Drop Dead Crime: Mystery and Suspense from the Leading Ladies of Murder Read online

  Drop Dead Crime

  Mystery and Suspense

  from the leading ladies of Murder

  Lisa Regan Leslie Wolfe Colleen Helme

  Amy Vansant Julie Smith

  Contents

  Over the Edge

  Lisa Regan

  Behind Blue Eyes

  Colleen Helme

  Parental Kilt

  Amy Vansant

  The Big Crazy

  Julie Smith

  Not Really Dead

  Leslie Wolfe

  Over the Edge

  A Jocelyn Rush Story

  Lisa Regan

  Molly

  Five Years Ago

  My feet pound along the packed-earth Wissahickon Creek trail. Sweat drips from the nape of my neck, down the length of my spine, and into the back of my shorts. It beads on my nose, falling as I run, and turns my hair, pulled tightly into a ponytail, slick and heavy on the back of my neck.

  I’ve been running along this path four times a week for six months, and once every few times out, I manage to overtake him on the trail. I tried not to notice him, but all that lean muscle called out to me. I knew he saw me too. Then one day, as I ran past him, I turned and met his eyes. Blue fire. He smiled. I smiled back. I ran ahead. He followed.

  From then on, it’s been a game we play.

  This section of the creek trail is called Forbidden Drive. The irony isn’t lost on me the day something finally happens. The morning is fresh and dewy, sunlight slipping through the canopy of trees overhead, dappling everything around me. I see his back. Today he is shirtless, and every muscle in his back and shoulders ripple, glistening with sweat. I run up beside him, closer this time. When I turn to catch his eye, there is something there that wasn’t before. An acknowledgment. I see you, those fiery blue eyes seem to say. I know what you want. I run ahead. Far ahead but not so far that he loses sight of me. I veer off the trail at a break in the trees, my feet crushing the brush beneath them. I hear a snapping twig behind me, and I know he’s there.

  I stop when I reach a kind of clearing. It’s big enough, private enough. I put my hands against a tree trunk, leaning over, my breath coming fast and hard from the slightly uphill run through uneven terrain. He doesn’t talk. Hands grip my hips, digging into the flesh. Hot breath slides down the nape of my neck. It doesn’t take long. We’re not wearing much to begin with, and our bodies are already shiny and wet with sweat. Once we’ve both shuddered with satisfaction, we part ways, wordless.

  It happens a few more times after that. No words. No names. Then the winter sets in, and I turn to the treadmill for my daily jog. Sometimes at night, lying in bed, I close my eyes and remember how he felt, the way his blue eyes caught me in their snare. I remember the way my body reacted to the things he did. The risks I took.

  I’m glad it’s over. It was only a dream. A kinky fantasy. Fleeting. Gone forever.

