30 Days to Death

Chapter 1

In his neat suburban house, Arnold Bellamy opened his mail. He dropped the first three envelopes in the trash. Obviously advertising. The next one was a bill from the electric company and there were a couple of what looked like early Christmas cards. He put the bill aside and the cards on a table and opened the last one, a plain envelope.

What is this? He looked at the one sheet of paper with a few words scrawled in purple crayon.

He muttered to himself You have 30 days to make it right. If you don't, I will kill you.

Who sent this? He looked at the envelope. It told him nothing. Looked like somebody had just stuffed it into the mailbox. There was no postmark. The printing on the sheet of paper looked as though a child had printed it. Maybe a local child had.

Arnold snorted. Those Walters boys, probably one of their blasted jokes.

But he didn't throw it away. He put the note in a drawer to deal with later. Taking his pruning shears from the garage, he went out into the garden, his pride and joy, and forgot all about.

On a beautiful morning thirty days later, Matty Shields, Arnold’s neighbor, began her morning health walk and discovered a pile of clothing carelessly tossed in Arnold's driveway. Muttering about the garbage collectors who frequently left the containers in the way, she approached with the purpose of being a good neighbor and moving the offending pile to the side. This was a neighborhood where people cared about how their houses and properties looked to their neighbors and the world at large. When she bent to grasp the tumbled clothing, her hand touched flesh. Not living flesh but still almost warm. Mattie didn't know this until she lifted the coat to the side and revealed the knife that protruded from between his shoulders, Arnold's shoulders. Although he lay on his front, his face was turned towards her and his eyes closed. She managed one further act, that of calling 911 on her cell phone and then sinking down beside Arnold. The EMS team, when they arrived, had to take the Matty with them as well as Arnold. Matty Shields was in shock. For Arnold, there was nothing to be done.

Blending into the group that was gathering behind the police line, the killer watched, concealing angry and vengeful feelings and thinking. If I have to go after all of them, I won't stop until it's fixed.

Suddenly, a car pulled up and parked on the street as Arnold's driveway was blocked off. Barbara Adams, Arnold's cousin, got out. She walked towards Arnold's house. What happened? Is Arnold all right? she asked but nobody seemed to know. Then she saw a familiar face.

Oh, hello! How are you? Do you know..... But to her surprise, the person she spoke to was hurrying away. She went on towards the house.

Six months later, Barbara, who had been designated Arnold's executor, was holding a garage sale to dispose of his belongings. The police were looking for anyone who might have attacked Arnold but so far, had found nobody. The house was under contract of sale. In this desirable neighborhood, it went quickly in spite of the downturn in the economy. His belongings, although simple, were good quality. But Barbara was smart enough to put prices on them that were reasonable and she was doing a brisk business.

One of her customers was Zach Harris, a young man, who was sometimes enlisted by his favorite aunt when she needed more help with heavy work. As she lived alone, he made sure she called on him rather than struggle with things herself. He had assured her there was no need to spend her money on hired help when he could take a little time off work and come over. His aunt had smiled at him. I don't want you to get in trouble with the University. But it means a lot to me that you want to help. She hugged her nephew.

This time, Zach's aunt had seen the notice of the garage sale in the paper and once again had called on her nephew to help. Zach's assignment was to go to the garage sale and see if they had any small dressers. His aunt had recently twisted her ankle and couldn't go herself even to look around. Zach intended to make it a fast stop Probably they didn't have what his aunt wanted anyway. He walked through the door of the house and looked around. Not bad. Quality furniture, but he didn't see any dressers. He was about to walk out when he noticed a small one, just like his aunt had described, tucked into the corner of the front hallway. He looked at the price on it. $25. Perfect. The woman holding the sale smiled. Thank you very much. All this belonged to my cousin Arnold and I'm his executor. I just want to get it out of here because the new owner of the house wants to move in soon. She took the money, wrote out a receipt and held the door open for him. As he lifted the dresser, the top drawer slid open and a piece of paper fell out.. He put the dresser down and retrieved the paper. There were purple crayoned words on it. He read them Apparently, this had been received by Arnold as the dresser was in his house. . Zach muttered, A kid must have left this in the drawer He looked at the woman who was holding the door open and grinned. Kids! He offered the note to her but she waved it away.

