Deadly Discovery Read online

  Deadly

  Discovery

  Deadly

  Discovery

  Tami Kidd

  Deadly Discovery

  This publication is a work of creative fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, real business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, scanned, or distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the author’s written permission.

  Third Edition Copyright © 2017 Tami Kidd

  Cover Design Copyright © 2017 by DLD Designs

  ColtonBooks.com

  All rights reserved.

  Visit Tami Kidd at www.AuthorTamiKidd.com

  ISBN-10:1979502714

  ISBN-13:978-1979502719

  This book is dedicated to my family and friends, without whom this book would not have been possible.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you, Davy, Jessica, (Sis) Jesslyn, Laurie, Debbie, Tammie, and the Crestview Writers Group for your encouragement, advice, and hours of reading. This book is for you and everyone else who had a hand in its creation.

  One

  The words that poured out of Mara’s mouth were unrecognizable, at least to her. She heard the words, but they were not her own. Some stranger had stepped inside her body. As if a separate entity, she observed the other Mara act out the scene. She didn’t like where the scene was headed. She wanted to walk away. No, she wanted to run. She wanted this to be a nightmare so she could wake up dripping wet and shaking, terrified—but this was real. Very real.

  Mara shook her head. “No! You must have made a mistake. My husband came in with stomach pain and nausea. He’s rarely ever sick. Maybe a sinus infection from time to time or a cold but never anything serious. You must’ve mixed him up with somebody else. Here, let me show you his picture.” She rummaged around in her purse for her wallet. “You’ll see it’s a simple case of mistaken identity. Please, let me see my husband. Where is he?”

  The muscles in her throat constricted. Mara’s vision blurred. Her heart felt like it would beat its way out her chest and break at the same time. This is not happening.

  Dr. Tim Scott touched her arm and looked at her with warmth and sympathy in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Byrne. We did everything possible. The aneurysm was too severe. Please, let us call someone for you.”

  She knew the doctor spoke the truth. “There’s no one to call,” she whispered.

  “A relative or a friend perhaps?”

  “Please, may I see my husband?”

  “Of course. It will be a few minutes.”

  Mara lowered her head. Her long, dark-brown hair covered her face. She felt the life drain out of her, moving down her head and out through her feet. Her heart beat fast and hard. She thought she would pass out or perhaps die. Her hands trembled like a drunk with withdrawals. She willed herself not to pass out. Her mouth clamped shut like a vice until her jaw ached.

  How could this be happening? We were together just this morning. Now he’s gone. God, please let this be a bad dream.

  ****

  Thomas always followed a daily routine. He rose every morning at 5:00 a.m., made coffee, and sat at the breakfast nook to play a game of Sudoku. He claimed it exercised his brain. Afterward, he got the newspaper from the driveway. By then Mara woke up, pouring her first cup of coffee. She turned on the small TV in the kitchen and they sat together. While he read the paper, she watched the news. Quietly, they eased into the day.

  Sometimes they never spoke. They didn’t have to. Neither found any reason to fill the space between them with words, the space filled with love. She knew he loved her. He knew she loved him. It was a certainty, like gravity or the passing of the seasons.

  A half hour later, she walked him to the door and watched him drive away till his truck pulled onto the main road and drove out of sight. Every day, rain or shine, in sickness and health, this was her way of telling the universe that all was as it should be. If she didn’t follow her routine, the world became off-kilter until she set it right again.

  After Thomas left for work, Mara busied herself with housework, laundry, or grocery shopping. By 10:00 or 11:00 a.m., passionate about writing, she sat at her desk to weave her fantasy world. She had published a series of seven novels, The Alex Strange Mysteries. The eighth book was in its beginning stages. Mara and her protagonist, Alex Strange, shared adventures in crime and romance. Mara lived vicariously through her heroine. Alex, a woman of beauty, strength, and courage, never backed down without a fight. She refused to quit until the job was done.

  ****

  “Mrs. Byrne, if you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to your husband,” Dr Scott said. He took her by the elbow.

  Her knees felt weak and wobbly, but she surprised herself by not faltering—even as her body crumbled from within.

  They left the small green room she had been taken to when she arrived at the hospital. Only minutes had passed by, but to Mara it felt like hours.

  If the walls of the room could talk, they could recite countless tales of loss. The room forever held ugly, haunting memories. People would remember this place. Remember the color of the walls, the uncomfortable tactile of the cold, hard-plastic chairs, and the hum of the air conditioning vents. They might remember the whisper of voices outside the door like they remembered which song played on the radio when they wrecked their first car, or what they wore when they broke up with their first love. And yes, they’d never forget the room where they first heard the news that a loved one had died.

  Mara and Dr. Scott walked in silence down the hall. First, they passed by rooms where worried loved ones stood guard like sentinels, daring death to enter. As they moved deeper into the heart of the hospital, they passed surgical rooms where nurses and doctors attended other sick or dying patients.

