Deadly Guild (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 3) Read online

  Deadly Guild

  Sarah Spillman Mysteries Book 3

  Renée Pawlish

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Sneak Peek

  Free Book

  Renée’s Bookshelf

  About the Author

  Deadly Guild

  A Sarah Spillman Mystery

  First Digital Edition published by Creative Cat Press

  copyright 2021 by Renée Pawlish

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your personal use only, then you should return this copy to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgments

  The author gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Treat and Beth Higgins.

  Again, a huge shout-out to Colonel Randy Powers, retired, Chief Deputy. Any mistakes in police procedure are mine.

  If I’ve forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.

  To all my beta readers: I am in your debt!

  Maureen Anderson, Dianne Biscoe, Renee Boomershine, Tracy Gestewitz, Patti Gross, Sherry Ito, Maxine Lauer, Judi Moore, Becky Neilsen, Ann Owen, Becky Serna, Dick Sidbury, Albert Stevens, Joyce Stumpff, Marlene Van Matre

  Chapter One

  The Guild will now come to order.

  She read the line on the computer monitor, then put her hands to the keyboard and typed.

  Marilyn Monroe is here.

  She’d chosen her favorite actress as her pseudonym. She loved old-time movies, and she loved Marilyn Monroe. Monroe carried herself as few other females did. She was sexy, sultry, and yet she played hardball with the Hollywood studios. People thought Monroe was dumb, but she was smart and tough. The woman nodded. Yes, that name fit her well.

  Her house was quiet except for the classical music that played in her office. She looked at the screen. Other members of the Guild said their hellos. There was Brad Pitt, well, not really Brad Pitt, but someone who said he liked Pitt’s movies. She assumed Brad was a “he,” but for all she knew Brad could be a woman. The whole idea was anonymity. That was key.

  Daffy Duck, Pete Rose, and Joe Smith were there. She wasn’t fond of Daffy Duck. Daffy came across as arrogant. Pete Rose. “That was someone who loved baseball, and was a gambler,” she thought with a laugh. Joe Smith was really going for obscurity. She had no idea who they all were, and they had no idea who she was. That was the way the Guild worked. They were in a secure online chat room, where no one would be able to identify them. They all had secure internet connections, untraceable. They all had money, enough to buy that kind of secrecy and safety.

  Teddy Roosevelt, the leader, typed again.

  Please agree to the Guild rules. Everything said here remains here. Do not talk about a member’s actions or plans to anyone outside of the Guild. We are the group, no new members will be allowed. We all have the resources to make you pay. Do not break the rules. Your word is your oath.

  She thought it was interesting that Teddy always started each recitation of the rules with a polite “Please,” but ended the rules with a threat. She frowned. None of them needed the threat. If one of them talked, they were all vulnerable, and none of them wanted to go to jail. Or worse. So no one would say a word.

  The monitor lit up with a round of yeses from the Guild members. The woman dutifully agreed to the Guild rules as well. Teddy went on.

  Does Daffy Duck have a report for us?

  The woman rolled her eyes as Daffy Duck responded.

  Did you all see the report about a drowning near the South Platte a few days ago?

  A round of yeses.

  Daffy Duck: That was me.

  Pete Rose: Proof?

  Daffy Duck: Check the paper.

  The woman opened a browser. As she was sure the others were doing, she typed in the Denver Post and searched for a man who’d drowned. She found an article and quickly read it. Then she came to the pertinent section. A silver necklace with a fake ruby had been found at the scene. Jewelry with a red stone was the proof. Innocuous to most, but proof for the Guild. She went back to the chat room. By now, Brad Pitt had responded.

  It’s right there. The proof.

  Teddy Roosevelt: That’s correct.

  Pete Rose: You did it.

  Daffy Duck: I was a bit afraid at first. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. But he was drunk, probably high, so he wasn’t able to fight much. It was easier than I thought.

  Brad Pitt: Way to go, killer.

  Daffy Duck: Ha ha. I’ve thought about this for so long, wanted to know what it would be like to actually do it. Now I’m part of an elite group of people.

  Brad Pitt: Like Teddy and me.

  The woman felt a twinge of jealousy. Daffy Duck now had a deed under his belt, like the others. She wanted to know how it felt. Before she could ask him about it, Teddy cut into the conversation.

  The next order of business, who is next?

  The woman stared at the monitor, waiting to see if someone else might respond. When no one did, she put her shaking hands to the keyboard and typed.

