Pretty dead, p.1
Pretty Dead, page 1
PRETTY DEAD
VICTORIA MATTSEN CRIME SERIES
BOOK 5
IFEANYI ESIMAI
Copyright © 2023 by Ifeanyi Esimai
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
eISBN: 978-1-63589-799-9
Print ISBN: 978-1-63589-800-2
Audio ISBN: 978-1-63589-801-9
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For Chinwe…Always.
The wind beneath my wings.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My heartfelt gratitude goes out to my family and friends, whose unwavering faith in me fueled this project from the very start.
I also want to extend a special thanks to a group of incredible individuals whose generous spirit has made an indelible impact on this project, and for that, I am forever grateful.
Erik S
Nneka Anaebonam
Craig Martelle
Jenn Davidson
Chinwe Anyamele
Obioha Emezie
Renee
Okechukwu Obua
Romeo Richards
Ikenna Emeghara
Charles Onunkwo
Adaeze
Every one of you has helped shape this journey in your own unique way, and I couldn't be more thankful. Your support has not only made these books a reality but has also inspired me as I continue to tell Detective Vikki Mattsen's story.
To all the readers, thank you for inviting Detective Vikki Mattsen into your lives. It's been a joy to share this adventure with you.
Here's to the stories yet to be told.
CONTENTS
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
About the Author
Next in Series - Dead Professor
PROLOGUE
Beauty queens seemed to fade into oblivion—it never crossed Paige Arden’s mind that missing queens turned into dead girls. You couldn’t become Miss America without participating in the process. Nor win the Power Ball jackpot without buying a ticket—Paige Arden wanted it all.
First, she needed a portfolio from a well-known photographer. She’d heard about small-town beauty queens hitting it big. Going to New York for a photo shoot had opened her eyes to the possibilities. It could be her.
At the studio, she saw girls living the life she imagined for herself down the road. They wore the best fashion designer outfits, Rolex watches, expensive jewelry, and rich boyfriends at their beck and call. The smell of success was in the air, and Paige inhaled much of it.
She could win Miss Sussex County, Miss New Jersey, then the coveted prize of all, Miss America.
“But you have to go for it,” Mark said while he snapped away with his Nikon. The mechanical double-shutter sound of the camera filled the air. “Pout your lips for me, honey.”
The camera made the now familiar whining sound.
“Beautiful! You are a natural.”
Snap. Snap.
“Make a face like you just tasted the best cheeseburger ever.” Mark laughed. “I know you don’t eat fast food.”
The camera whined.
“Yes!”
That was Saturday.
Sunday evening, Paige scanned her room in her small apartment and thought of the future.
As the reigning queen of St. Ives Beauty & Brains Pageant, she’d already seen firsthand the attention it brought. Men who were way above her pay grade suddenly noticed her. She’d showed up like a shooting star.
And most of all, they all wanted her. For the first time in her life, she could choose what she wanted and not be forced by circumstance.
She stood in front of her closet, took a deep breath, and blew it out. “Paige, what would it be?”
Her iPhone rang. She removed the blanket and reached for it on her nightstand. It was her mother, and she’d called a few times. Paige unplugged it from the charger.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Paige! About time. I’ve been trying to get hold of you. How was New York?”
“Great but exhausting. I’ve been sleeping all day. I didn’t know photo shoots were this demanding!”
“Well, that’s life,” her mother said. “Contrary to what people say, the best things in life are not free. You have to work for them. I’m glad you had fun. You took plenty of pictures?”
“Oh my God—a lot. Mark said I have the looks to go far in the industry. It was all up to me.”
Her mother paused. “And Mark is…?”
“The photographer. But it would take a lot of commitment, especially since I love my day job at the school, too.”
“I was going to ask you about that,” her mom said. “Well, you have time to think about it. We’ll talk some more when you come over.”
A glance at the wall clock told Paige she’d better get out of bed, shower, and get ready for her date.
Paige was in and out of the bathroom. She’d shampooed her hair and dried it. The shower was a good place to think. Now she had a better idea of what to do between her day job and becoming a super beauty queen.
Tonight she’d wear something simple. It was only dinner. A pair of distressed jeans and a black blouse. Cat-eye makeup and a light skin-tone foundation.
She slipped on her underthings and her clothes. Paige hadn’t worn her cowboy boots in a while. She wore a pair of cotton socks and was about to put on her boot when there was a knock on her door.
Paige checked the time. She wasn’t late yet. She walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Her lips parted in a smile. She removed the security chain, unlocked and opened the door.