I already saw that. Don't worry about it. Just throw the note away.

Zach carried the dresser out to his car. He set it down and opened the rear door of the SUV. " The note was still in his hand He didn't want to throw it on the ground or loose in his car so he stuck it in his pocket and after loading the dresser, he drove off.

It wasn't until he was undressing that night that the paper surfaced again, falling out of his pocket. He picked it up and looked He found that he still had the receipt which he had forgotten to give to his aunt. It was marked, Estate of Arnold Bellamy. The woman had signed it also, Barbara Adams. Something came back to him, a newspaper story. Something about the owner of that house. Wasn't he murdered? That was a little odd, wasn't it? Zach shrugged and threw the purple decorated paper on his night table. For some reason, he didn't throw it out.

Zach was a writer and worked for the University of New Jersey as a part time teacher and research assistant. He spent most of his time in the library, doing research for professors, working on his PhD and the beginnings of a book. A few days after delivering the dresser to his aunt, he was again in the library, and for some reason suddenly recalled the mysterious piece of paper. He'd intended to throw it out several times, but something about it made him keep the odd piece of paper. The idea that there might be a story behind it intrigued him. He went to look up the newspaper archives and quickly found an article about the murder. A picture of Arnold stared out. He was sure he'd seen the man here and there, the barber shop, the coffee shop? The man, full name Arnold Bellamy, had been found stabbed in his own driveway and it was concluded that someone had likely attacked him as he went to his mailbox. His watch and wallet were missing and the watch was valuable, the solid gold one given to him by his company when he retired, according to family sources. He lived alone, a widower, according to the paper. A cousin was winding up his affairs. The police had no leads. Zach closed the computer window and shrugged. Random violence was all too prevalent these days. He hoped the villains were caught, who preyed on the elderly. If all that had anything to do with the purple note, it wasn't obvious.

Zach went to get a cup of coffee. For some reason, that strange note wouldn't leave his mind. Somebody gets a death threat and then they are killed? Too much of a coincidence? But the note was probably from a mischievous child, wasn't it? He wondered if Arnold had got the note thirty days before he was murdered. Why thirty days? What had Arnold done? He had seen him around the town, an ordinary elderly man, didn't look like he could harm a flea. Not the kind of person who got murdered. But then, who would that be? The killer was most likely a drug-crazed thief who had happened to be in the area. But again, he hadn't heard of much crime in that quiet neighborhood. All this passed through Zach's mind. He had a romantic kind of mind that he kept hidden. Hidden treasures, mysterious killings, anything like that was meat and drink to him, as his aunt would have said.

It was an unusual story but Zach concluded it was really none of his business and finally managed to forget the whole thing. He forgot it until he opened the newspaper a week later and read a story about the death of a local woman. The name seemed familiar. It took him a while before he made the connection. It was Barbara Adams, the name of the woman who had held the garage sale. She had fallen under a bus. Was that now looking like way too many coincidences? Should he have shown that piece of paper to the police? But that was ridiculous, far-fetched, to think there was any connection.

He went back to the library to work on a research project. . As he turned the pages of a book, the memory of the mysterious piece of paper kept interrupting his thoughts..

Then he became aware that a woman was speaking. Excuse me?

She repeated it, Excuse me?

Zach realized she was talking to him and looked up into a pair of dark blue eyes. Golden, yes actually golden, hair swung around her face. It was a moment or two until he realized he was staring without speaking, and then, he asked, Yes? Can I help you?

The woman stuck out her hand. Hello, I'm Laura. This is going to seem strange, but I noticed you at my aunt's garage sale a while back. You bought the dresser in the hall, didn't you?

Zach released her hand and nodded, wondering where this was going. He had been trained to help library patrons if possible, however.

Mind if I sit down for a moment?

Zach indicated the chair next to him..

