in Blog, Serial Fiction 9:04 am Tuesday, January 8th, 2008

“Death On The Breeze”
A Danny Stark Mystery
by James Walling

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19

 
The holidays are over at last and we are finally picking up where we left off with Danny Stark and crew. Due to the interruption, we decided it best to preface Chapter 20 with a brief synopsis in order to bring you all back up to speed: “DEATH ON THE BREEZE” aims to pay homage to the early “pulp” or “noir” style suspense story. It features the improbable character of Danny Stark, a blind auto mechanic and small-time criminal who turns amateur sleuth after a close friend is murdered. The novel explores themes of betrayal, revenge, justice, loyalty and the indomitability of the resourceful. The story is set in Chelatchie Prairie, Washington, a small town surrounded by logging country and farmland, resting at the foot of the once ominous Mount St. Helens.The novel opens with a house fire that results in the death of our protagonist’s lifelong friend, Herb Schaller. Closer examination reveals that Herb’s death was anything but accidental, and Danny sets out to discover the truth about the circumstances surrounding his friend’s murder.

An unlikely alliance of misfits and ne’er-do-wells assist Danny in his efforts: Angie Elmer—college freshman and local girl—spends her spring break at Danny’s side, Loudon Bean—art school dropout and Danny’s sometime employee—goes above and beyond the call of duty and ends up in the hospital and the county jail for his trouble, Don Bauman—claims investigator—lends his expertise to Danny and Bean’s machinations, and Bill Fox and his inamorata Charlene—old friends, the both of them—bring a little muscle to bear on the situation at Danny’s behest.

Meanwhile, the Schaller family—Herb’s widow, Leslie, and their two daughters, Jenna and Lindsay—make do as best they can under the circumstances. A long absent sister—Jillian—shows up to help Leslie and her nieces during their trouble and leaves Danny smitten in the process.

By the time we arrive at Chapter 20, all signs appear to be pointing toward one Jimmy Elmer as the villain responsible for Herb’s death as well as a series of violent attacks on Danny, Bean, and Fox.

In Chapter 19, Jimmy’s mother—Lorraine Elmer—visits the garage and attempts to distance herself from her son’s violent and inexplicable behavior. The chapter concludes with Danny extracting Lorraine’s promise to aid them in them in their efforts to track Jimmy down and finally get some answers.

 

 

Chapter 20

Jillian had to drive all the way into Portland to find the right outfit for the job. Her own taste in attire, she knew, was insufficiently scandalous.

Her sister, fearing further involvement, had begged her not to go. They’d argued the previous evening after Danny had called to tell Jillian what he had in mind not twenty minutes after parting company with Lorraine Elmer.

“Danny Stark can do as he likes,” Leslie had concluded. “But you just stay the hell out of it, Jill.”

Leslie just didn’t think she could stand another loss. The fire had taken Herb. It had taken her treasured homeplace and consumed her fondest memories. It had destroyed her family photo albums and Christmas decorations, her children’s toys and stuffed animals, her grandmother’s china and the bedroom set she’d slept in since her wedding night. In a single evening, it had reduced a false sense of security to a smoldering heap of ashes and burned her heart to a blackened cinder.

And now her only sister wanted to serve herself up as bait, as some kind of lure to snare the sick sonofabitch who may very well have kindled their collective nightmare.

Jillian had paused in the doorway and faced her sister.

“I want to help,” she’d said. “I want to make myself useful and damnit this is something I can do.”

But she knew the real reason she’d agreed to Danny’s plan was something altogether more selfish. She was bored. She’d been back in Chelatchie Prairie less than two weeks and already the old ennui was settling in. Even the maudlin drama of her sister’s tragedy couldn’t keep the old demons at bay. It was why she’d left home so many years ago. It was the core truth behind her outward ambition, the base reality beneath all her industriousness and zeal. She could not sit still. After a few days cooped up in the old farmhouse with a gaggle of needy relations, the prospect of playing the part of a hungry vixen in order to trap a murderer held irresistible allure.

She had thought Danny’s recent rebuff had closed the door on any further collaboration, to say nothing of conjugal visits, and she had jumped at the chance to raise a little hell when he finally called and laid it all out for her.

“How do I look?” she asked Danny in jest.

He leaned forward in the backseat of the Volvo, inserting his head between Jillian in the passenger seat and Charlene behind the wheel.

“Those boys won’t know what hit ‘em,” he said with a grin.

