Here is a sneak peak at my latest suspense release, GIRL
UNDONE. This book is the third in the TJ Peacock and Lisa Rayburn suspense series. If you enjoy these first two chapters, please go to Amazon.com for your
own, personal copy.
http://goo.gl/6fizeJ
GIRL UNDONE
By
Marla Madison
1
Black Friday
9:00 am
A
pale figure sat slumped in a tufted, red velvet and carved-gold throne while a
handful of gaping shoppers gathered behind the roped off area in front of a
work-in-progress Santa’s Village.
On the floor above, private investigator
TJ Peacock walked past the Boston Store, her eye on a possible shoplifter.
She’d been making rounds in the mall since six in the morning when the doors of
the mall’s department stores opened. TJ hated mall duty, especially the stiff,
uncomfortable uniform she had to wear, but she had contracted with the mall to
provide additional holiday-season security, figuring her employee would be the
one handling the job. That one employee was recently hired to cover the
security part of TJ’s PI business, the part TJ found boring. But so far,
security work was the part that paid the bills.
By nine, when the other stores opened, TJ
was already experiencing sensory overload. She never had understood women’s
shopping mania. There were very few men in sight that morning, and in her
opinion, they were the ones who knew how to shop. When men needed something,
they went to the nearest store that sold the item and they bought it—end of
story.
Spending hours in a mall, deciding which
was just the right dress or gift to buy, was nothing but a huge time waste—time
that could be better spent doing something productive—unless the bargain-hunter
was a shoplifter. That person’s time in the mall could be super productive,
provided she either needed the item she lifted or knew how to profit from
selling it—like the woman TJ noticed walking out of the Boston Store. She was
carrying a shopping bag with the store’s logo, but TJ quickly observed that the
bag didn’t have the Christmas design like those carried by the other shoppers
exiting the store. Just as TJ moved toward the woman, intending to question her
about the bag’s contents, something on the lower floor caught her eye.
The store had already set up an
extravagant North Pole Village in order to lure in parents next week for its
grand opening. The activity TJ had spotted near Santa’s Village—people hurrying
toward it—didn’t make sense since the village was still under construction and
not many of the stores on that level were open yet. Deciding that the unseen
attraction on the lower level might be more threatening to store security than
a shoplifter, TJ ignored the woman with the out-of-sync bag and ran for the
stairs.
When she approached the shoppers in front
of the village, they pointed at Santa’s throne. A mother with two young boys
abruptly turned them away from the scene and hurried her sons into the nearest
store.
On a large throne in the center of the
display sat a dark-haired young woman wearing nothing but a pale-blue hospital
gown, its ties loose on her arms. She was slumped to one side, her dark eyes
open in a fixed stare. Immediately suspecting the girl was on something, TJ ran
to her while dialing 911 for paramedics. She secured the ties on the woman’s
gown and explained to the operator where she was and what was needed. After
ending the call, she took off her jacket and covered the young woman who didn’t
respond when TJ asked her name.
The girl’s face looked familiar, but TJ
couldn’t place where she’d seen it before.
She
radioed for more of the mall security team, who arrived quickly and in minutes
had set up a protective barrier of tall dividers. Only moments later, a pair of
paramedics arrived. One of them asked, “What have you got?”
TJ, still sitting next to the woman,
said, “I don’t know. She just showed up here. She’s conscious but not talkin’.
Couldn’t even give me her name. Looks like she ran out of a hospital. Drugged,
maybe.”
“We aren’t far from the Mental Health
Center,” he said, taking out a blood pressure cuff. When he finished checking
her, he announced, “Her vitals are decent. We can move her.”
“Where you takin’ her?” TJ asked. If the
girl was who TJ thought she was, she had to act quickly—and discreetly.
“Closest place, Froedtert ER. They’ll
figure it out.” He motioned to the other paramedic to bring the gurney for
transporting the girl to their ambulance. TJ watched as they covered her with a
blanket and strapped her to the gurney. She dispersed the onlookers and took
out her phone, not expecting to get through to the person she needed to talk to
but determined to try.
A voice answered, “Rina’s phone.”
“My name is TJ Peacock. I’m a private
detective and I have some information for Rina Petretti.”
“About what?”
“Put me through to her. She needs to hear
this herself.”
“I can’t do that unless you state the
nature of your business.”
“It’s about her niece.”
Several seconds passed. “One minute,
please.”
TJ suspected the girl she had found was
Petretti’s niece, Kelsey Blasko. Rina Petretti was a business owner in
Milwaukee who was rumored to have ties to the city’s crime underworld. Though
Petretti usually shrank from media attention, she had apparently agreed to an
article about her and her niece’s equestrian accomplishments, which TJ had seen
in an area newspaper. TJ, like Petretti, lived in Wauwatosa. The photos that
accompanied the story featured Petretti’s saddlebred horses that had been
entered in a local horse show. Petretti and her niece Kelsey were shown with
their mounts, the women looking more like mother and daughter than aunt and
niece. They had taken first or second place ribbons in every event they
entered. What little TJ knew about Petretti told her the woman would not want
the media glomming on to an unfavorable story about her niece.