She cocked her head and smiled. “Hey, you. Come in.” Paige turned and headed for her room. Behind her, the door clicked shut, and the lock turned. She reached for her cowboy boots.
“This is CNN.” The sound came from the TV.
Paige giggled. “Make yourself at home while I get into these boots. I have some juice in the fridge if you’re interested.”
She sat on her bed, her back to the door, and bent down to pull up the boot while she forced her foot down. One foot was in. Paige was working on getting the second boot in when she felt a presence behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder. “You came to help? I’m almost done. One leg to go.”
Paige’s blouse tail must have ridden up because she felt a cold, clammy hand on her waist.
She whirled. “What are you—?”
The fist caught her on the jaw—propelled her forward. Pain exploded in her head. She fell, landing on her side.
Paige got on her hands and knees. She tasted blood. “Oh my God… Why?” She sounded funny. Blood dripped from her mouth like the first raindrops before a downpour.
The kicks came in a relentless torrent. Her face, stomach, thighs, head— all were pummeled. A veil of darkness shrouded her before the world faded away.
CHAPTER ONE
Homicide Detective Victoria Mattsen, Vikki for short, stood in line at the coffee shop. The smell of java, freshly baked croissants, bacon, and eggs forced saliva into her mouth. She swallowed, hoping the line would move faster.
Three people were in front of her. The cashier repeated the order of the person she was attending to. “Medium French vanilla coffee, black. Egg and cheese on a buttered English muffin. Do you want it toasted? That will be…”
Vikki tuned out. She was dressed in a black pantsuit and black blouse. She subconsciously tugged down at her suit to make sure it hid her holstered Glock 19. She wondered what this week would be like at work.
She’d come a long way from her early twenties when she’d joined the police force. The murder of her friend, Alexis, and her dad, Mike Devoe, made her decide to join the police. On her first week as a rookie, an encounter with some criminals changed her life. She’d done things she ordinarily wouldn’t have done for the next ten years.
“I didn’t know I was going to meet you here,” said a familiar voice behind her.
She knew that voice. A tingle ran down her spine. Vikki smiled and turned. “Good morning, Dr. Brandon. There are no coincidences in life. If it were someone else, I would have believed that.”
Dressed in blue scrubs, he smiled and folded his hands over his chest, showing off bulging biceps. “No, I just stopped for coffee. I noticed the white Explorer, but there’s no way I would have known it was yours.”
Vikki placed her order and went to the pickup section. Dr. Brandon joined her a few minutes later.
“How’s your evening looking?”
“I get off around five, six, or seven…depending.”
“Wow, that sounds like you might end up sleeping at work. What about we get dinner together? Do you like Chinese food? I know this place that has the best Chinese cuisine ever.”
Before Vikki could second-guess herself, she said, “Why not.”
Dr. Brandon smiled. “I’ll text you the address. It’s a date.”
Heat rushed to Vikki’s cheeks. She nodded.
“Victoria!” one of the baristas called out.
Vikki picked up her food and left. She felt his eyes on her back as heat.
She got in her car and headed toward the police department when her cell phone rang. She looked at the screen. It was Jody, the police department’s admin.
Jody was sixty-five and widowed. SIPD and her cats were all the family she wanted and needed to keep going. Jody had been at the office longer than everyone else and knew where the bones were buried. She was the person to talk to if you had questions about the police department or needed favors.
“Hello, Jody.”
“Vikki, I hope I caught you at a good time. We got a call from St. Martins Academy. One of their teachers failed to show up for class this morning.”
“Maybe she took a personal day.”
“That’s what I said, too. But they said she’s dedicated to her students and wouldn’t leave them hanging. She’s also the current reigning Miss St. Ives Beauty and Brains Pageant.”
“Text me the address. I’ll head over there. Could you let Gomez know, too?”
“He might get there before you. I called him first out of habit.”
“That’s fine. Talk later.” Vikki hung up. A beauty queen and a teacher. Vikki hoped it was nothing. Hoping she’d slept in or had an errand to run. But, from her experience, when people were worried enough to call the police, most of the time, they were right.
CHAPTER TWO
At nine-thirty a.m., Vikki drove her white Ford Explorer into the parking lot of the victim's apartment complex—her heart sank. Four police cruisers were stationed in front of the building with strobe lights flashing. That could only mean bad news.
Vikki attached her badge to a lanyard and hung it around her neck. She stepped out of her car and scrutinized the small crowd in front of the building. Vikki brought out her phone and shot a video of them. Sometimes the perp returned to gloat over their handiwork.
