he driving without identification? He was so meticulous. After I dropped him at the airport, why didn’t he board that plane? Why did he rent a car?

Our marriage, his accident, and my future were all tied up in knots and needed unraveling. I leaned back in my chair, considering what to do, and then it hit me, a possible way to solve everything, one I had never considered. And it just might work.

I stared at the computer screen. Since my life had taken an unexpected turn, why not my book, too? Why should I go in another direction when my fingers had just dropped me in my own narrative? Granted it was a bit unusual, but what was usual about my life anymore? Not one damn thing. I considered my odds on pulling this off. To tell you the truth, they didn’t look too good; more like slim to none, because I would probably be kept guessing all the way down that uncertain road I had decided to travel. Would I find myself scrambling just to keep up? Would my life be put at risk like Stephen’s?

What do you think?