Come die with me, p.1
Come Die with Me, page 1
part #1 of A Roxy Horne Novel Series
Come Die with Me
A Roxy Horne Novel
Vanessa M. Knight
Contents
Chapter 1
Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. ~ Murphy’s Law
Chapter 2
You’re even dumber than you think I think you are. ~ J.J. Gittes
Chapter 3
High heels are pleasure with pain. ~ Christian Louboutin
Chapter 4
“They were shot with a shotgun and put in garbage bags and thrown under a bridge,” Shrake said. “If it wasn’t murder, it was a really weird accident.” ~ John Sandford, Storm Prey
Chapter 5
Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt. ~ Abraham Lincoln
Chapter 6
Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down. ~ Oprah Winfrey
Chapter 7
Time passes, but sometimes it beats the shit out of you as it goes. ~ John Sandford, Easy Prey
Chapter 8
Six days left till panhandling for coffee money. ~ Roxanna Horne
Chapter 9
I wouldn't want to assume that all men are like you. If I did, I know I would give them up entirely. ~ Patricia Cornwell, The Body Farm
Chapter 10
Five days till selling plasma is my full-time job. ~ Roxanna Horne
Chapter 11
Unless you are good at guessing, it is not much use being a detective. ~ Agatha Christie
Chapter 12
The only person who ever wanted me for who I am was the police ~ Unknown
Chapter 13
Four days. Has anyone invented plumbing for a cardboard-box condo? Or should I just leave my towels for the next tenant? ~ Roxanna Horne
Chapter 14
There is nothing sexier than a fireman that knows how to use his hose. ~ Unknown
Chapter 15
I'm so horny the crack of dawn isn’t safe. ~ John Sandford, Bad Blood
Chapter 16
Never trust people who smile constantly. They’re either selling something or not very bright. ~ Laurell K. Hamilton, Burnt Offerings
Chapter 17
The only time a woman really succeeds in changing a man is when he is a baby. ~ Natalie Wood
Chapter 18
I can resist everything except temptation. ~ Oscar Wilde
Chapter 19
In three days, I’ll be busking in McCarran Airport with a kazoo and pasties to pay for Pop Tarts. ~ Roxanna Horne
Chapter 20
If your neighbors think you’re a detective because a cop always brings you home, you might be a redneck. ~ Jeff Foxworthy
Chapter 21
If you love something set it free, but don’t be surprised if it comes back with herpes. ~ Chuck Palahniuk, Haunted
Chapter 22
A true friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down. ~ Arnold H. Glasow
Chapter 23
I enjoy kids but not for long periods. I think they’re adorable and funny and sweet, and then I have a headache. ~ Kim Cattrall
Chapter 24
Two days left. I can’t get my body to whip around the pole. Is it too late to learn tap dancing? ~ Roxanna Horne
Chapter 25
Lawyers work hard and, like us, they’re human, many of them. ~ Dick Cavett
Chapter 26
When crime busting is easier than your personal life, something has gone seriously wrong. ~ Laurell K. Hamilton, Bullet
Chapter 27
I’m one day from adding tunnel-people to my resume. Living in storm-drain tunnels can’t be that bad. ~ Roxanna Horne
Chapter 28
The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly and lie about your age. ~ Lucille Ball
Chapter 29
I used to jog but the ice cubes kept falling out of my glass. ~ David Lee Roth
Chapter 30
Education is learning what you didn’t even know you didn’t know. ~ Daniel J. Boorstin
Chapter 31
If you think nobody cares if you’re alive, try missing a couple of car payments. ~ Earl Wilson
Chapter 32
If the cops didn’t see it, I didn’t do it! ~ George Carlin
Chapter 33
Crazy people don’t sit around wondering if they’re nuts. ~ Jake Gyllenhaal
Chapter 34
It’s not that I'm afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens. ~ Woody Allen
Chapter 35
No, RN does not stand for “Refreshments and Narcotics”. ~ Unknown
Chapter 36
What the detective story is about is not murder but the restoration of order. ~ P. D. James
Extras
About the Author
Other Books by this Author
Copyright
Come Die with Me
Copyright © 2023 by Vanessa M Knight
Published by Inked Publishing
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Cover Design by Qamber Designs & Media
Edited by Nancy Canu
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Come Die with Me is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations for use in critical articles or reviews.
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ISBN: 978-1-7344206-7-8
To Bill for all the love and support you have freely given. You fill my life with joy and inspire me to be better. I couldn’t ask for a better friend and partner. I love you.
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You & Me.
Chapter 1
Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. ~ Murphy’s Law
Roxanna Horne always wanted to be a private investigator. She’d had visions of magnifying glasses and big reveals while she twirled the ties of her deerstalker cap. She’d pictured a Watson—who looked suspiciously like Justin Timberlake—nodding while she said, “Elementary, my dear Timberlake.”
