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ONE TOO MANY RELEASE DAY

I’m not sure why I set out to write a mystery/suspense, ONE TOO MANY, except to say David and Randi wanted to come out for another adventure. They are two of my favorite characters: Randi with her down-to-earth sense of fun and her fear of flying and David with his determination to protect the woman he loves at all costs. It’s told in first person when in Randi’s POV and third for everyone else’s.

ONE TOO MANY, © 2008 Marie-Nicole Ryan Samhain Publishing, Ltd. All rights reserved.

EXCERPT:
My hands shook as I dug around in my purse for my cell phone. I yanked it out and punched the speed dial for David’s cell.
Thank heavens, he answered quickly. “Miss me already?”
I tried to speak, really. But I couldn’t get much more out than gasping puppy-like sounds.
“Miranda? What’s wrong?” By the way, only David and my mother called me Miranda. I was always Randi to everyone else.
“H-hurry.”
Through the phone, the sound of his rapid breathing and footsteps told me he was on the way.
I glanced around me. Was the killer still here? The blood was still red…fresh. I eased away from the body. Had I touched anything?
I literally felt the adrenaline surging throughout my body. My heart hammered and thrummed like the roll of tympani. Have I mentioned that I’m also a musician?
The doorbell jingled. Thank God. I closed the phone and shoved it into my pocket.
“Miranda!”
“Back here.” It came out as a whisper. I tried again. “H-here.”
He followed the sound of my voice and found me. I rushed into his arms and shook until I could breathe. “He’s d-dead.”
He looked over my shoulder. “So I see. Touch anything?”
I shook my head. “Just the splat of the Hepplewhite. I assure you I had no desire to touch anything else.” Good grief, I was starting to talk like my husband, too.
David took his cell and punched in nine-nine-nine. “DCI French from the Metropolitan Police C.I.D. here. My wife and I have come upon a homicide in Greenway Antiques. Male, forties, mutilated. Of course, we’ll wait.”
He held me tight, and I clung to him as if I were drowning. “It’ll be all right.” His tone was calm and reassuring. With his strong arms around me, nothing bad would ever happen. I believed it with all my heart.
“But what if—?”
“You won’t be considered a suspect. You’ve only been in the shop a couple of minutes. Whoever did this is covered in blood.”
I shivered. “Thanks. That’s an image I can do without.”
Within two minutes of his call, three local police cars came to squealing stops in front of the shop. Two uniformed constables and a plainclothes detective entered. “DCI French?” asked the detective.
“Yes. My identification.” David slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his warrant card. No surprise there. He’s an absolute pro through and through—of course, he’d have it with him…even on our honeymoon.
“Detective Sergeant Tower,” he said by way of introduction. “This is your wife, sir?” He nodded toward me.
“Yes, Sergeant, Miranda Raines,” I said, now that I was able to breathe more or less regularly. I had to crane my neck at the good sergeant. He was even taller than my David, who is six-two on a good day.
“Touch anything?”
I held up my hands and showed him the front and back. “Just the Hepplewhite. That’s all, I think. I certainly didn’t touch him.”
“The victim, Sergeant—who was he?” David asked.
“Fellow by the name of James Riley Stubbs, proprietor of this shop, and quite well-known for spreading his charm around with the local ladies.”
“Must’ve spread it one too many times,” muttered the older of the constables, his long face twisted into a sneer. “Hmph. Stubbs, he weren’t so stubby.”
David arched an eyebrow. “If you’ll note, gentlemen, the two body parts have been amputated and reversed, along with multiple stab wounds. A very personal attack.”
“You examined the body?”
“No, only what I observed, Sergeant.”
The sergeant spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Coroner will be here shortly.”
They seemed to have forgotten me. “Excuse me. If you’d like to question me somewhere—anywhere but here—I’d appreciate some fresh air.”
The DS nodded. “Of course. Ms. Raines—uh, French?”
“French.” I smiled at David. “We’re newlyweds, Detective Sergeant. I’m not quite used to my married name yet.”
“We’re on our honeymoon. Staying at the inn,” David said. I guessed he was trying to hurry the DS along and get me away from the scene, and I was very much in favor of that scenario.
“Right, sir.” The detective sergeant turned to the younger of the constables. “See Mrs. French to the station. Get her set up with some tea or coffee. She looks pretty shaken.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” I swallowed. “I’ll be more than happy to answer any questions you have.”
David turned to me. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. I knew what was coming next. “Yes, maybe you should call your office and stick around to see if they need your help,” I suggested.
A wry grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. “You know me entirely too well, don’t you?” His words came soft as a whisper. “Sorry, luv.”
“You’re a detective, so go on and detect.” I shrugged to let him know it was okay our honeymoon was probably over. After all, he was mine for life.
Eyes shining with love, he rewarded me with a grateful smile. “Sergeant? With your permission?”
“Happy to oblige, Chief Inspector. A simple matter of courtesy.”
With that, the constable nodded. “Ready, Mrs. French?”
“More than ready.”

*

On the short and somewhat bumpy ride to the police station, I decided to try my hand at a little interrogation. “Your partner said something about the victim’s spreading his charm around? I’m not a detective, but that sounds like maybe a jealous husband or another woman didn’t like it?”
The constable was in his early twenties or close enough. Cute too, with reddish-blond hair cut short and bright blue eyes. But of course, he couldn’t compare with my husband.
“My partner spoke out of turn earlier,” he said. “Should’ve watched his words. Sergeant will have someone’s head before it’s over.”
“Oh, I don’t want to get you in trouble, but with the—uh, mutilations, it was difficult to tell what he looked like before. Was he handsome?”
He kept his eyes on the road, but he was in the mood to talk. “Pardon me for saying so, but the bloody fellow thought he was a gift to the women around here. Not a bad looking bloke…I guess.” He shrugged.
“Had he lived in the Green all his life?”
“Not by half. They say he used to have a posh antiques store on Portobello Road in London. Moved here about five years ago. Bought the shop from old Mrs. Lovelace’s son after she died.”
“Now why would he have left his posh shop and moved here? Not that the Green isn’t a perfectly lovely village… It is.”
“Haven’t a clue. I leave the detective stuff like that up to the detective sergeant.”
“I try to leave it to my husband, too, but I don’t always succeed.”
The constable signaled and turned left off the cobbles onto a road with a smoother surface. “Newlyweds, I understand?”
“Yes. We’re on our honeymoon.” I watched a red flush creep up the constable’s neck.
I wanted to giggle, but I coughed instead. “Are you married, Constable?”
“No, ma’am.” He flushed even redder.
We pulled up in front of the local police station, ending his embarrassment and my interrogation. The station was brick, a long two-storey building without any real charm, but then police stations aren’t necessarily known for their charm, are they?

I hope you enjoy.
Marie-Nicole Ryan
Marie’s Books