She approached the entrance and turned the doorknob. Locked. “Christ.” One of those doors. Either you knew the combination or had to be buzzed in if you didn’t live there.
On her right on the wall was a panel with numbers and buttons. She pushed the button for 302. Jody had texted her the number. The uniform there would probably ignore it.
She waited a moment, then contemplated pushing all the buttons, hoping one of the tenants would buzz her in, thinking it was the mailman. A movement inside caught her eye.
A man approached the door, eyebrows raised.
Vikki untangled her ring pendant necklace from the lanyard of her shield and pressed her badge against the glass door. The man walked faster and opened the door.
“Morning. I’m Bill Scott, the apartment manager.” He was middle-aged, bald, with a considerable girth.
Vikki stepped in. “Thanks. I’m Detective Victoria Mattsen, SIPD.”
They shook hands.
“I thought I’d be here to help the police get in and out of the building,” Bill Scott said. “I’m still in shock.”
Vikki nodded. She took in the foyer with locked pigeonhole mailboxes on one wall. The place smelled of new carpet, coffee, and garbage. She headed for the elevator door on the wall to her right.
Vikki pointed at a white camera screwed into the wall. “Does this work?”
Bill Scott shook his head. “No, it’s a dummy. A deterrent. Now, I wish we’d installed the real thing.”
Vikki offered him her card. “Please call if you remember anything.”
Bill Scott fumbled in his pocket and offered Vikki a card. “Reciprocity.”
Vikki rode the elevator to the third floor. She stepped out and followed the sign on the wall indicating which way to go. The closer she got to the apartment, the more the air smelled like iron syrup.
An officer standing in front of the apartment smiled and gave her a logbook.
“Thank you.” Vikki signed and handed it back. She ducked under the yellow police tape and stepped in.
The door led into the living room. On the right was the dining area and the kitchen.
A modeling and beauty pageant magazine on the coffee table in the living room got her attention. The open magazine on top, a modeling piece was dog-eared—a destination photo shoot opportunity.
Had she been thinking of a modeling gig? Peeking out from underneath the magazine was a math textbook. Math and modeling?
Facing the coffee table was a three-seater leather couch propped up against the wall. The dining area was a mini round table with three chairs. A laptop was open on it.
A man and woman in CSU vests walked methodically, dusting for fingerprints and collecting fibers. A piece of the carpet was cut off and bagged.
Vikki hadn’t seen any signs of struggle. Voices came from a room to her right, and she headed in that direction.
“Runway!”
“It was Mike Gomez, her partner since she’d joined SIPD. He was on track to retire in a couple of years and planned to sail the world with his wife after. With every homicide case that came their way, he ensured that Vikki was the lead detective.
“This is right up your alley,” Gomez said. “Models and beauty queens.”
Vikki, many years ago, as a college student in Paris, had done some modeling on the side. Her friends at the police academy had found out and baptized her Runway. The name hadn’t stuck, but now and then, someone threw it out.
She ignored Gomez’s remarks and went straight to business. “What do we have?”
Gomez shook his head and waved her over to the side of the bed. “It’s brutal.”
Vikki caught sight of the bedroom wall and froze. It could pass as a canvas for the beginning of a Jackson Pollock color spatter done in dark red. The smell of blood plus a sweet fruity-rosy smell like raspberry was overpowering. Vikki glanced around for a dish of fruits or roses in a vase. Found none. She focused on the victim.
“The victim is Paige Arden, twenty-two years old. A high school math teacher at St. Martins Academy. And also the reigning Miss St. Ives Beauty and Brains.”
Vikki remembered the math textbook with the modeling magazines and understood. Paige Arden had two passions.
“I think the perp came in from the living room and attacked her. She was probably knocked out, stabbed, then strangled.”
Vikki hoovered over the naked blood-smeared form of Paige Arden. She lay on her back, blue eyes glazed over, staring into space, not seeing. One sock remained on her left foot, the other wrapped around her neck. Her torso, abdomen—all over her body were covered in stab wounds. They looked like someone had drawn short straight lines on her with a permanent marker.
Her left shoulder was raised. Vikki went closer. They stooped down and caught a glimpse of the handle of a knife. The blade was probably buried deep in her back.
A pair of cowboy boots lay on each side of the foot of the bed. One foot was splattered with blood. Her jeans, blouse, panties, and bra were strewn across the floor.
Vikki swallowed. She had seen a lot of gruesome since becoming a homicide dick. But this was one of the worst. It reminded her of another scene twelve years ago when she’d returned home on St. Patrick’s Day and met a similar situation. Her best friend, Alexis, lay brutalized.
