Elites (The Bax Mysteries Book 3) - Patrick Hodges

Cozy Mystery Novel With A Psychic Male Protagonist

Elites (The Bax Mysteries Book 3) by Patrick Hodges

Book excerpt

Following two straight days of bombshells, revelations, and soul-searching, Christmas Eve came and went with mercifully little drama.

Piper and I worked the opening shift at Hill O’ Beans together, after which she headed home for a change of clothes and her daily dad-check. I spent the twilight hours passing out presents to various smiling neighbor kids, including Cheyanne and Crescent.

I delivered my gifts to Big and Little Forrester within minutes of Gina getting home, as well as returning her china and tableware. Trina tore into her present immediately, squealing in delight at the gold-plated name-necklace and the two new video games that greeted her when she opened the box. Gina unwrapped her gift with far more decorum, but the beaming smile she gave me when she saw the first-edition copy of The Joy of Cooking rivaled her daughter’s in radiance. I can’t wait to use the Ninja Foodi pressure-cooker they got me in return.

Dinner followed the gift exchange. The mood was so festive and cheery that I couldn’t bring myself to dampen it by bringing up my impending field trip. I have no doubt my aura broadcast my conflicting thoughts like neon lights, but Gina didn’t call me on it. I made a vow to catch them up on family developments once the Yuletide season is behind us.

In order to facilitate a timely start for our road trip, Piper again spent the night at my place. Though our evening didn’t involve as much boot-knockin’—ahem—as the previous night, a good time was had. We woke up early, snuggled for a while…and polished off an entire box of Cap’n Crunch. An hour later, we were on our way.

I flash her a smile as we cruise up I-17, which she returns.

We haven’t spoken much since leaving Phoenix city limits. Instead, she filled the dead space by plugging her cell into her car stereo and letting her road-trip playlist wash over me. It’s a great mix of contemporary pop and retro classics, with—thank God—not one boy band.

We’re an hour into our journey when my own cell rings. I dig it out and check the caller ID. “It’s Natalie.”

Piper nods, shutting off the music.

I answer the call. “Hey, Natalie. You’re on speaker.”

“Good morning, Detective,” Piper adds.

“Morning, guys,” Natalie says. “Bax, I wanted to let you know that I picked up the gift you left for me at the coffee shop.”

“Oh, good,” I say. “Did you open it?”

“I did.” A long pause ensues. “Is…this figurine supposed to be me?”

I chuckle. “Grey blazer, dark slacks, badge, gun…who else do you think it is?”

Another pause. “There’s no mouth.”

“It’s a Funko Pop.” I roll my eyes hard enough that I hope Natalie hears it. “It’s not supposed to have a mouth.”

“Why is she scowling?”

Piper chortles under her breath.

“Because she really hates crime,” I say with a tinge of playful sarcasm.

I feel rather than see the smile play over the detective’s face. “It’s…really cute, Bax. Thank you. I’m putting it on my desk so she can keep an eye on me.”

“You’re working today?” Piper asks.

“Crime doesn’t take holidays. And like Bax said, I really hate crime.”

I grin. “I pity the criminals, then.”

“Speaking of which…I have a Christmas present of my own to deliver,” she says triumphantly. “We found Mason Crenshaw.”

This announcement surprises me so much I almost drop the phone. “You did?”

“Affirmative. His uncle’s plan was to bring Mason to his girlfriend’s house in Provo, but Mason convinced him to make a side-stop at the Grand Canyon. As soon as he passed the entry gate, we had him.”

“Is Mason okay?” Piper asks.

“For the most part. Mr. Gorman told his nephew that they were on some spontaneous Christmas vacation. But Mason’s now back with his parents, and Mr. Gorman is in custody.”

“That’s great, Detective.” I hold up my palm, which Piper high-fives.

“Yes, it is. The department thanks you for your help.”

A tingle of pride shoots through me, but I tamp it down. “Any news on the Redbird?”

“Sadly, no. Tomorrow, CSI Director Lovett is going to take a team back to do one more sweep of the warehouse where Mr. Muir’s body was found. I’m going with them. We’re not hopeful, but you never know.”

“Well, let me know if you need my help again,” I volunteer.

“Will do.”

“Thanks again for calling. Merry Christmas, Natalie.”

“Feliz Navidad,” Piper adds.

Natalie laughs. It’s a welcome sound, given how rarely it happens. “Feliz Navidad. Talk soon.” Then she ends the call.

Piper reaches over, squeezes my hand. “How about that?”

The smile still hasn’t left my face. “How about that.”

“It kinda sucks that that kid will never know what you did for him.”

I dig a granola bar from the bag of snacks we purchased before we left town and bite off a chunk. “Ahh, it’s okay. I didn’t get into this racket for the recognition, anyway.”

Piper opens the GPS app on her cell. According to the map, the hospital’s only twenty minutes away.

Twenty minutes away from Mom.

Ugh.

I take another bite, hoping to reclaim the good mood I had only seconds ago, but the ray of holiday sunshine has already become obscured by the grim cloud of death.

I always knew, deep down, that I’d have to deal with my mom again at some point, and that situation would likely involve her dying. I guess I just figured by the time I got the news, I’d be a middle-aged man who had long since left his childhood trauma behind him.

Nope.

