Burying a Bully: Monika MacQueen Mysteries, #1

Table of Contents

Dedication

Burial for a Bully (Monika MacQueen Mysteries, #1)

To my father.

Thank you for teaching me to read.

BURIAL FOR A BULLY  C.E. Burke

CHAPTER ONE

Speech, speech!

Monika MacQueen raised her crystal champagne flute, and smiled. Gathered around to help her celebrate her early retirement office party, were colleagues who had worked for her at her real estate agency for over a decade. She had decided to leave her successful business, located in one of the most prestigious skyscrapers in Chicago, for a quiet life in the country. 

She tucked a piece of her shoulder-length, burgundy bob behind her ears with long, red-tipped nails. As a professional woman in a major city, she had always dressed stylishly. For her party, she wore a light blue silk blouse, a pair of off-white slacks, and her ever present high heels. Of course, these were already rubbing the back of her ankles raw. Standing in front of the crowd, she thought wistfully of the fuzzy slippers she would slip into as soon as she got home.

Well, if you insist, she said, coyly. I’ll say just a few words. Thank you, all of you. Your contributions over the past decade helped make this real estate agency a success. I may not have always been the easiest person to work for...

Task Mistress MacQueen! Rich, one of the sales assistants, jokingly called out.

Everyone burst into laughter.

Chicago’s very own 'Tough Talking Tootsie'! came another voice.

This was met with more laughter and a few hoots and hollers.

...yes, I know, my infamous nicknames, Monika rolled her eyes and held up her hands in mock acceptance.

The House Whisperer, someone else said quietly.

Everyone murmured their assent, and there were calls of, Here, here!. Monika bowed her head to acknowledge the compliment. She was called The House Whisperer because she was a natural at creatively marketing properties that were tough to sell. Monika had all the winning and persistent traits required to be a success in a competitive real estate market. She could also let her temper get the best of her at times, and be blunt to the point of rudeness. But the people who worked for her stood by her loyally, in spite of her flaws, because she could also be a fair and generous boss, who never hesitated to apologize for her behavior.

Well, I think some of you liked that whip, since it made us all a bit of money along the way, she teased.

This was met with some appreciative cheers and light applause.

Anyway, as you all know, my son, Maxim , has graduated culinary school, and is off completing his studies in Europe. So, I get to take early retirement, and move on. I’ll miss you all and if you’re ever in little ol’ Shady Lane, she widened her eyes and mimicked a Southern accent, why, you all just stop on by for a cup of tea. No, wait, don’t do that. I hate tea. Stop by for a glass of the bubbly, instead.

She pointed to the crystal glass she held and winked.

I’ll keep a bottle chilled! Cheers! Help yourself to the Italian feast on the buffet table. Oh, it’s Friday, by the way.  Didn’t I hear deep dish pizza has no calories on Friday?

She smiled broadly, as everyone groaned and laughed. They all moved towards the buffet table, as Monika took a sip of her champagne and wandered to one of the high glass windows of her office. She gazed out at the busy street below, aware of a small voice in her head asking if she wouldn’t be bored living far away from the big city. But, as she did with most things that irritated her, like screaming babies in crowded planes and mosquitoes, Monika ignored the voice. The decision had been made, the agency sold, and she was walking into the next chapter of her life.

You’re a bit young for retirement, aren’t you?

Rich stood in front of her, interrupting her reverie. He was younger than Monika, and very handsome. She smiled up at Rich, and fingered the long chain around her neck in what she hoped was a coquettish way. Then she dropped it when she realized it was the chain that held up her reading glasses. She sighed. It was tough to flirt when one was hindered by the accoutrements of middle age.

I am a bit young for retirement, but it’s time to try something new.

Crystal, the receptionist, joined them.  She was pretty, young, and a little kooky, in a free spirited way, like the rest of her family. And, she always managed to make a reference to Monika’s age that set Monica’s teeth on edge.

You’re my idol, Monika, she gushed now. I think it’s fantastic that you have all your own money, with no man to tell you how to spend it. My mom says the same thing. We both want to be just like you when we’re your age.

Your mom IS my age, Monika commented irritably. She just doesn’t act it. I’m hardly dottering, Crystal. 50 is the new 40. I am a vital woman and I have no intention of just sitting around. I’m sure I’ll find lots of things to do.

You could open a cupcake shop, Crystal suggested. That would be fun.

Monika considered this, then wrinkled her nose.

I don’t like baking much.

How about an ice cream shop?

Leaning over a glass case, serving scoops of ice cream to hot, irritable tourists? No.

Why don’t you get yourself a bunch of cats for company?

Monica shook her head.

Can’t. I’m allergic. I might get a dog, though.

Can you knit? Crochet? Needle felt?

Nope. Nope. And I have no idea what that last one is.

You should try gardening! Crystal cried, clapping her hands. That’s a great hobby. Don’t overdue it though, you don’t want to get arthritis in those old knees, or your high heel wearing days will be over.

Rich hid a slight smile behind his hand, and Monika forced herself to count to ten.

Thanks for the concern, Crystal. I think I’ll get another glass of champagne.