  They finally arrived at a set of stainless-steel double doors that opened to a cold, sterile room with white tiled walls and floor. A large retractable triple-ceiling surgical light hung from the ceiling, all three turned off. The only other light in the room came from the soft overhead LED lamps.

  The room was empty except for a stainless-steel stool on wheels and a gurney. On the gurney lay a body covered by a white sheet. The surgical team had cleaned the entire room: no bloody dressings littered the spotless floor, no trays with scalpels, knives, or other instruments, no syringes or sponges or clamps, and most importantly, no visible signs that a war had been waged to save a life. Everyone had left. Only Mara, Dr. Scott, and the body remained.

  “Mrs. Byrne, would you like to be left alone?”

  Mara wasn’t sure if she had said, “yes,” or just nodded her head. She couldn’t look away from the gurney. This can’t be Thomas. It’s impossible. It’s a mistake.

  “A nurse will be outside if you need anything.”

  She didn’t see Dr. Scott leave the room, but she heard the swoosh of the double doors. Mara was alone. Truly alone. She stood there, not sure what to do. Finally, she walked to the gurney. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the sheet and pulled it back. Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a cry. Unable to control her weakening knees any longer, she sank to the floor. Hot tears burned her face like acid rain. She squeezed her eyes tight, and still, all she could see was Thomas under the sheet—dead.

  Thomas. No mistake. Her husband, her lover, her best friend. The man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with. The man who possessed her mind, body, and soul. Dead.

  Painful and violent sobs ripped through her body. She felt a
scream and bile rising from the depths of her soul. She squeezed her hands against her mouth to keep the fear, rage, and sorrow down, trapped inside. Her eyes focused on the gurney, on his body. He seemed so alone. Be brave; go to him. She crawled to the stool and pulled herself up, leaning on it for support. Her eyes burned and felt like they had swollen to twice their normal size. Her sinuses clogged and forced her to breathe through her mouth. Her ears rang and her head pounded.

  She returned to Thomas’s side. His pale, waxy face made him look like a mannequin. Not quite human, but similar enough for a closer look. A sob racked her body when Mara realized she would never see his eyes again. His eyes had glistened like deep pools of pure joy. They made her feel so many things. Sometimes she caught herself staring at him, at his eyes.

  “What?” he would say.

  “Nothing. I was looking at your beautiful blue eyes.” Her answer made him

  blush and turn away, embarrassed, which made him look even more unbelievable.

  Worse yet, she would never feel his warm, soft lips against hers again. She would never see his crooked smile tease her when he wanted to make love.

  She gazed longingly at his dark-brown hair and ran her fingers through it. It felt like soft ribbons of silk. He had a few gray hairs. He often complained how unfair it was that he had touches of gray and often worried people might mistake him for her father. She laughed at him and teased, “Let them. I don’t care what people think. If it gets too gray you can shave it off. Bald is sexy.”

  She pulled the sheet down farther. Her hand shook as she placed it over his own. She bent forward and gave Thomas a kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye, my love. How will I survive without you?”

  Two

  Guests and family told Mara at least a hundred times what a lovely service it had been. She hugged people. Shook their hands. Accepted their condolences. She went through the motions like a proper widow ought, and all the while, she wanted to scream, wanted to be left alone. She didn’t want to talk, be cordial, or be near all those people. Who are all these people anyway? Some she recognized from Thomas’s work. Some were from the neighborhood. Others she had no idea about.

  If it hadn’t been for her best friend, Lucia, she would not have survived. Lucia managed to keep Mara focused on the task at hand, which was to get through the day, send the people on their way, and then sit down and breathe.

  All Mara could do was think about how much her life had changed. I’m all alone. People ask me what will I do now. How am I supposed to know? I have never been alone in my entire life. I was Thomas’s wife for almost twenty years. Who am I now?

  ****

  Mara’s parents, Jesse and Hannah Carpenter, had eight children: six boys and two girls. The youngest girl, Melissa, died when she was only two days old. The doctor said her lungs were underdeveloped. The boys, however, were strong, and Mara was as strong as any of them.

  Her brothers, all older, were very protective. The youngest, Noah, was eleven months older than Mara. Everyone called them the Irish Twins. She and Noah used to fight all the time, but somehow always remained best friends. Mara shared a special bond with Noah. If it hadn’t been for the age difference, she would have believed they were twins. They had the same dark hair, brown eyes, and olive complexion like their father. Her other brothers were fair like their mother. They all worked hard around the farm and shared few creature comforts, but what they lacked in material possessions, they made up for in love.

  Mara never once felt disadvantaged or poor. They made do with what they had and were grateful because they knew others were less fortunate. Mara’s parents always made sure no one ever left home hungry. They might have only been able to offer beans and cornbread, but for many that was a feast.

  Jesse and Hannah didn’t want their only daughter to struggle to make ends meet. They wanted her to have opportunities, more options than were available to most young women at the time. They witnessed so many smart young girls become haggard old women before their time just by purely existing. Life could be so mean and relentless. It didn’t matter if the person was good, smart, or deserving. The only people who had a chance for an abundant life were the ones who had more choices. That is what they wanted for Mara.

