A Deadly Course Read online

  A Deadly Course

  A Sugarbury Falls Mystery

  Diane Weiner

  Acknowledgements:

  Many thanks to Eric Weiner and Mitch Garnick for their medical/pharmacological guidance.

  Dedication:

  This book is dedicated to Patricia Rockwell for making my dream of being an author come true.

  Chapter 1

  Emily Fox pulled her ponytail tighter. She had just cut her shoulder length auburn hair into a stylish bob, but now she struggled to pull it back for her run. Green velvet hills, a crystal clear lake, and a canopy of lush trees made her feel as though she was running through the Garden of Eden. When her in-laws had passed away, she and her husband Henry had inherited a Lincoln Log cabin on a lake aptly named Lake Pleasant, in Sugarbury Falls, Vermont.

  It had been six months since she and Henry, both in their mid-fifties, had semi-retired, leaving their home in Upstate New York behind. Quitting her job at the newspaper to write full-time and teach a few classes at a small liberal arts college, Henry giving up his full-time radiology position at the hospital? No, she wasn’t dreaming.

  During her run, she mentally planned the agenda for the opening of tomorrow’s summer writing camp. She taught journalism and creative writing at St. Edwards College and was thrilled when she was asked to lead a writing camp for adults. Six adults, mostly from out of state, had registered for the class. Emily planned to focus on fiction writing this session and ran through her day. First, she’d have an icebreaker activity so the participants would get a chance to get to know one another. Developing trust was essential in getting the participants to share their work and accept criticism from their peers. Then she’d have them brainstorm ideas. She wiped her sweaty face with the bottom of her sweaty singlet. Fruitless at best.

  It’s beastly hot for 8 a.m. I’m glad I came prepared. She stopped at the side of the road to gulp from her water bottle. As she tucked her bottle back into its holder, she glanced down the steep ravine which surrounded the path. What’s that down there? A dead animal? She moved closer to the edge, then tentatively made her way down the rocky, root-laden hill. Near the bottom, her heart thumped and she let out a scream. Oh my God. It can’t be. “Hey, are you okay?”

  No answer. No sign of movement. She ran to where a biker lay tangled under his mountain bike, next to a solid tree. “I said, are you okay? Can you hear me?” It was a rhetorical question. Knowing she had to look past the horror of the situation, she checked his unnaturally twisted, bloody neck for a pulse and watched his chest for indications of breathing.

  What do I do first? 911 or CPR? One of his legs was bent under him. It was most certainly broken. Still, no pulse. I’ll try CPR just in case I’m missing something. When her arms tired from doing chest compressions and there was still no sign of breathing, she whipped her cellphone out of her waist belt and called 911.

  “There’s a biker down at the bottom of the ravine on Lake Pleasant Road. It’s about halfway between The Outside Inn and the Reynolds’ cabin. Hurry.”

  “Ma’am, help is on the way. Don’t move him. Do you know CPR?”

  “I’ve been doing CPR and nothing’s happening. I’m afraid he’s…I’m worried he’s…”

  “Police and ambulance will be there soon.”

  She paced around the body. He was wearing a helmet and the bike looked expensive. What caused him to go over the side of the road like that? He looked to be maybe in his early forties, in good shape, and wearing bike clothing that looked professional, yet not brand new. He wasn’t new to the sport, and the roads were dry. It hadn’t rained in days. She examined the ground looking for skid marks, but there weren’t any. She considered the possibility of an animal crossing his path, but deer rarely came out once the early morning joggers and commuters emerged.

  Sirens, finally. She yelled up the hill, hands cupped around her mouth. “He’s down here!”

  Two police officers, and two EMTs wielding a heavy duty backboard and a few portable instruments hustled down to the body.

  “He’s not breathing. I didn’t find a pulse.”

  “We’ll take it from here, ma’am.”

  She watched as they tried the defibrillator, gave him some sort of injection, then shook their heads and moved him onto the backboard. He can’t be. Please, God, don’t let him be…dead.

  While the EMTs carried the man up the hill, the police questioned her. It was a small town, and she knew both officers.