Petretti’s assistant must have been
taking time to look TJ up and check her out.
A new voice answered, a pleasant
contralto with a subtle Mediterranean accent. “This is Rina Petretti.”
“My name is TJ Peacock. I’m a private
investigator. I had to work the Mayfair Mall today because one of my employees
called in sick. A young woman showed up here wearing nothing but a hospital
gown. She looks a lot like your niece. The girl is awake but unresponsive, and
the EMTs took her to Froedtert. In case she is your niece, I thought you should
know.”
Seconds of silence passed.
“How long ago did they take her there?”
“Just now. They probably haven’t left the
parking lot yet.”
“Good. I need you to intercept them
before she’s checked into the hospital. I’ll have my own physician look at
her.”
The woman was used to giving orders. TJ
wasn’t used to taking them, but a contact like Petretti wasn’t to be taken
lightly by a PI trying to get her business off the ground.
“On my way,” she answered. TJ had no idea
whether the EMTs would agree to wait for Petretti. She sprinted to her car
while making a hurried call to mall security to explain why she’d left. She
left a message and figured the worst thing that could happen is they wouldn’t
use her service again.
Taking a back route to Milwaukee Regional
Medical Center, TJ pushed her Mini Cooper as much as she dared in the
post-holiday traffic and pulled into Froedtert’s ER entrance right behind the
ambulance.
She rushed over and tapped on the window.
“Hey, change of plans. This girl’s family is coming to pick her up, and they
don’t want her admitted.”
The driver stepped out, a big guy with a
military buzz cut. He appeared to be the one in charge. “Who do you think
you’re giving orders to? I already radioed ahead. She’s going in.”
TJ knew it wouldn’t make a difference,
but she pulled out her PI creds, hoping to at least buy some time. He glanced
at the card.
“So you’re a PI. Big fucking deal. We’re
taking her into the hospital.”
“Give her aunt a minute to get here,
okay? Another few minutes won’t hurt her, right?”
The big guy’s name badge read Kurt
Kipfer. He stood a foot taller than TJ and had at least a hundred pounds on
her. Her authoritative attitude wasn’t cutting it. She could tell he was about
to shove her aside when a black Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows pulled up
next to the ambulance. The woman who stepped out exuded an air of authority
that caused even Kurt the bruiser to step back. She wore sleek brown riding
breeches and a pair of black leather boots that reached to her knees. Her dark
hair sat on her neck in a shiny, braided twist.
“Where is my niece?” she demanded.
“Uh, hold on a minute. Who are you?” Kurt
said.
“I have received information that you are
carrying my niece in this ambulance. I demand that you turn her over to me.”
A gray-haired man in his seventies
stepped out of the limo. “I’m Doctor Emil Worthington. I’m on staff at this
hospital.” He produced an ID that he waved in front of the driver. “Miss
Petretti is under my care, so you may release her to her aunt now.”
Kurt inhaled, expanding his broad chest.
“How do I know this girl is even your niece?”
His menacing frown disappeared along with
his inflated posturing the minute Petretti slipped him a wad of hundred-dollar
bills. Quick as a magician, he stuffed the bills into his pants pocket. “You
better make sure this is your niece and show me some ID for her.”
His partner, out of the vehicle now,
opened the rear doors. The girl lay strapped to the gurney, unmoving.
Petretti gasped when she looked inside
the vehicle.
“Get her out of there,” she said to Dr.
Worthington. Then to Kurt, “Find a way to expunge this incident from your
records and leave our names out of it.” She passed him more bills. “If I find
out the press got hold of this, I’ll know where it came from.”
The doctor, aided by the paramedics,
transferred Kelsey to the back of the Town Car. Petretti turned to TJ. “Thank
you for calling me.”
TJ raised a hand to protest an offer of
money and then slipped the woman one of her business cards. “If I can ever be
of service.” Petretti grabbed the card without a word and hurried into the car.
2
Lisa
Rayburn listened intently as her last patient of the day complained about her
husband’s unfaithfulness. Ordered to attend counseling after a domestic dispute
incident had been filed, Emma Le Gesse had yet to exhibit any true signs of
remorse. It wasn’t often Lisa came across a situation in which the woman was
the physical abuser, mainly because most men were ashamed to report it.
True to form, Emma had been raised in a
household where corporal punishment had been an everyday occurrence.
“I understand it must be painful, finding
out your husband cheated on you,” Lisa said, “but, Emma, you need to find a way
to deal with your anger without resorting to violence. Let’s go ahead and work
together toward that end.”
Emma ran a manicured hand through her long,
ash-blonde hair. “I should just divorce the son of a bitch.”
“That is an option, Emma. But you
understand that wouldn’t resolve your problem, don’t you?”
Emma shrugged. “I suppose.”
Often, Lisa had deal with the fact that a
therapist couldn’t do much to help a patient who didn’t want to face their
problem. Emma had been taught early in life that if she did something perceived
as wrong, punishment in the form of a slap or the end of a belt wasn’t long in
coming. Children typically carried that lesson into their adult lives.