  I think I won’t ever see him again.

  ~~~

  Jocelyn

  Present Day

  The seductive sway of Anita Grant’s hips drew every gaze in the room. Even Jocelyn Rush couldn’t help but follow her partner’s rear as she sauntered from the bar into the dining section of the TGI Friday’s on Philadelphia’s City Avenue. Anita, clothed in a tight black skirt and an equally form-fitting purple blouse that showed off her ample cleavage, weaved through the tables. The other patrons inched their chairs closer to their tables to make way for her. For a Tuesday at lunchtime, it was quite crowded. Then again, there were at least a dozen office buildings nearby.

  Jocelyn sipped her Coke and watched as Anita approached their target. Deon Simpson couldn’t keep his focus on his mistress as Anita got closer. Jocelyn watched his dark eyes drift from his date’s face to Anita’s curvy form. She hadn’t worn stockings, and her brown skin was smooth and supple, glimpses of it flashing from the slit in her short skirt as she walked. Simpson’s eyes flitted back to the mistress, then once more to Anita. When he licked his lips nervously, Jocelyn nearly laughed out loud.

  Ages ago, in what seemed like a different life, before going into business with Jocelyn, Anita had been a prostitute. As a Philadelphia police officer, Jocelyn had even arrested her a couple of times. When deciding which of them would approach Simpson, Anita had suggested she do it, and Jocelyn had conceded. They didn’t want Deon to bolt, and Anita knew how to own a room. Jocelyn’s brusque, cop-like demeanor was no match for Anita’s sexy sway. As predicted, Deon Simpson was practically a captive audience.

  From where Jocelyn sat, she could hear the conversation. “Deon Simpson,” Anita said, her voice soft and a little husky.

  The man practically melted in his chair. The mistress put her hands on the table, as though she were about to spring out of her seat and fly at Anita. “Yes?” Simpson said.

  Anita pulled a folded sheaf of papers from a slim black purse slung over her shoulder. She handed the papers to Simpson. “You’ve been served,” she told him. With a wink, she turned away. “Have a nice day,” she called over her shoulder.

  She headed for the double doors. Jocelyn threw a ten on the bar and followed her out. In the parking lot, they laughed as they got into Jocelyn’s ancient Ford Explorer. “Did you see the look on his face?” Jocelyn asked as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto City Avenue.

  “That was pretty satisfying,” Anita agreed.

  Serving civil complaints wasn’t Jocelyn’s thing. She was a private investigator now, retired from her position as a detective with the Philadelphia police department, but she and Anita had to keep their little fledgling PI firm afloat, so they took what they could get. Deon Simpson’s wife had hired them to confirm that he was having an affair. Once Jocelyn had proof, Mrs. Simpson had filed for divorce and asked Jocelyn and Anita if they’d serve the divorce complaint.

  Another job in the books.

  “Not much traffic today,” Anita remarked. “You and Caleb might even have time to do some house hunting if we get back in time.”

  Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “Let’s go back to the restaurant,” she joked.

  Caleb Vaughn was a lieutenant with the Philadelphia Special Victims Unit. They had met on a case in which Anita—and eventually Jocelyn, in her quest to find Anita’s assailant—had been attacked. They were both single parents and had fallen pretty fast for each other. It had been two years, and they were trying to take the next step—moving in together.

  Anita laughed. “That bad?”

  “We can’t agree on a damn thing,” Jocelyn answered as they made their way onto the bridge that stretched over the Schuylkill River, connecting City Avenue to the Manayunk section of the city. It was three lanes going only in one direction. Drivers headed to City Avenue from Manayunk going the opposite direction were on another bridge upriver. Jocelyn stayed in the far right lane, headed toward Ridge Avenue North, when she noticed a large, burgundy-colored SUV in the rearview mirror bearing down on them.

  “What the hell—” she started to say, but then the other vehicle plowed into the back of Jocelyn’s Explorer. Metal clanged against metal. Their bodies snapped forward, seat belts cutting across their bodies. Jocelyn braked, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Thoughts rattled around in her head like loose change. She blinked and turned to Anita, who was staring at her, wide-eyed. “You okay?” Jocelyn asked.

  Anita’s fingers reached to her forehead and came away bloodied.

  “You okay?” Jocelyn repeated.
<
br />   “I think so, yeah.”