The next day, headed for her new home, Monika watched as the Sears Tower grew smaller in her rearview mirror the farther she drove from it. It was always the Sears Tower to a Chicagoan, no matter who owned it, she thought fondly. She would miss the city. She would miss the delicious food, the museums that she took Maxim to as a little boy, the wonderful shopping she did on Michigan Avenue, and the lakefront view she had from her high-rise condominium.

Then, she thought about all the things she would not miss about city life, like traffic, pollution, and the ever increasingly expensive lifestyle.

Her little red Lexus coupe breezed along the Midwestern countryside on what turned out to be a lovely fall day. A rare, unending, blue sky opened up onto the recently cut fall fields and little pumpkin stands. White farmhouses, some in disrepair, some still cared for, but all suggesting histories of happy families gathered around a Norman Rockwell-style table, popped up along the highway.

Monika sipped from her Starbuck’s cup and her mood temporarily dipped. She had never known a family like that and never would, but she was determined to make new friends and fit in. She had a vague fantasy that the people where she was headed would be positive and wholesome.

Just a few miles out of Shady Lane, she ended up behind a slow-moving tractor, hauling hay. Normally this would have resulted in unending irritation to her, but she forced herself to breathe deeply. This would occur sometimes, she told herself, so she had to get used to it. If one was going country, one had to slow down and smell the roses. Or, in this case, the hay.

The farmer waved in acknowledgement, and made some sort of hand gesture that made absolutely no sense to her. She squinted and pursed her lips. It was a double solid line along this stretch of the narrow, two lane highway. She wasn’t going to risk passing him.

A glance at the rearview mirror revealed a huge black pick up truck, shiny and high, careening around the bend behind her to ride dangerously right up on her tail. A short haired young male, somewhere in his mid-twenties, sat behind the wheel. He was gesturing and slamming his hand on the wheel.

How rude, she thought indignantly. She forgot that this was usually her own behavior on the road. She checked her speedometer. 35 miles per hour. Well, it was ridiculously slow, but nothing could be done until the farmer pulled off the road.

The young man behind her honked, several angry taps on the wheel. She looked in her mirror indignantly. He honked again, this time leaning on the horn and screaming. He jutted his jaw out in a show of masculine anger and he shook his fist.

What on earth did he expect her to do? He could see there was no place for her to go or any way for her to pass. Monika felt her own temper, which she always struggled with a little, rise to the top. She breathed deeply and ignored him.

He pulled closer to her tail, swerving wildly. He was truly only a few feet from her bumper now. If for some reason the tractor and trailer in front of her stopped, he’d ram right into her backside. And 35 miles an hour or not, it wouldn’t be pleasant.  Now Monika was as furious as he was. If there was one thing she couldn’t abide, it was a bully. She glared at the driver in the rearview mirror, met his eyes, and saluted him with her middle finger.

Almost immediately, she regretted it. The driver behind her turned a distinct shade of purple, a deep reddish purple that spread over his whole face and dipped into his blond hairline. His face contorted to an ugliness of rage that was almost demonic. He started screaming, slamming his fist over and over again into his steering wheel and dashboard.

So distracted by his phenomenal display of anger, she failed to notice the tractor in front of her slowing even more and turning onto a grassy driveway next to a field. She slammed on her brakes and swerved into the opposite lane, heart in her mouth. Luckily, no one was coming, and she swung past the trailer with just inches to spare.

The guy behind her was almost not as lucky. He swerved around the tractor, too, but then he over-adjusted and slid towards for the open fields. He swerved again to get back onto the road, and he ended up in the oncoming lane. This time, however, there was a semi-truck flying towards them.

Monika quickly veered onto the shoulder and let him pass her. His black truck screeched past her and took off as the semi cruised by with a loud and prolonged pull on his horn. She gripped the wheel, shaking. So much for the quiet countryside.

Someone knocked on her passenger side window.

She looked over into a pair of warm brown eyes in a chiseled, lean face. The farmer from the tractor stood looking at her, hands in his front jean pockets. He was tall and lanky, with short gray hair. Monika immediately let down the window.

You all right? he asked.

Yes, thanks. Any idea who that young driver was? He nearly got both of us killed.

Drew Marshall. His family is local.

He turned his head to follow the last sight of the black pick up. Monika couldn’t help but notice that he had no wedding ring.

What an awful experience! Thank you for coming to my aid.

I scarcely came to your aid, he said with a smile. I was motioning for you to wait to pass, but I guess he couldn’t see.

Are you a farmer in the area?

I farm a little bit as a hobby.

A car whizzed past them on the highway, but Monika wasn’t about to let an attractive single man get too far. The natural flirt in her slipped out.

Oh, a gentleman farmer. I didn’t get your name?

Carter Banks. Maybe you need to get off the road and get to where you’re headed? It’s a little dangerous parked here on the shoulder.

Yes, of course, and my name is Monika... she fumbled in her cup holder, here’s my card. Although only the cell works now, the other number is disconnected, as I’ve retired and am moving out here.

Carter took her card and glanced at it.

Very early retirement, of course she emphasized again. I’m far too young for actual retirement.

I see. It’s nice to meet you... he looked at her card again, "Monika MacQueen. Now if