Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set Read online

  Get Sharpe

  Maycroft Mysteries, Books 1-5

  Lisa B. Thomas

  Published by Lisa B. Thomas, 2018.

  GET SHARPE: MAYCROFT MYSTERIES, BOOKS 1-5

  Copyright © 2019

  Lisa B. Thomas

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SHARPE SHOOTER: SKELETON IN THE CLOSET

  Copyright © 2018 by Lisa B. Thomas

  Second Edition 2015

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  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

  SHARPE EDGE: STRANGER ON THE STAIRS

  Prologue

  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

  SHARPE MIND: HANGING BY A THREAD

  Prologue

  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

  SHARPE TURN: MURDER BY THE BOOK

  Prologue

  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

  SHARPE POINT: NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK

  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

  Works by Lisa B. Thomas

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Rookie deputies in the county sheriff’s department always did the grunt work, especially when the boss was running for re-election and his opposition was throwing around accusations of mismanagement. It was June, just six months until the November election. Deputy Trey Simms ached to get out in the field where the action was instead of being stuck cleaning out the ancient back closets of the original Bingham County evidence room. How was he supposed to impress the boss doing clerical work? Most of the cold case evidence had long since been transferred to a warehouse in Maycroft, but this 3rd floor office was converted to a file room back in the seventies, and no one had bothered to empty out its three closets—until now.

  So far, the most unusual item he had uncovered was a bowling ball cut in half and drilled out to hold a small Colt pistol. It came from a 1971 case where a woman took her dead husband’s old Brunswick to the pawn shop. The clerk found the gun after dropping the ball, causing the pistol to fire. Luckily, no one was hit.

  Like all the other items he had inventoried, Simms entered the case number and description into the master computer spreadsheet, marking it for transfer. He put the case file and broken ball back in the cardboard box and re-sealed it with new evidence tape.

  Reaching for a yellowed cardboard box from the top of the metal shelf, he discovered this one was larger and heavier than the others. As he tipped it forward to get a hand underneath, dust fell like snow and landed on his hair and face. Setting it on the table of his makeshift workstation, he pulled out his dingy handkerchief to wipe off the debris, first from his face and then off the paper label on top of the box. It read, “Jane Doe 3-18-64.” The cellophane evidence tape had long since lost its ability to secure the contents of the file box and fell away as he gave it a slight tug. Removing the lid, he peered inside at a black plastic container with a lid that was taped shut. Simms, however, recognized immediately what he had uncovered. Stunned, he shook his head. “Well, I’ll be darned.”

  LIKE MOST TEXAS SHERIFFS, Bob Lowry was hands-on when it came to unusual cases in his jurisdiction. You aren’t re-elected to office four times by trusting your deputies to do all the work. If a case proved
important enough to make the newspapers, Lowry insisted his name appear in the article. He learned that playing nicely with the Maycroft Police Department worked to his advantage, and the two agencies were careful to keep off each other’s toes. He ruled over the county like a protective father who could not trust his children to fend for themselves.

  Deputy Simms understood this about his boss, which is why he headed straight down to the second floor with his Jane Doe evidence box in tow.

  “What in the heck is this?” the sheriff demanded, wiping away dust that settled on his heavy oak desk from the filthy box.

  “Take a look inside.” Simms carefully removed the lid.

  Sheriff Lowry stood up to get a better view. “Why on earth is there a skeleton in my evidence room?” he shouted as his face reddened. “Whose case is this? How long has it been here?”

  Satisfied he had gotten the boss’s attention, Simms answered calmly. “Sir, it’s a Jane Doe from 1964, so it’s been here roughly fifty years. Do you want me to find the original officer’s name?” He opened the case folder for the first time and scanned the summary notes inside the cover, stopping on something unexpected.

  “No! Take it over to forensics.” Lowry pushed the box toward his newest deputy. “And Simms,” he added. “As of right now, this is your case. And whatever happens, I want that skeleton in the ground as soon as possible. This could look really bad for me, so don’t screw it up!”

  “Yes sir.” Simms quickly put the folder inside the box and replaced the lid. He hurried out of the office holding the box in front of him like an undetonated bomb. Around the corner in the hallway, he stopped and leaned back against the wall.

  Not only had he unearthed some family’s loved one, he had blown the lid on one of his own family secrets. Whether it was fate or coincidence, he knew it was up to him to solve this icy cold case.

  Chapter 1

  Getting canned after more than thirty years of teaching was definitely not on Deena Sharpe’s bucket list. But there she was, packing up the last remnants of her classroom and the only career she had ever known.

  The tap-tap-tap sound coming down the hallway meant Janice Marshall, the assistant principal, was ready for Deena to vacate the building. No one liked the screeching of fingernails on a chalkboard, but most teachers at Maycroft High School would have chosen that sound any day over the incessant clatter of those clicking shoes. Like Deena always said, there was something fishy about a woman who could stand on her feet all day in high heels. She was not to be trusted.

  Luckily, Deena would never again have to endure Janice Marshall’s condescension or her shoes.

  “How much longer are you going to be, Mrs. Sharpe?” Janice stood in the doorway as though entering the room might infect her with cooties.

  “There’s no telling. I might need a few more hours,” Deena said, using her gooiest Southern drawl. “You don’t have to wait for me, dear. Why don’t you just run along and see if you can find some other teacher to harass.”

  Janice smirked and leaned against the door frame as if she herself were the very foundation of the building and began occupying herself on her cell phone.

  Standing over her desk, Deena slowed her movements even more. “Is this how you deal with all teachers when they leave this school? Are you worried I might steal this stapler?” She held it up as a visual aid.

  Janice rolled her eyes. “No, but this is a special circumstance.”