  Me.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She was committed now. Then another response.

  Joe Smith: I’ll go.

  Marilyn didn’t breathe. Who would get to go next? Now that she’d had the courage to volunteer, would it be for nothing?

  Teddy Roosevelt: Marilyn volunteered first.

  Joe Smith: So?

  Teddy Roosevelt: A decision has been made.

  Joe Smith: Wait, that’s not fair!

  Marilyn could hardly look at the screen. Would Teddy say that Joe could go instead of her? She thought Joe was brash, a little on edge. She wondered what the person behind the name was really like.

  Teddy Roosevelt: Marilyn, when?

  She finally let out her breath. And, she noted, Joe had the good sense not to say more. She pondered the question for a moment. When? For days she had been thinking how she would do it. And she’d formed a plan that she was sure was foolproof, where she could not get caught. It was time to forge ahead. She typed her response.

  Soon. I’ll make contact when the deed is complete.

  Teddy Roosevelt: Wonderful. Remember not to rush. Make sure you’re properl
y prepared. Caution is key.

  She picked up a crystal glass and took a drink of Scotch to calm her nerves. She had to go through with it now. That order of business finished, the conversation with Daffy Duck resumed.

  Pete Rose: Daffy, you’re sure you were careful?

  Daffy Duck: Of course. Don’t insult me.

  Teddy Roosevelt: Daffy, I’m sure you were, just like others. With the correct precautions, there won’t be any problems.

  The woman nodded at the screen. Yes, they were all exceedingly careful. They had to be, or their lives would be ruined. No one could have that. The irony of their victims losing their lives was not lost on her. But that was the price that had to be paid for the Guild members to experience what it felt like to kill. And she wanted to know. She finally asked Daffy Duck what she’d been waiting to ask ever since he said he’d completed his deed.

  How did it feel?

  Daffy Duck: Incredible.

  Chapter Two

  “How are you doing today?”

  Dr. Feinstein looked at me, her eyes dark and curious. She crossed her legs at the ankles and glanced down at the notepad in her lap. She was a plump woman, maybe ten years older than my late thirties, with a matronly attitude about her, her eyes and voice full of concern. I don’t know how the male officers who had to see Dr. Feinstein would’ve felt about her, but I was defensive. I didn’t want to be here. No matter how motherly she might have been, it didn’t take away the feelings I’d had about the shooting. Or the fact that she had to clear me before I could resume my normal duties again.

  “I’m fine,” I said, ignoring the knot in my stomach.

  Her office was quiet, no windows, just a seascape hanging above a cluttered desk behind her. I glanced at a ficus in the corner near the couch where I sat. I caught a whiff of what I could only describe as a summery odor, as if a lawn had just been cut. I love that smell. It makes me think of the good times growing up, before things grew more complicated.

  Dr. Feinstein contemplated me for a minute. “You’re fine. That’s a very non-specific answer.”

  “I don’t have anything to say.”

  “This is our fourth session,” she said. I stared at her, and she went on. “Would you like to talk about the incident?”

  “We went over the whole thing before. I don’t think I need to do that again.”

  “Sometimes it helps to talk through things multiple times. You might realize something now that you didn’t before.”

  I took in a deep breath. “I don’t know about that.” I found a thread on the couch cushion, and I pulled at it. Growing up, I had a cat who would eat at a thread like that for a long time, until you redirected him to something else. I never knew why he did that. I knew I was trying to deflect her questions.

  “Detective? What are you thinking?”

  “About my cat.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “It’s nothing,” I said.

  Her eyes held subtle amusement at my deflections. She continued to prod. “Have the nightmares dissipated?”

  I continued to evade. “Yes,” I said, a little too quickly.

  We engaged in an uneasy silence, as we had on previous sessions. Dr. Feinstein considered me again, then put her pen on the notepad, rubbed her brow for a second, and locked eyes with me.

  “I know this is hard, Detective Spillman, and I don’t want to make this process any longer than I have to.”

  I shrugged. “Then don’t.”

  That brought a small smile. She had to be used to cops who kept their feelings locked up, had defenses higher and thicker than the Great Wall of China, and she took no offense. “How about you give me a little more than you’re ‘fine?’ ”

  I thought for a moment. I didn’t want to tell her too much. I rarely opened up to anybody, except maybe Harry. Harry Sousen and I have been together for over ten years, and even he would say that I have high walls and it takes time to penetrate them. Dr. Feinstein wasn’t Harry, but I knew I had to give her something, or she wouldn’t clear me to get back to my job. I suppressed a sigh. I had been on desk duty for a month now, since the shooting.