  “Tell us what happened.”

  “I was on my daily run. I stopped to drink water. Then I looked down and saw him. At first I thought it was some kind of dead animal. When I got closer, I asked if he was okay. He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t moving…”

  “Mrs. Fox, do you have any idea who this man is? He wasn’t carrying identification.”

  “I haven’t lived here all that long, but I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Go on home. If we need more information I’ll contact you. Do you need a ride?”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  When she got home, she collapsed on her over-stuffed sofa. Chester, her black cat, jumped up on her lap, startling her. She stroked his fur and began to calm down. Chester was a comfort, but she wished Henry hadn’t gone to the hospital today. Although he’d retired before they moved, when confronted with the shortage of medical care in Sugarbury Falls, he’d accepted an offer to work part time for the local hospital. She got voicemail when she tried calling, no answer when she texted. She took a long shower and made herself a cup of tea. Afterwards, she called the police station to see if they’d made an identification. They hadn’t as of yet.

  Hours later, Henry came through the door. He ran over and hugged her. “Are you okay? I was tied up in the emergency room and didn’t have my phone until later. You were the one who found the dead biker this morning?”

  Not wanting to alarm him, her message had simply been to come home. “How did you hear…I didn’t say…Never mind.” In the short time they’d lived here, Emily knew how fast news and gossip flew in this small town.

  “I heard he was already dead when you found him.”

  “He probably broke his neck during the fall.”

  “The injuries weren’t severe enough to kill him. I talked to Pat.” Pat was the medical examiner and had become Henry’s best friend.

  “How did he die, then?”

  “Pat has ruled out injury as well as the most common natural causes. Couldn’t get into details, but he thinks the guy may have been poisoned. He sent a bunch of samples to the toxicology lab in Burlington for testing. Thinks maybe foul play was involved.”

  “Foul play?”

  “The guy was in great shape and his injuries weren’t severe enough to kill him, so yes. He thinks the dead biker was murdered.”

  Chapter 2

  Emily tossed and turned all night long in her king-sized, four-poster bed. She couldn’t get the image of the mangled biker out of her mind. She pulled the quilt up to her neck. The suggestion that he’d been murdered was even more upsetting.

  When she got a whiff of freshly brewed coffee, she padded down the ladder from their master bedroom loft, across the living room, and into the kitchen.

  “Thanks, Henry. I’m going to need lots of coffee this morning. It’s going to be hard to focus on teaching after yesterday.”

  “I’m sure it will.” He fiddled with the Fit-Bit on his wrist.

  “You know, I was trying to figure out how this man died. If it wasn’t from his injuries, it doesn’t mean it was murder. Maybe he got stung by an insect he was allergic to, or bitten by a snake. I’ve heard there are rattlesnakes in the woods.”

  Henry said, “The rattlesnakes around here are an endangered species, and the garter sna
kes you see aren’t poisonous, so I don’t think a snake bite is the cause.”

  “Look, they don’t even know who the guy is yet. Pat likes to play Quincy, you’ve said it yourself. He wasn’t shot or run over by a car. Why did he jump to the conclusion he was murdered? How long did he actually spend looking for a cause of death?”

  “I guess you’re right, but Pat is a cracker-jack medical examiner, one of the best in his field. His instincts are always spot on, and he found no logical reason for this man to be dead. All his organs looked normal. No aneurysm, no heart attack… The standard toxicology screen didn’t show anything abnormal, so he sent the samples out to a more sophisticated lab.”

  “So everything looked perfectly normal and he didn’t die from his injuries. The police will investigate and figure out who he is, but––I just had a thought. I hope he didn’t have a family. Imagine hearing that kind of news?”

  Henry kissed the top of her head. “I can’t imagine. I’ve got to get to the hospital.”

  “Since when are you in such a hurry? You’re hoping there’s a puzzle to solve.”

  “You know me too well. I’m sorry about this poor fellow dying, but we owe it to him to figure out what happened, murder or not. And especially to his family, if he has one. Have a good first day at camp.”