  Still holding the heavy black stapler, Deena contemplated bashing Janice in the head or shoving it up somewhere else. She envisioned the headline in the Northeast Texas Tribune: Ex-Journalism Teacher Bludgeons Assistant Principal with Swing Master II.

  She dropped the stapler in the box she was filling to take home. Ha! Not exactly the gold watch others got upon retirement, but it would have to do.

  Deena envisioned herself as Lara Croft: Tomb Raider—always ready to fight the good fight. In her mind, she would kick butt and take names; in reality, she would step aside and apologize. Still, she was always looking for ways to unleash her inner Lara. She even took karate at one time but gave up when she got smacked around by a six-year-old warrior princess.

  “You know,” Janice said, “this all started because you refused to cooperate with Principal Haskett. If you had just given his daughter that four-page spread in the yearbook like he asked, you’d still have a job.”

  “Four pages!” Deena shook her head and slammed the desk drawer closed. “No single student even gets two pages. The yearbook is not his personal scrapbook. Fair is fair.”

  Deena had considered just quitting when he made the unreasonable demand but mustered the strength to stand her ground. After several more meetings, Principal Haskett “suggested” that perhaps Deena’s talents could be more useful elsewhere. He said she could stay until the end of the school year and officially resign rather than be fired but only if she kept the information under wraps until school was out.

  Deena agreed, although she didn’t give a hoot about whether people knew she was canned. Everyone in the small town of Maycroft knew all their neighbors’ business anyway. So, she included the pages and turned in her resignation.

  “Whatever,” Janice said with a heavy eye roll. “Besides, you’re probably super burned out after all those years of teaching. I’m surprised you lasted this long.”

  The heat rose from Deena’s chest, up her neck, and landed in her cheeks. “Just how old do you think I am, Ms. Marshall?”

  “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

  Standing there in her power suit and heels, Janice Marshall was the complete opposite of Deena. Whereas Deena loved her teaching job, Janice was all business. She had taught health for the obligatory three years before becoming eligible for a job in administration. The students had liked her well enough, especially the boys. With her long brown locks and brooding dark eyes, she was one of those women who had perfected the hair-flip to her advantage early on in life.

  Deena, on the other hand, had always wanted to be a journalist. But it just wasn’t in the cards. She had been guided toward teaching by a college counselor and found herself in a high school classroom in the blink of an eye. She couldn’t believe that was more than thirty years ago.

  Deena balled her fists and put them on her hips. “Go ahead. Take your best guess.”

  “Judging by the dye job and those gray roots, I’d say sixty-five. Maybe seventy. Definitely old enough for social security and the senior discount at the movie theater.”

  Well, that didn’t go like I thought. Deena raised her chin. “I’m fifty-nine, Miss Congeniality. And you have a lot to learn if you want to be successful in the education business.”

  “Yeah, right. Check back with me in six or seven years when I’m a superintendent.”

  That was all she could take. Deena had lost all the fight she’d been able to muster for Janice Marshall. Now, surrendering her classroom keys to the principal’s chief stooge seemed like waving a white flag on her career. However, she still managed a pained, melancholy smile as she headed out of room 106 and down the hallway for the final time.

  Was this the end? Was she destined to spend the rest of her life in a rocking chair shooing the neighborhood kids off her front lawn?

  At that moment, Deena had no idea that one phone call would soon set her on an entirely different path.

  Chapter 2

  The Perry County Forensics Department consisted of two technicians and an intelligence analyst. Far from the sophisticated set-ups in big city police departments, the forensics lab mainly took fingerprints, gathered DNA samples, and bagged evidence to send to larger forensics contractors to be processed. Automobile accidents, burglaries, and the occasional cattle rustling kept the small team busy.

  Trey Simms was not surprised when the lab tech told him it would be several weeks before she could even look at his fifty-year-old skeleton. He hoped calling it a “high priority” for Sheriff Lowry would speed up the process, but she only sc
offed and said, “Everything is a high priority for Sheriff Lowry.”

  So, it came as a shock when less than a week later he got a message to call the lab about his skeleton from the closet.

  “Are you aware that your vic was shot twice in the back of the head?” the tech asked.

  Simms was very much aware, having spent several nights poring over the case files. The facts of the case were simple: A local farmer found the body in a low-lying area of his back forty in the southern part of the county. It was March, and the ground had begun to thaw. The victim was in his late twenties, according to the report. Due to the damp conditions, the body had badly decomposed and had been dragged—probably by coyotes—before it was found.

  The deputy recovered two bullet casings from a Model 10 Smith & Wesson along with the skeletal remains. The victim had no identification and no personal belongings. The only recognizable scrap of clothing was a tattered piece from what appeared to be a green raincoat. The color of the coat led the deputy to believe it was a woman’s garment. The report concluded that based on the size of the skeleton and the type of clothing found, the body was that of a female. The cause of death was gunshot wounds to the head, and the case was labeled a homicide.

  With a lack of sophisticated scientific technology in 1964, common sense proved to be as big a part of crime solving as DNA evidence was today.

  The report documented that over the next few months, numerous people were brought in to try to make an identification of Jane Doe. No one claimed the body, which was left inside the cold case closet to rot, along with the identities of the victim and the killer.

  “There’s not a lot left to work with here, Trey,” the tech said. “I doubt computer recognition software could even help. However, I think the forensic artist we used on the Sorenson case may be able to sculpt a face from the skull.”

  “Well, that’s good news, right?” The rookie was apprehensive, yet hopeful. Not only was the sheriff breathing down his neck on this case, he had a personal interest as well.

  The tech sounded skeptical. “That work costs big bucks, and we don’t have a family paying for it this time. Do you think the boss will sign off on it?”

  “I’ll talk to him and let you know.”