  Metal screeched as the other driver tried to back up but only succeeded in pulling the Explorer backward.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jocelyn muttered. She looked in her rearview mirror and saw a flash of a woman’s face. Blonde hair pulled back from her face, sunglasses. “She hit me so hard, she got under my bumper.”

  Horns blared from traffic stopped behind them. Engines raced as vehicles accelerated into the other two lanes. Jocelyn felt the familiar flush of anger swell inside her. Anita must have sensed it, because she placed a warm hand on Jocelyn’s forearm. “Rush,” she said. “It’s okay.”

  Jocelyn tried to swing her door open, but it was bent in the frame. “No,” she said. “It’s not okay. Look how goddamn hard she hit us. I can’t even open my door.”

  The harder she pushed against the unyielding door, the bigger the fireball of rage in her stomach burned. She maneuvered her legs out from under the steering wheel and, bracing herself against the wedge between her and Anita’s seats, she used both legs to kick at the door. The other driver tried to back up again, and the Explorer bucked.

  “Unbelievable,” Jocelyn said. Sweat dripped in rivulets down the side of her face.

  “Rush,” Anita said. “Calm down. Let’s just call nine-one-one.”

  “I don’t need nine-one-one,” Jocelyn snapped. “I can handle this.”

  “Which is exactly what makes me think we need nine-one-one.”

  With an otherworldly groan, the vehicles separated. Jocelyn’s door sprung open. She started to get out but then the woman revved her SUV’s engine. Jocelyn knew at once what she intended to do.

  “If this bitch thinks she’s leaving the scene, she’s got another think coming,” Jocelyn mumbled and scrambled back behind the wheel.

  The offending SUV struggled to move forward, tires straining against its crumpled front end. Jocelyn used the delay to turn the Explorer sideways across two of the lanes of traffic, blocking the SUV from going anywhere—unless she wanted to get clipped by one of the cars flying past in the outermost lane blasting their horns at the two of them. People in Philadelphia didn’t stop for car accidents.

  From her window, Jocelyn saw the SUV’s driver’s side door swing open. The woman stepped out. A pair of low heels peeked from beneath tailored brown slacks, clacking against the asphalt. Jocelyn hopped out.

  “Hey,” Jocelyn called to her. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The woman turned her head away, looking over the mangled hood of her vehicle. At what, Jocelyn couldn’t guess. There was a waist-high concrete median, then a narrow pedestrian walkway and a chest-high metal rail. Below that, the Schuylkill River churned, its currents swift and high from a series of early fall rainstorms.

  Jocelyn stepped toward her. “Hey,” she said again. “Did you hear me? You could have killed us. Where were you going in such a hurry?”

  The woman didn’t answer. One of her hands went to her chest, fingers gripping a diamond pendant that hung over her creamy cashmere sweater.

  Jocelyn felt her face flush. She pointed a finger at the woman, her voice rising to a shout. “I’m talking to you. Just what the hell were you doing? Do you have any idea how hard you hit us? My friend is over there with a concussion. You don’t get to drive away from this.”

  The woman held up both hands as if in surrender. “I... I’m—”

  “Let me guess; you’re sorry. Save it, bitch. Sorry doesn’t mean shit to me. You could have killed us. We both have kids. Next time, watch where the hell you’re going.”

  “I didn’t—” the woman started, but again, Jocelyn cut her off.

  “Tell it to the police when they get here. You’re not getting off the hook for this. Not by me. Not today.”

  The woman’s eyes drifted back to the side of the bridge.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jocelyn said, the anger burning her up from the inside out. “Are you even fucking listening to me? What is wrong with you? You’d better hope my friend is okay, or I’m going to—”

  Jocelyn stopped short of threatening the woman, catching herself before she said something she’d deeply regret. She saw her own reflection in the woman’s sunglasses as she took another glance in Jocelyn’s direction. Then the woman spun on one of her taupe heels and ran around the back of her SUV, losing one of her heels as she went.

  Jocelyn ran after her, for the first time feeling the pain and stiffness in her low back. A spasm slowed her down. She rounded the back of the SUV just in time to see the woman effortlessly vault the median onto the pedestrian walkway.

  Jocelyn limped toward her, waiting to see which way she was going to go—toward Manayunk or back toward City Avenue, left or right—but she did neither of those things. Without even a split second of hesitation, the woman clutched the outer rail with both hands, and like a gymnast about to mount a horse, she used her arms to lift her body upward, her hips levering her legs up behind her, sending her entire body over the rail and plunging into the river below.