  Emily sat at the butcher-block table and finished her coffee, then jumped into the shower. No run this morning. She combed out her newly chic auburn hair. Aiming for professional yet relaxed, she selected a pair of white linen pants and a breezy, short-sleeved blouse, chocolate brown, like her eyes. Chester was curled up on the quilt, but as usual, leapt off the moment Emily turned on the hair dryer. She ran her fingers through her hair. I look a good five years younger. I should have done this sooner.

  When she arrived at her assigned classroom, two students were already there, waiting. Early birds. At least two of her six were eager to start. She introduced herself.

  “I’m Emily Fox, the instructor.”

  “You need no introduction. I just finished reading your true crime book about the Ashley Young case. Couldn’t put it down. I’m Tessa Carlisle. So excited to meet you.”

  Tessa, dressed in a tailored pant suit, extended her hand. Emily guessed she was in her early sixties, with soft gray hair and designer framed eye glasses.

  “Where are you from, Tessa? And what type of writing do you do?”

  “I’m from Boston. I’m a retired pharmacist hoping to start a second career as a mystery writer.”

  “I should have known from your accent that you were from Boston. Welcome.”

  The other early bird, a slightly chunky man in a polo shirt with sandy-colored curls and a hint of a southern drawl said, “I’d like to start a new career too. I’ve been teaching elementary school for the past fifteen years. I love what I do, but the money stinks. I told myself I was coming so I could learn new ideas for teaching my students how to write fiction, but I have an ulterior motive. I want to be the next James Patterson.” He chuckled. “My name’s Logan. Logan Park.”

  “Where are you from Mr. Patterson? Oh, excuse me, Mr. Park.” asked Emily, smiling.

  “Grew up in the western part of North Carolina, then went to college in Chapel Hill. Afterwards, I relocated to Rochester, New York.”

  So far, so good. Both of these students were pleasant and seemed motivated. A dark-haired woman with olive skin and a New York accent walked through the door and introduced herself as Holly Jenson.

  Emily’s first thought was that this lady had to be a mom, most likely of a young child. She wore baggy jeans, and her hair was pulled into a no-nonsense pony tail. Emily thought she’d be stunningly pretty with a chic hairdo, clothes that fit her body, and a bit of makeup. The woman scanned the room with her dark eyes, as if looking for someone.

  “I’m Holly Jenson. I just moved here with my son, Jimmy. He’s three. My father has a place here. My husband is supposed to be coming too. He still lives and works in New York City and is meeting us for the camp.” Her eyes shifted down and to the left when she spoke. Didn’t that mean she was lying? Emily’d read that somewhere, maybe in one of Henry’s private eye books that he left all over the house. Or was it looking right that was bad? She couldn’t quite remember. And why weren’t Holly and her husband living together?

  Tessa and Logan made small talk with Holly, while Emily organized her notes. So far, this was a good mix. A retired pharmacist, a teacher, and a mom who’d just moved to the area.

  Student number four came in. He was tall and slender. Tall enough to be a basketball player, thought Emily.

  “I’m Wichita Johnson. Came up from the city. My partner and I are working on a new software bundle. It’s called Story-WOW-ica@. If it makes the kind of splash my partner made when he developed Matha-WOW-ica@, we’ll both be rich. Well, he’s already rich. I came aboard after he struck gold with Matha-WOW-ica@.” He smiled at Holly. “Holly, glad you made it. Where’s Carter?”

  Holly glared at him. “He was supposed to meet us here. Late as usual.”

  Emily said, “The two of you know each other?”

  “Yes,” said Wichita. “Holly’s Carter’s wife. The three of us all have a stake in the new product; that’s why we came here. Wanted to make sure we were on track with this new writing program and figured we’d learn from an expert.”

  “I’m the computer consultant,” said Holly. “Wichita works for my husband. He’s not a partner.”

  “Not yet, but you wait and see,” said Wichita.