Lisa knew the only way to make women like
Emma want to change, was to help them find other ways to deal with anger and
frustration. The challenge was motivating the patient to desire that change,
because he or she was usually resistant. “Before we break today,” she said,
“I’d like you to keep a diary of your emotions for a week and note exactly how
you respond to them. And most importantly, begin thinking about alternatives to
striking out with violence.”
Frustratingly, advice advocating
alternative responses tended to work only when the abuser realized that once
they were in the judicial system, a second violation would mean jail time.
After Emma left, Lisa checked her
messages and found one from her friend Shannon, marked urgent. She played it
back. “Lisa, I want to give you a heads up on this. That crime blogger, Bart
Kosik, is going to do a series of articles in December about murders that
happened during that month. He’s starting out with the one we worked on. I
think our best bet is to ignore it, don’t you? I’ll be in the office in about
an hour. We can talk about it then.”
Lisa felt a heavy ache in the pit of her
stomach. She turned on her computer, opened up Kosik’s blog, and skipped to the
final paragraph of Bart’s Crime Beat.
COMING ATTRACTIONS:
A new month begins in four
days. My December blogs will be about famous crimes that happened during the
month of Christmas Carols, shopping, lights, and Nativity scenes.
To kick it off, the first
one will be none other than the one that happened right here in our own fair
city. To be accurate, this crime didn’t happen only in December but was spread
out over a matter of years throughout Milwaukee County. Yes, I’m talking about
the case of the missing women that made headlines here less than two years ago.
We’ll be looking at the crime, the killer, and the people who brought the case
to the attention of the MPD. Stay tuned!
Lisa closed the computer and took a few
deep breaths—Kosik was going to examine the people who brought it to the
attention of the police. Not again. A
December blog wouldn’t be the blogger’s first article on the subject, but it
would be the first in more than a year. She had been naïve to think that her
and her friends’ involvement had been forgotten.
More than a year ago, Lisa and TJ, along
with Shannon, Jeff Denison and Eric Schindler, had turned over enough evidence
to the Milwaukee police to force an investigation into the reason why so many
abused women were going missing. Jeff and Eric were husbands of two of the
missing women. The men had not abused their wives, although both had misguided
911 calls in their backgrounds, which had brought them under suspicion. Bart’s
Crime Beat had publicized the part all of them played in revealing the murders
of the missing women—and not always in a positive way.
Lisa considered calling TJ or Eric and
then decided she might be overreacting; she’d talk to Shannon first since she
was due in any time now. Shannon, who worked for the attorney Lisa shared space
with, acted as Lisa’s receptionist when she was around and had become a close
friend.
Lisa made herself a cup of tea and sat
where she could gaze out at the lake. Under the dull November sky, the waters
of Pewaukee Lake were lifeless, the color of wet cement.
The case of the missing women, abused
women, had changed her life in many ways, some good, and some disturbing. Her
friendship with TJ would never have come to pass without their common goal of
bringing the police proof that foul play had increased the usual number of missing women. And
Eric—their relationship hadn’t gotten off to an amicable start but had
ultimately become the most important one she’d ever had with a man, one she
promised herself would be her last. Remembering the good things, Lisa resolved
not to stress over anything Bart Kosik had to say about them.
Shannon rushed in, cheeks red from the
brisk, late-November wind. Her black, waist-long hair was tied back into a
loose tail with a bright orange scarf. She asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’ve been better,” Lisa replied. “I had
hoped all of this was behind us.”
Shannon dropped her backpack on the floor
and hung up her coat. “Damn books get heavier every semester.”
In her second year of law school in
Madison, Shannon commuted to her classes from her home in Waukesha and still
worked afternoons at the real estate office next to Lisa’s office whenever she
could. Earl Albright, the attorney who owned the business, was grooming Shannon
to take over when he retired. Albright owned the building that housed his law
business and Lisa’s office.
Shannon picked up a cup, filled it with
tea and took a seat across from Lisa. “We can’t stop this blogger from writing
about us. We can only sue if he publishes something that isn’t true. And even
that gets tricky. The guy is a master of the now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t
spin.”
“Sue him? You’re kidding. He would
probably love that. The man is always trolling for publicity. I wouldn’t give
him the satisfaction of suing. You’re starting to sound like a lawyer already.”
“I was getting around to saying that the
best course of action for now is to ignore it,” Shannon said. “You know how
these things go, tomorrow he’ll have someone else to rake over the coals, and
we’ll be back-page news.”
Dear Readers,
I am so excited to be releasing my third book in a series. This
is the TJ Peacock and Lisa Rayburn series, which starts with the first suspense
book I wrote, She’s Not There. When I wrote it I had not planned on it being a
series, but many readers wanted more. I was so happy about that I wrote
Trespass as a follow up, and now, this one, Girl Undone. If you're interested in receiving notices for book deals and new release specials, please sign up for my mailing list.
Hope you enjoyed the preview
chapters. Thanks for stopping by.
Marla
