Murder Mayhem and Mama by christie craig
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my agent Kim Lionetti of BookEnds whose support and guidance is just what this writer needs. Thanks for helping me whip this book into shape. To Faye Hughes, my first reader, who isn’t afraid of my scary first drafts. Thanks for the help, but mostly thanks for the friendship. To Susan Muller, Teri Thackston and Suzan Harden: thank ya’ll for the support, the friendship, the critiques, and a heck of a lot of laughter. You will never know how much you mean to me. To Jody Payne, a woman whose courage and strength inspires me, whose writing support and friendship is invaluable.
To Rosa Brand, AKA, R.M. Brand, whose brilliance as a graphic artist stuns me. Thanks for your support, for your fabulous videos and for the newfound friendship. Thanks to Kathleen Adey for the editing, and support with publicity; you make meeting my deadlines an easier task.
MURDER, MAYHEM AND MAMA
Christie Craig
Prologue
“Do you want to die, old man?” One of the four ski-masked men jammed the cold barrel of a gun against Farley Goldstein’s throat.
Farley stared into the dark eyes peering out of the mask. Between jolts of panic, he remembered asking himself that very question this morning. Did he want to die?
“Open the safe or I’m gonna blow your head off.” The armed stranger latched onto a handful of Farley’s starched shirt.
The gunman slammed Farley against the wall. He slid to the floor, pain vibrating through his head. As lights exploded behind his eyelids, fear clawed at his chest—not fear of death, but fear of dying.
The flashes hadn’t stopped when the biggest assailant stepped forward. “Easy. He knows we’re serious. Don’t you, ol’ man?”
Farley nodded, but he couldn’t seem to talk. The shattering of glass echoed as the other two men swung baseball bats against the locked display cases filled with the most expensive pieces of jewelry. Twisting his wedding ring around his knuckle, Farley thought about his wife’s ring that he always carried in his shirt pocket.
The meaner guy with fat fingers crouched down and screamed, “Open the effing safe!”
When the assailant slammed Farley against the wall the second time, his hearing aid squealed. The whiteness that seemed to come from his brain exploded again. He stared into the sheet of light. The shapes started taking form. Fat Finger’s lips were moving, but Farley didn’t hear the words.
Then he saw her. She appeared out of nowhere. Like a. . .
“Wow.” She stood looking at the case of diamond rings. Farley reached up to touch the ring nestled over his heart. Beth, his wife, had come to take him home. Oh, how he’d missed her these last few years. But his image cleared, and he realized the redhead wasn’t Beth.
The woman looked up at him. “I like the chocolate diamond. I’ve always been a chocoholic.”
Holding a cigarette, she turned and focused the big fellow and frowned. “Weasel.” She blew smoke in his face. “They say second-hand smoke can kill you. I hope they’re right.”
The big guy waved a hand in front of his face and looked around the room in an odd way.
“You’re not going to hurt my girl.” After a second, the woman turned to meet Farley’s eyes again. “I may not look like I can take him on—” she waved her cigarette in the air, “—but nothing pisses a mama off more than some nitwit going after her kid. I’ll neuter his butt when he’s sleeping. He’ll wake up and be a nutless wonder.” She moved closer to Farley, walking in her high heels, her hips swayed, and the bracelets dangling on her wrist jingled as she moved.
Farley just stared. Something wet oozed down his brow, sweat or blood, he didn’t know which. “Who are you?” She didn’t belong with these guys.
“Who do you think I am?” Fat Fingers screamed.
The woman knelt and touched Farley’s hand. Oddly, the attacker didn’t even look at her. Her touch sent a wave of warmth through him. “Just a ‘not ready.’ I have someone’s balls to collect before I…dive into the light, do my last tango, or make the big leap into the hereafter. Or whatever it is they call it.” She smiled.
“You’re dead?” he asked.
“Say what?” one of his attackers asked.
“Yup. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it?” answered the woman. Pursing her lips, she spoke around her cigarette. “But I heard when I cross over, it’ll be different. And don’t worry, your sweet Beth’s waiting on you. But first, I need a favor. Open the safe and then...”
Farley listened and then opened his eyes. Had he fallen asleep? The woman was gone. Had he been dreaming? Only imagined her? Was she an angel? But what kind of angel smoked and talked about cutting men’s balls off? He watched as one of the other men lunged forward.