  It was fifteen minutes past the time the class was scheduled to begin. Emily decided to go ahead and start the icebreaker. The missing two would have to catch up. Emily was a stickler about time and her pet peeve was people who somehow never learned to read a clock. She handed out what looked like Bingo cards. The squares had things like ‘lived in a foreign country,’ ‘own a dog,’ and ‘play a musical instrument.’ The idea was to walk around and find others with a commonality, and they would initial that square.

  “Everyone has a card, right?” Just as she was handing out markers, a woman about the same age as Tessa came in. She was slightly overweight, with straight, black hair.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late. I took a wrong turn. I’m terrible with directions.” She caught her breath and introduced herself. “I’m Maria Mendez. I write teen fiction. I’m a librarian from San Diego.”

  “San Diego?” said Logan. “That’s a heck of a long way.”

  “I saw the advertisement for the camp on-line. When I saw it was being led by Emily Fox, well, I had to come. Mrs. Fox, I read your book about the Ashley Young case and was fascinated by it. You are quite the author.”

  “Thanks. Nice to meet you,” said Emily. “Now that most of us are here…”

  “Excuse us.” Emily recognized the two local detectives standing at the door. Detective Ron Wooster was in his thirties but with his baby face and athletic build, he appeared much younger. Detective Megan O’Leary was a beautiful red-head about the same age as her partner.

  “I hate to interrupt, Mrs. Fox,” said Detective Wooster, “but may I have a word with,” he looked at his notes, “Mrs. Holly Jenson?”

  “I’m Holly Jenson. What’s this about?”

  “Not here.” Detective Wooster led her into the hall. “I’m afraid it’s about your husband, Carter Jenson.”

  “Who did he piss off this time? Is it another law suit?”

  “No, ma’am. He was found at the bottom of a ravine not far from here yesterday morning. His bike went over the side of the road. His injuries…”

  “Whoa. My husband was in New York yesterday. He was supposed to fly in early this morning but hasn’t shown up yet. He’s supposed to be in class with me right now. You have the wrong person.”

  “Why don’t you come with us to identify the body?”

  Holly insisted the police had it wrong. Emily could hear her sobbing and came out into the hall.

  “What’s wrong? Holly, are you okay?”

 
“They…they think my husband is dead. They say he was in a bike accident yesterday. He wasn’t supposed to arrive until today.”

  Emily’s heart nearly stopped. A bike accident? Yesterday? What are the chances two bikers died yesterday? No, it had to be Holly’s husband she’d discovered. Her legs felt like wet noodles.

  Detective Wooster said, “Mrs. Fox, it’s our understanding that you discovered the body.”

  Holly Jenson’s jaw dropped. “You. You found my husband? He was already here?”

  “I was running yesterday morning and I saw a man over the side of the ravine.”

  The other detective Megan O’Leary said, “Mrs. Fox tried her best to save him, Mrs. Jenson. She performed CPR and called 911.”

  “But…you say he’s dead? I have to see for myself.”

  At that moment, Wichita Johnson stepped into the hallway. “Holly? Is something wrong? Why are the police here?” His eyes darted back and forth between the detectives.

  “They say Carter is dead. He was involved in a bike accident.”

  “Bike accident? No way. Carter was an expert rider. Anyway, what was he doing riding when he was supposed to be packing to come here?”

  Holly said, “They say he was already here. With his bike, no less. I don’t understand.”

  “Mrs. Jenson, let’s go identify the body and then go over to the station so we can begin piecing this together,” said Detective Wooster.

  “Identify the body? Then you aren’t sure it’s him.”

  “We matched his fingerprints to the military database and got our identification from there.”

  “He…he was in the army for a short time when we were first married.”

  Wichita put his arm around Holly’s shoulder. “I’m going with you. It has to be a mistake. None of this makes sense.”

  Emily’s mind raced. Neither the dead biker’s wife nor his business partner knew he was already in town. What secret was he keeping? The first thing that popped into her mind was that he had a mistress nearby. She dismissed it, and decided that maybe the man just needed a few days to himself with such a stressful job and all. Then again, the medical examiner thinks something’s off, she remembered. Pat has quite the creative bent, especially rare for a man in his position, however, he didn’t find an obvious cause of death.