Okay. The catch phrase needed a bit of work.
But the look she’d imagined in his eyes while he watched her brilliance made her heart pitter-patter. She couldn’t wait to graduate college and get out there in the real world.
Well.
She was out there. In that real world. Talk about a disappointment.
There were no big reveals, and JT wasn’t anywhere to be found. Because she didn’t have the experience or the Nevada license to be a full-fledged PI, she worked for M&J Investigations in Las Vegas as a process server. That could be her problem.
She edged her red Z28 Chevy Camaro to the curb. The car sputtered and gasped just before she turned off the engine. Please don’t die. She rubbed the dashboard of her baby. Her parents bought the car for her high school graduation, when they’d both had a desire to run. Which was good news, bad news. Good news because she couldn’t afford anything else on her minimum wage job. Bad news because the car was on its last tires and finicky as a cat near water.
She remembered to take the clipboard out of her bag on the passenger seat before getting out in front of a small manufactured home. Gray shutters flanked the windows on the front. Potted plants lined the stairs on the side of the doublewide. It was a well-kept rarity in a questionable neighborhood.
Her gym shoes sank in the gravel path across the brown and crispy front lawn as she approached the door. It was too hot in Vegas to keep grass alive. Not without money. The sun hung high as she hopped up the three steps and knocked.
No answer. Another knock.
She leaned toward a window and looked inside. Nothing. She’d been trying to find this guy for almost a week—keeping track of his work schedule and his excursions. He should be home, especially since his truck was sitting there. She knocked again. “Hello?”
A crash came from behind the door.
“Mr. Simpkins?” She tapped on the doorjamb.
“Who’s there?” a scraggly male voice called out from inside.
“Mr. John Simpkins? Can you open the door?”
More crashing from inside. “Why? Who are you?”
“I’m Roxy Horne—”
“Horn? Can I blow you?”
Like she hadn’t heard that one before, Captain Obvious. She rolled her eyes, metaphorically, because she had a job to do. But really? “I’m your meter reader. We think your meter is overcharging you.” Surprisingly, no one wanted to open their door to get served papers, but they couldn’t refuse a chance for free money from a faulty meter. It had only taken her a month on the job to figure that out.
“Damn straight.” The door rattled open. White Einstein-hair shot out over Simpkins’ narrow sun-blown face. A beer bottle bobbed in his hand as he talked—almost spilling on his bare chest and half-zipped faded blue jeans. “I better be getting a refund.”
“Are you John Simpkins?”
“Yeah.” He ran a dirty hand along his lip before he lifted his beer to his mouth. At least he’d waited till noon to start drinking. Maybe. “Want a drink?” Given the slight slur and the stench wafting from his mouth, he might have continued drinking from yesterday.
“Thank you, but I can’t drink on the job. I have work to do.” She shook the clipboard as
“I got something you can do, pretty thing.” His stare travelled up the black jeans that snugged her legs and landed on her chest. She was wearing a blue button down that made her hazel eyes pop, but he’d never know.
His free hand rubbed at his bare stomach and lodged in the waistband of his jeans, while a sneer landed on his lips. She needed to do this and get out, before his hands got other ideas. She stuffed the envelope she was holding into the hand in his jeans.
Desperate times and all.
“You’ve been served.”
She ran toward her car. She usually had a good twenty seconds or so before the servees figured out what happened. Then they’d chase her or swear. One guy pulled a gun, but thankfully he couldn’t figure out how to disengage the safety. Given this guy’s state of alcohol consumption, she probably had a good minute or so before he realized he held a summons.
She angled into the car. The seat was leather fire because she forgot to put the damn heat shield in the front window of her car. Again. At noon in the desert, that was just asking for burnt thighs.
She twisted the key in the ignition. Sputter. Sputter. Nothing.
“No. No. No.” She glanced at the house, but beer-baby wasn’t coming after her. He was still squinting at the pages in the envelope. Thank goodness. She tried the key again. More sputtering, and then an unfulfilling silent ending.
Darn it.
Breathe in. Breathe out. She jiggled the key and kissed the top of the steering wheel before rubbing the dashboard. “Come on, baby.”
Roxy flinched as something hit her car and dirt splattered the driver’s side window. A bare-chested John Simpkins ran toward her. Yelling obscenities. Summons crumpled in one hand and a potted plant in the other. He threw the planter at the car, taking out her side mirror.
“Stop that,” she screamed at the window and turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered. “Please start.”
Another terracotta pot hit the hood. Dirt sprayed everywhere and a round cactus lodged in the windshield wiper. More sputtering and then—thankfully—the engine caught with a rumble. She threw the car into drive just as Simkins stumbled back to the steps to his house.