Laura went on, "I know I sound like a kind of nut, but I have a reason. You see, my aunt, Barbara

Adams, had told me about something that concerned her. She said that when she was clearing out the house she found a note in that dresser you bought. We laughed about it, actually. I had come to the sale and bought a couple of things. I was in the other room and as I was coming out of it, I saw you carrying the dresser through the door and thought, we should have thrown that note away, what is he going to think when he sees it. He'll think we're crazies here. It was all kind of a joke. But then, then...... Her voice grew hoarse and a tear rolled down her cheek. My aunt was killed. They say she walked in front of a bus, but that doesn't sound like her at all. Maybe someone pushed her.

Zach leaned forward. Can I get you a drink of water or anything? I'm sorry for your loss. He eyed her warily. Not many stunning women arrived in his office and began crying.

The young woman sniffed and fumbled in her bag for a handkerchief. She wiped at her eyes. I'm sorry. Don't trouble yourself. I just needed to talk to someone. I forgot to introduce myself properly. I'm Laura Adams. Did you..... she looked at him, Did you see that note I was talking about?

Zach hesitated, not sure what to say. Finally, he nodded. Yes, I did see it, and like you, at first I thought it was a joke of some kind, done by a kid, although somehow it didn't sound like a kid, either. Then, when I read of your aunt's death, it just seemed odd, two deaths so close to each other. To tell you the truth, I wondered about it He glanced around. Say, how about we go grab a cup of coffee somewhere else? It's hard to talk here. He had noticed a few heads popping up to stare at them.

They went to a small coffee shop down the street from the library. There weren't many people there in the middle of the morning. Laura sipped her drink, a low-fat latte. Yes, she said, to get back to that note. It's a threat, really.

She shrugged at Zach's look. I know it sounds crazy, but......well, something's not right. A kid making a threat like that? A mugging. And then the 'accident'. If you knew my aunt, you'd know why it seems very strange to me. She wasn't ditzy or unaware of her surroundings. You met her. Did she seem that way to you? Zach shook his head.

She seemed a nice lady. Normal.

Laura went on, Aunt Barbara had crossed that street many times. And before you suggest that she was suicidal, she was the most positive person I know. Again she looked on the verge of tears. She scrubbed at her eyes with her now damp handkerchief and dabbed at her nose. I'm going to miss Aunt Barbara so much. I don't have all that many Adams relatives."

Zach nodded, studying her as she spoke. Her blonde hair was long with a slight wave and she was wearing well-fitting jeans and a tank top that revealed an attractive athletic, yet curvy body. He pulled his attention back to the topic.

I'm not sure if we can do anything. There's no indication of whether that note was connected to the events that happened and we don't know who wrote it. Even though the wording sounds odd, it could very well have been a child and could even have been done years ago. Did your aunt have any children herself?

She had a son. I'm not sure where he is now. He moved away. My cousin Donald.

Well, doesn't it seem likely he was the one who wrote it?

Donald? Somehow I can't visualize him writing in purple crayon, even as a child. If you knew Donald.... He's an accountant and he was always one of those annoying everything in its place people. A little or a lot of OCD there. I don't understand why a nasty note in Uncle Arnold's house could have any connection with his murder and my Aunt Barbara's death. It's even more bizarre to think of Donald in connection with anything. He lives in Ohio, too so he's not exactly on the spot here. She sighed. I’ll probably go out there for her memorial service next. I can ask him about it but I have no doubt he'll think I've lost my senses.

Laura hesitated. Then she said, I've heard of you, you know.

Zach was a little thrown off by this change of topic. You have?

I read some of the articles you published. The newspaper called you the Sherlock Holmes of the University.

Zach felt his face getting red. "Well, that's the way newspapers are, isn't it? They look for something to catch the reader's attention. It's a little embarrassing, to tell the truth. Not that big a deal. I just did some research that uncovered the real reason for a scandal back in the past.

Laura leaned forward. You rescued someone's reputation and if it was in the present day, a criminal would have been jailed. So I know you can get to the truth.

Zach sighed. I'm not a private investigator, or a policeman. I just enjoy doing research.

Laura looked at him. I need someone who can find the answer to this. I'm afraid....

Zach frowned. Afraid of what?

Laura was pale. Afraid that this means a killer is out there, and the worst thing is that he's not done yet.

Why do you think that? Because of that note? Zach was thinking that Laura was another romantic like himself. He discounted that side of his personality and now he doubted this