Some people are lucky. They can go years, even decades, without losing a friend or family member. Even when they do, they’re usually fortunate enough to not be in the room when it happens.

Not me, though. When AJ slipped and fell onto that broken beer bottle, I was right there. Harold Crane died, taken out by a police sniper’s bullet, while he was trying to kill me. I even got to be present when Great-Grandpa Amos, who passed away before I was born, sacrificed his existence as a wandering spirit to save me from Tim.

I’m eighteen years old, for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t have to deal with this much death.

Maybe I am cursed.

“Does Dwayne know we’re coming?” Piper asks, breaking into my thoughts.

“I texted him last night that we’d be up by mid-morning. I’ll let him know we’re almost there.” I shoot Dwayne a text that we’re fifteen minutes out. He responds within moments. “He’ll meet us in the main reception area.”

“Okay.”

The last few miles seem to take forever. By the time Piper pulls into the parking lot of Prescott Valley Medical Center, stark finality has cocooned me like a second skin. There aren’t many cars in the parking lot, probably due to it being Christmas Day. I spot Dwayne’s pickup near the west entrance and direct Piper to park next to it.

She shuts off the engine, unbuckles her seatbelt, and turns to me. “Are you ready?”

I pause before answering. “I don’t know.”

“No matter what happens, I’m here for you, okay? If your mom decides to get nasty, we’ll just leave. Sound good?”

I lose myself in her sympathetic eyes. Little by little, steely resolve squelches the turmoil in my gut. “Sounds good.”

With each step I take toward the entrance, it feels like an invisible forcefield is pushing me back. If only to escape the frigid cold, I plow forward, exhaling when the automatic doors slide closed behind us.

The ambient warmth of the reception area envelops me as I take the room in. It looks like the staff made an effort to Christmas the place up. Long strings of green and red tinsel hang from the walls and the reception desk. A fake tree with obviously fake presents is tucked into one corner. Crayon drawings of Santa Claus, reindeer, and nativity scenes take up one section of wall. “Let It Snow,” sung by some long-dead crooner, issues from the speakers above our heads.

Apart from the white-coated receptionist, there’s only one person in the waiting room—a thickset man in a green baseball cap sitting in a chair in the far corner. As I blow on my hands to warm them, he peeks over the rim of his newspaper and meets my gaze for several seconds. His brow furrows briefly, then he disappears behind his paper again.

Dwayne enters the lobby through an inner door, smiles briefly, then approaches us. “You made it.”

“Yeah.” I extend my hand, but Dwayne’s remain in the pockets of his black sport coat. Embarrassed, I retract it. “This is my girlfriend, Piper.”

Piper grasps my hand in hers. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Dwayne casts a glance at the guy in the corner, frowns, then faces us. “You picked a good time to arrive.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He sighs. “Amy…well, she gets weaker with each passing day. She’s being fed intravenously. She barely has the strength to sit up without assistance. She’s only awake and alert for a few hours per day. The rest of the time, she’s in a sleep that it’s difficult to rouse her from. Fortunately, she woke up about ten minutes ago.”

I nod. “Does she know I’m coming?”

“Yes. I told her last night after you texted me.”

I exchange a glance with Piper. “How does she feel about me being here?”

Dwayne scratches his beard. “Honestly, it’s tough to tell. Ever since her surgery, her emotions have been…blunted. I know she still feels them, but it’s like all the dials are turned down to zero. If I’m reading her right, I think she’s pleased you’re here.”

This should bring me relief, but it doesn’t. I know from experience how deceptive Mom’s moods can be. “I guess we’ll see in a minute.”

The receptionist—whose expression is the opposite of jolly—eyes me warily as Piper and I sign the visitor’s log. One scan of my I.D., and Dwayne’s vouching for me, is enough for her to grant me permission to follow Dwayne from the room.

The combined odors of hospital soap and disinfectant hit me hard as the three of us shuffle down a long corridor and through another set of doors. I hate those smells. It’s like they’re trying so hard to cover up the stench of sickness that it ends up making it worse. I hold my breath in a vain hope that it will negate the aroma.

Dwayne greets several nurses and orderlies by name as we pass by, stopping outside Room 105. “I’ll just see if she’s still awake,” he says, slipping inside.

“Do you want me to wait here?” Piper asks.

I take the opportunity to pull her into a hug. I feel her strength pass into me as her arms encircle my waist. “No. We do this together. If that’s okay.”

“Of course.” She looks up at me, and we engage in a sweet kiss.

“Thank you…for everything.” It’s not enough, but it’s all I have.

Her mouth curls into a half-smile. It’s the last push I need.

Dwayne emerges from Mom’s room. “She’s ready.” He checks his watch. “Look, I haven’t eaten today, and the cafeteria’s open until one. Can you meet me there when you’re finished?”

“Sure,” I say.

He nods, says, “Good luck,” then strides back the way we came.

I stare at the door to Mom’s room, which is slightly ajar. I expel one breath, then another.

“You got this, Bax,” Piper says.

I got this.

I got this.

One final glance at Piper, and I step through the doorway.

Book Details

AUTHOR NAME: Patrick Hodges

BOOK TITLE: Elites (The Bax Mysteries Book 3)

GENRE: Mystery

SUBGENRE: Cozy Mystery / Psychic Mystery

PAGE COUNT: 280