  ~~~

  Jocelyn hefted her weight over the median, her back screaming in protest. Leaning over the outer rail, she could see the woman’s crumpled form as it floated downriver, just a creamy bump cutting the surface of the murky brown water. Jocelyn couldn’t tell if she was alive or not. Then her arms began to flail and thrash. Even from where Jocelyn stood, she could see the woman struggling to stay afloat. Her head bobbed up once, twice, and then her body went under and didn’t come back up.

  “Rush?” Anita called.

  “Call nine-one-one!” Jocelyn shouted.

  She turned back to Anita, who was just emerging from the passenger side of the Explorer. Anita took two steps and crumpled. Jocelyn scrambled back over the median and ran toward her friend. She leaned down, feeling like the muscles in her low back were about to snap like rubber bands and slipped an arm around Anita’s waist, pulling her back to standing.

  “I think you have a concussion,” Jocelyn told her. “Get back into the car and sit.”

  As she helped Anita fold herself back into the passenger seat, Jocelyn saw the black gleam of her cell phone case on the driver’s side floor. She went around to the other side of the vehicle and snatched it up, dialing 911.

  Anita said, “Did that woman just jump off the damn bridge?”

  “She sure did.”

  Once the 911 call was complete, Jocelyn shot a text to her former partner, Detective Kevin Sullivan, who worked in the Northwest Detective Division, which covered the particular area of the city in which they sat.

  Jocelyn kept an eye on Anita while they waited for the marked units, followed by Kevin, to show up. In a matter of minutes, the bridge was awash in police cars and spinning red and blue lights. EMS workers loaded Anita into the back of an ambulance and headed to the nearest hospital. Jocelyn promised to follow once she spoke with Kevin.

  He stood on the pedestrian walkway, staring out at the river, a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. “Rush,” he said as she limped over. “You’re telling me this lady smacked into you, got out of her car, never said a word, and jumped into the Schuylkill River?”

  “Yeah,” Jocelyn answered. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, and I don’t think she could swim. Not from the way she was thrashing around before she went under.”

  “Well, shit.” He motioned toward the river. “How far a drop you think that is?”

  Jocelyn had been trying to estimate that herself since the woman jumped. “A hundred, hundred-fifty feet?”

  Kevin poked his head over the rail. “At least. Far enough to kill someone, anyway,” he said. “That’s my guess. I’m surprised she was even alive after she hit the water.”

  “Did you get the marine unit out?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, they’re downriver looking for her now.”

  “You find out who she was?”

  “Wallet in her purse on the passenger’s seat says Molly Porter. Age thirty-two. Lives in Manayunk. Car is regist
ered to an Evan Porter. I assume that’s her husband. I’ll head over there once this is all cleaned up.”

  Jocelyn had her phone in hand, tapping it against her thigh as she surveyed the scene. Her Explorer would have to be towed. It was probably a total loss. Kevin followed her gaze. “Can I give you a ride to the hospital?”

  “Sure,” she said. “After we go to Molly Porter’s house.”

  “Rush.”

  “You said you were going to stop there.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, after I drop you at the hospital. Who’s gonna pick up Anita?”

  “I called Caleb while I was waiting for you to get here,” she said. “He said he’d get all the kids home. Anita’s mom will keep an eye on all of them, and he’ll check on Anita at the ER.”

  Kevin chuckled and shook his head. “Fine, but you’re waiting in the car.”

  ~~~

  Molly Porter had lived in a white stucco rowhouse on one of Manayunk’s steep, crowded hills. It was a one-way street, too narrow to accommodate parking on both sides. One side was lined with cars packed tightly together. Kevin circled the block twice looking for a parking spot before finally pulling onto someone’s pavement on the no-parking side of the street. He threw his light up onto the roof of his unmarked vehicle and got out. Jocelyn followed suit. Kevin shot her a cautionary look.

  “What?” she said. “I have to stretch my back.”

  He raised a brow at her. “You’re waiting out here.”

  She watched him walk across the street, climb the two steps to the front door, and ring the doorbell. A moment later, a young girl answered; a chunky blond baby on her hip—a boy, judging by his dinosaur onesie. Jocelyn estimated the girl to be eighteen or nineteen. Long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her skin had the soft, supple look of a teen who hadn’t yet shed her baby fat. As Kevin spoke, her face creased with confusion, then crumpled. Jocelyn wondered who she was in relation to Molly Porter. A younger sister? Maybe just a sitter? She was too old to be Porter’s daughter. Kevin followed the girl inside, the door closing behind him. A few minutes later, he emerged, striding back to the car.