“It’s the cheap perfume,” she muttered, opening the door and climbing out into the parking lot. “Devil’s in the details.”

All conversation stopped when she pushed through the door into Nick’s Tavern. A row of bikers looked up from their beers in unison, craning their necks to leer at Jillian like a fighter squadron turning in tight formation.

Jillian struck a pose. She pouted cartoonishly and cocked her head askance. She hoped the gesture was more provocative than palsied, but she couldn’t be sure. The tight tank and short skirt had the desired effect however, and the nearest stool was cleared by an eager lowlife before the door closed behind her.

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she gave her best impression of a maneater on the prowl. The welcome sight of Fox brooding gloomily in a far corner steadied her nerves a little and she accepted the obligatory complimentary cocktail from a mealy-eyed redneck with an enthusiastic flip of the hair and a lascivious, lip-smacking grin.

A line began to form.

An hour—and three free whiskey sours later—she began seriously to wonder if Jimmy Elmer was going to show.

She needn’t have worried. As promised, Lorraine Elmer had done her part.

At Danny’s behest, Jimmy’s mother had left word for him with Tommy Thompson. The message had been simple: “stay away from Nick’s Tavern on Saturday night.”

Like a walking, talking study in reverse psychology, Jimmy Elmer skulked through the entryway and pulled up a chair at an empty table in the middle of the room.

Fox slipped out the side door undetected, but not before he caught Jillian’s eye and nodded in Jimmy’s direction, letting her know that he was their man.

He didn’t look the part of the killer to Jillian. In fact, she thought with some trepidation, he’s kinda handsome even.

Jimmy seemed not to notice her at first. He kicked a chair loose, placed a big leather boot on the seat, cocked a long arm and rested an elbow on the tabletop. He scanned the room, nodding to familiar faces and scrutinizing those he didn’t recognize with unsettlingly pale blue eyes.

Jillian waited patiently. There wasn’t a lot of competition. The only other woman in the place was an ancient cocktail waitress named Barb.

Jimmy loped up to the bar next to Jillian and ordered a shot of Wild Turkey and a beer. She finished her drink and set it down with a decided bang in front of Jimmy.

“Your turn, pal,” she commanded, flicking the tip of her tongue defiantly against her teeth.

Jimmy smirked bemusedly and acquiesced without complaint.

She joined him at the table he’d claimed and the conversation quickly turned into a clichéd mutual assessment.

“Married?” Jillian asked.

“You see a ring?” Jimmy answered, splaying his fingers wide for her benefit.

“Girl’s got a right to wonder,” Jillian chirped, smiling. “Where all the womenfolk around here anyway? You keep ‘em all barefoot and pregnant or what?”

“Not me.”

Jillian glanced around significantly and raised her eyebrows.

“Doesn’t answer the question, fella,” she said with a shrug.

“Guess you got the field all to yourself,” Jimmy said, wrapping a rough palm around one of her dainty ankles under the table. “Where’d you say you were from?”

“I didn’t,” Jillian answered in an icy voice. But she slid the ankle into his lap and met his gaze with a challenging stare.

Out in the parking lot, Danny grew steadily more nervous as time wore on. He checked and double-checked the handheld transceiver that connected him to Fox until the man bellowed back at him to hold the chatter.

An agonizing half-hour later Jimmy and Jillian stumbled out of the bar arm in arm.

Jimmy led the way to a dusty black Dodge Charger and held the door open for her. She hesitated briefly, knowing she was taking her little game to a new and much more dangerous level.

Across the lot, Fox kick-started his Harley to life in the shadows. Reassured by the sound, Jillian climbed in and pulled the door shut. A light rain began to fall as Jimmy pulled out onto the highway and sped away into deepening darkness of the evening.

Charlene started the Volvo.

“I don’t like this,” Danny muttered as he climbed forward into the passenger seat.

“A little late for second thoughts,” said Charlene.

Danny sighed and spoke into the radio.

“You first, baby,” he said to Fox. “Lead the way.”

The radio squawked and Fox shouted over the growl of the hog, “You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

He jammed the radio into his jacket and roared off after the Charger.

Danny turned to Charlene and nodded.

“Let’s get moving,” he said.

Charlene stomped on the gas and they lurched forward after their quarry. Danny clamped his jaw shut and tapped the dash compulsively, feeling less like a hunter springing a trap than a gambler facing some very long odds.