He picked up a dying ficus from the bottom step and ran into the street. More swearing. The pathetic tree flew through the air and hit pavement. “You lying….”
As she raced onto Rainbow Boulevard, she avoided the words coming out of his mouth. She didn’t need an active imagination to know what he was going to say.
She turned onto Lake Mead Boulevard, veering toward the high-priced homes in the Summerlin area of Vegas and pulling into the lot of a nondescript strip mall with a black-tiled roof and gray stucco. Although that pretty much defined most strip malls in the area. M&J Investigations was propped between a chiropractor and a day spa. If it wasn’t for the ice cream bar on the corner, she never would have found the place.
She got out of the Camaro, hanging her bag on her shoulder, and tugged at the cactus attached to her windshield wiper. She pulled, but the roots were wrapped around the wiper like a boa with its prey. Roxy finally dislodged her new hood ornament and crossed the lot, passing large gray flowerpots filled with red phlox and banana yucca. The doors and window frames were painted a soft blue, and looked nice against the gray stucco. The walkway along the front of the building was reddish-brown pavers.
She opened the door to the agency, its bright blue sign stating M&J Investigations. We Serve Your Papers in 7 Days or It’s Free. A burst of cold air slapped her in the face as her eyes adjusted from the sunlight to the fake indoor lighting. She dropped the former hood ornament into the garbage can next to the front counter, where her best friend Sarina West’s voice sighed into the phone. “…we find things… just not coyotes. Have you tried the Humane Society?”
Or Ace Ventura. Roxy gave Sarina a sympathetic smile as her best friend slanted the phone farther and farther away from her ear. If the person on the line got mad at the Humane Society suggestion, he’d bust a valve with the Ace Ventura thing. And Roxy knew it was a him. His voice was loud enough for the coyote to hear, no matter where the pup was hiding. So much for a sneak attack—good luck to whoever got stuck helping him.
Roxy walked past all the desks until she got to hers, in the center of the main room. It was an open-concept floor plan, or at least that was what one of the owners called it when Roxy asked for a cubicle wall. Apparently, privacy was out and collaboration was in. Why a bunch of process servers and skip tracers would need to collaborate, she had no idea. Instead, the room was filled with the loud hum of people talking on the phone. The string of desks faced each other, which led to weird staring contests. Offices lined the far wall, where the firm owners had nooners with their spouses or various strangers, depending on the owner.
She sat at her desk and booted up her laptop, nestled in the center of the paper-storm that had hit her desktop. Who had time to deal with all the paper? She had another guy to serve today, but first she had an affidavit to write—to prove she’d served John the plant-chucker his summons. You’d think a picture of her car covered in dirt and plant life would be proof enough.
Unfortunately, courts didn’t take photographic proof of car violence. One would think it would be a thing.
The front door opened and Sarina appeared. At some point, she must have gotten off the phone and walked outside. Maybe this was why the boss was so against making Roxy a private detective. Her detecting skills were lacking.
“So.” Sarina swished into the main room and claimed the chair next to Roxy’s desk. Her black Prada mini skirt looked amazing on her skinny frame. The red tank brought out the green in her eyes. “Do you want to tell me what happened to your car?”
Did Roxy want to tell her? Not really. But since Sarina would just keep asking, she had better some up with something quick. “My car had an accident.” That was quick.
“With a landscaping company?” Sarina’s eyebrow arched like she didn’t believe Roxy. Well, after being friends for twenty-five years, Sarina knew Roxy way too well.
The front door opened, again. This time, Roxy detected it. And the man who entered. He looked to be in his early thirties. Short light-brown hair cut shorter on the sides. Five o’clock shadow along a strong jaw. Dark jeans and a white shirt that appeared to cover a body worth licking.
If she was into that type of thing. She hadn’t found anyone worth licking in a long time. Not that she’d been searching… much.
“I’m Detective MacAuley.” He showed the badge on his hip to Sarina, who, somehow, was already greeting him by her desk. “I’m looking for Roxy Horne.”
“Uh, Roxy, someone to see you.” Sarina’s cheeks flamed as she turned to Roxy and made a face that said “hot guy in the vicinity”. Her usual MO. Guys made her nervous—especially hot ones. Which was probably why she was stuck with her on-again off-again boyfriend. She could talk to him. Too bad he liked to do more than talking with most of the ladies of Vegas.
Roxy stood up from her desk and walked toward the nice-looking detective. “I’m Roxy.”
“Miss Horne. We’ve had a complaint from a Mr. John Simpkins. He claims you stole his potted plants.”
Stole them. “Is this some sort of joke? I’m being punked aren’t I?” She looked for the hidden cameras, because c’mon.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t start laughing. Apparently, not a joke.
“I just left that guy like twenty minutes ago.” Her hands flew to her hips. “Does he have you on speed dial?”