  Mara had been blessed with intelligence and a natural ability for telling stories. Hannah and Jesse could see the light in her eyes when she held her brothers spellbound with the stories that flowed from her like water. She had something in her that her brothers never possessed. Her parents saw in Mara a passion and desire they could not understand. She was almost ethereal in their eyes. They knew her destiny wasn’t in the little backwoods town of Persimmon Hollow, Arkansas. It was in the huge, expansive world outside of their small realm. They wanted Mara to evolve, create, and experience a full, happy life.

  Out of respect and love for her parents, Mara never once spoke of her dreams of leaving her birthplace. She would have gladly lived out her life with them and her brothers. She would have ignored her desires, but her desires couldn’t be held back. The universe heard and answered. After Mara graduated high school, her parents sent her to live with her Aunt Mary and Uncle Grady in Riverside, California. Her life would never be the same.

  ****

  “How are you doing, Mar?” Lucia asked in her soft, raspy Hispanic voice. She sat next to Mara on the couch and patted her on the leg.

  “Fine. I was thinking about when Thomas and I got married. That seems like such a long time ago,” Mara said as she fiddled with her wedding band. “Our anniversary is the twenty-fourth of this month.”

  “Yes, I know, sweetie. I’m sorry,” Lucia said. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen and let me fix you something to eat?”

  “Not now. Maybe later.”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  “This morning. I had toast and coffee.”

  “That’s not enough. You need to keep up your strength.”

  “Why?”

  “Mara,” Lucia said in a motherly tone, “as hard as this may be now, the hardest part is yet to come.”

  Mara flashed her a look of disbelief. How could anything be harder than what she had already gone through? “How could that be?” she asked.

  “I know you don’t believe it now, but in the days to come, after all these people are gone, it will hit you.”

  “Thanks for the encouragement.” Mara got up from the couch and walked to the patio to get some fresh air.

  Lucia followed her outside. “I’m sorry, Mara, but you have to prepare yourself. You need to know what’s ahead.”

  “Don’t you think I know what’s ahead? Here’s what I have to look forward to: utter loneliness. Living in this big house without Thomas, trying to exist from day to day knowing that I’ll never see, hear, or touch the man I’ve loved since I was eighteen years old.”

  Lucia put her arms around Mara and hugged her tight. Mara’s arms dangled like a rag doll, limp and lifeless. She felt drained and numb.

  Three

  Twenty-one days, five hours, and ten minutes had passed since Thomas died. Mara kept count. Each day was the same. She got up at 6:00 a.m., went to the kitchen to make coffee, and then went back to bed. Around noon, she got up and sat in the living room, in the bedroom, or in the kitchen. She walked from room to room as if she were searching for something.

  Every day Lucia called to check up on her. Mara lied and said she was fine. Most days Lucia stopped by on her way home from work. She gently chastised Mara for still being in her pajamas. When she fixed her something to eat, Mara nibbled on a few bites, enough to appease Lucia. Today was no different.

  “Are you working on your next novel?” Lucia asked.

  “What novel? There’s not going to be another novel.”

  “Come on, Mar, you know you don’t mean that. You love writing.”

  “I have no desire to write. I have no desire to do anything. Look at me! I can’t even get dressed. You think I’m actually going to write?”

  A dark cloud had
swallowed Mara’s house. She felt like she was drowning. She felt hopeless. What was there to look forward to? She knew she didn’t lead an overly exciting life, but it was her life, and now she had no life at all. She couldn’t write because she couldn’t think. Nothing excited her. Worse than that, she didn’t want to find anything. She wanted to wallow in her own despair. She wanted to yell at Thomas. Damn it, how could you do this to me?

  Logically, she knew he didn’t leave her on purpose, but she had to blame someone. She couldn’t blame God. God doesn’t make mistakes. God is perfect. She had been taught her entire life that God has a purpose for everything. He wouldn’t take someone from this world without just cause. He must have had a very good reason to take Thomas away from me. So, as the only other alternative, she blamed Thomas.

  Perhaps he should have gone to the doctor more often. Maybe he should have watched his diet a little closer. Maybe he ate one too many bacon cheeseburgers. He should have exercised more. Something should have been done to prevent his death. But what? Nothing, at least that’s what the doctor said. He would have had the aneurysm anyway.

  ****

  On day 206, almost seven months after Thomas died, Lucia came by the house and found Mara in the garage. She stood waist deep in boxes.

  “Wow, what are you doing?” Lucia asked.

  “Going through some of Thomas’s things. I’m going to give some of this stuff to the Salvation Army.”

  “Really?” Is this a New Year’s resolution?”

  “No,” Mara said.

  “What brought this on?”

  “Last night, I picked up one of my old novels and started to read. In it, Alex had a client whose husband died. I read a passage where the client told Alex how she felt and how she didn’t want to live without her husband.”