  “What are you thinking?” Dr. Feinstein asked.

  That was her favorite phrase. “It’s nothing.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  She was perceptive, I’d give her that. My face had told her more than I’d meant to.

  “I don’t like to talk about myself.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.” She looked at her notepad. “You told me in scant detail what happened. I had to look up the report to find out what all happened that night. It doesn’t tell me how you felt.”

  I raised my hands. “As I’ve told you before, I don’t regret what I did. If I hadn’t shot Carson Welch, he would’ve killed me.” Knowing that hadn’t eased the nightmares, though. Or the sleepless nights. I had still taken a life.

  I wiped my sweaty palms on my slacks, then noticed her watching me and stopped. I stared past her and caught the cut-lawn smell again. This time, the scent took me back to that hot summer night not too long ago. Welch coming at me, the feel of my Glock as I pulled the trigger, the sound of the shot. His face twisting up, then him leaping at me with his knife raised. Dr. Feinstein cleared her throat, and my gaze went back to her.

  “I had to do it.”

  She nodded. “You’ve said that from the beginning.”

  “And I’ll continue to say that,” I snapped. I felt my muscles tighten, and I tried to relax. “Look, I know we have to go through this process. I know you’re only doing your job. I’d like to get back to my job. I’m not one for sitting at a desk, or going to community meetings.”

  “Community meetings?”

  “It’s a task force, to help foster positive relationships between the police and the community.”

  “Sounds like you read that out of a manual.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Yes.”

  “You’re not thrilled to be a part of it.”

  “One of the perks of the job,” I said sarcastically. Then I shook my head. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a great thing, I’d just rather be working. I need to be out there,” I gestured with my hand toward the door, “finding the bad guys. That’s what is going to make me feel better.”

  “Rather than explaining what you do to others,” she finished.

  “Right.”

  “Tell me about the nightmares.”

  I was defensive. “I didn’t say I was having them anymore.”

  She wasn’t fooled. She didn’t say anything, but waited.

  I shrugged again. “Since we talked last, I only had one dream, the other night.” That wasn’t completely true. I’d had fewer nightmares, but still more than just the few I’d told her about. “I’m chasing Welch up the stairs, and I can’t catch him. I go into Diane’s room, and he has the knife out. He slits her throat and runs out the door. I shouldn’t leave my sister, but I want to shoot him. I run to the door, and he’s there. When I pull the trigger, nothing happens. I can’t stop him as he comes at me.” I stopped talking, my hands pressed into my lap.

  She finally asked, “What happens next?”

  I looked away. “He comes at me with the knife. Right before he gets to me, he disappears. I go to the bed, and Diane’s dead. Then I wake up.”

  She took a long time before saying anything. “Are your partners in the dream?” She glanced at her notes. “Ernie and Spats?

  Ernie Moore and Roland “Spats” Youngfield, are great guys. I’ve worked with them for a long time, and yes, sometimes they can be protective of me.

  “No,” I said, then, “I’m not sure. It’s like they’re there, but not really. It’s just Welch and me. And I couldn’t stop him.”

  “You feel like you didn’t protect your sister?”

  My jaw tightened. “I did what I could, and yet …” I blinked hard. “If I had figured things out sooner, he might not have attacked Diane.”

  “He didn’t kill h
er, though.”

  “Right.”

  “You don’t get along with your sister?”

  I shook my head. “No, although I’m making an effort.”

  I hadn’t told Feinstein too much about my relationship with Diane. That would take far too many sessions, way more than I was willing to do now. As I had told Feinstein, I wanted to get back to work, to resume my normal duties, which meant homicide investigations.

  “She’s okay?”

  I nodded. “As well as can be expected after a killer almost rapes and kills you,” I said. “She doesn’t tell me a whole lot.”

  A wry smile crept across Feinstein’s face. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  I pursed my lips. “When it comes to Diane … there’s too much there to get into.”

  “Does she blame you for what happened that night?”

  “She hasn’t said it directly, but I think she’s angry that I didn’t find the killer before he attacked her.”

  “What could you have done differently?”

  “I don’t know,” I snapped. She looked at me closely. I breathed hard. “I did the best I could.” My decisions gnawed at me, though. If I’d put the pieces of the puzzle together sooner, Welch might never have gone after Diane. There was nothing I could do about that now, and yet my guilt remained.