A GRAVE MISTAKE

  CASE FILES: POCKET-SIZED MURDER MYSTERIES

  RACHEL AMPHLETT

  Copyright © 2022 by Rachel Amphlett

  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.

  This is a work of fiction. While the locations in this book are a mixture of real and imagined, the characters are totally fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  The Case Files short story series

  Reading Order & Checklist

  Foreword

  A Grave Mistake

  About the Author

  THE CASE FILES SHORT STORY SERIES

  Nowhere to Run (A Detective Kay Hunter short story)

  Blood on Snow (A Detective Kay Hunter short story)

  The Reckoning

  The Beachcomber

  The Man Cave

  A Dirty Business

  The Last Super

  Special Delivery

  A Pain in the Neck

  Something in the Air

  A Grave Mistake

  The Last Days of Tony MacBride

  The Moment Before

  All Night Long

  Missed a book? Download the FREE Official Reading Order and Checklist to Rachel Amphlett’s books here

  Audiobook format also available

  FOREWORD

  An abridged version of A Grave Mistake first appeared in Mystery Weekly magazine. The unabridged version follows.

  A GRAVE MISTAKE

  It was the sound of his own panicked breathing that scared Ben the most.

  A late autumn sun collapsed beneath a line of naked hornbeam and oak, its rays shrivelling against a pale grey Oregon sky that receded through an expanse of tangled branches.

  The last tentacles of heat retreated from a dirt path, withered away under rotten ferns and bracken, then surrendered the woodland to damp biting cold.

  He tipped back his head and swore, the curse echoing off the thick trunks that surrounded him.

  A blackbird scuttled out from under a buckthorn shrub then took flight, its brittle parting cry rebuking him for the disturbance.

  Ahead, an algae-covered pond sat nestled within a grove of birch trees, taunting him.

  It was their third meeting within the space of forty minutes.

  The stench hadn’t improved since their last parting. The rancid aroma from the stagnant water wafted on the breeze, and Ben ran his eyes over the upside-down shopping cart in the middle of it, one wheel missing, the raw wound covered in detritus.

  He placed his hands on his hips, exhaled, and then turned his back on the fetid pool once more and took off down the next fork in the path, a renewed urgency in his stride.

  This route was narrower, twisted, less used.

  The boughs above his head crowded in as if curious to know who walked amongst them.

  Hazel saplings poked and prodded at his padded black jacket that looked great, but allowed every cold tentacle of wind to wrap its way around his body as he pushed his way through the thickening undergrowth.

  Leaf litter covered the muddy fringes of the path, colouring the route in ochre hues and sticking to leather uppers that glistened with an obsessive shine.

  He began to hum under his breath, a tune from his college years to fight against the silence encroaching with every step.

  His heart rate quickened at a gap in the trees, the promise of escape.

  He hurried, stumbled forward, broke through the branches that barricaded his way.

  Then stopped.

  In the glade, under a natural arch of oak and ash and accompanied by a choir of flies, was a grave.

  Fresh.

  Scuff marks scratched the dirt around it, scraped and scoured to create a hole, then backfilled in a hurry.

  Dead leaves covered the churned soil, a feeble attempt to hide the secrets beneath.

  He circled the shallow mound, his breath escaping in short sharp chokes, panic twisting at his chest.

  Ben swallowed.

  Somewhere off to his left, a twig cracked, the noise as loud as a shotgun as it echoed amongst the tree trunks.

  He bolted for a narrow path leading off to the right that soon became clogged with saplings and tendrils of ivy.

  Ben dropped his hands, and with a renewed energy began to swipe at the branches in his way, desperate to find a way through.

  Reaching a crossroads in the dirt, he spun around, hands clasped on top of his head, his gaze sweeping left and right.

  The late afternoon sun had turned to twilight now, shadows deepening and crawling towards him from the gloom between the undergrowth.

  He brought his hands to his mouth, cupped them around his lips and blew hard, then squinted through the trees.

  Pausing to pull out his cell phone, he held it aloft and snarled at the screen.

  There was no signal here, no way to check his location or work out where he went wrong.

  Ben’s gaze fell to the path as he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  He froze.

  Something had been dragged through here.

  Something heavy.

  He checked over his shoulder.

  The scuff marks continued east, two parallel lines carving an uneven path.

  Towards the grave.

  Lifting his chin, his eyes followed the scuff marks as they disappeared into the distance, heading west.

  Fear turned to desperation – maybe that was the way back to the park entrance.

  Maybe that was the way out.

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  Nobody followed.

  He set off, started humming again, a habit borne of nerves.

  No birds accompanied him now; no far-off calls and whistles reached his ears.

  Afraid to stop, afraid to register the silence that was so alien to him, Ben ploughed on, his pace quickening with every passing second.

  He broke into a run, swiping his hands at the thin reed-like saplings, ducking under low branches.

  Sweat beaded across his forehead, pooled between his shoulder blades as his lungs heaved from the exertion.

  Ben blinked as the trees began to thin out and the path began to widen.

  He could hear voices then.

  Close, so close.

  Just a little farther to go…

  Ben stumbled into the clearing beside a sign for car parking, his boots sliding on the gravel surface as he came to a halt and raised his hand to shield his eyes from blinding headlights.

  Two uniformed police officers turned to face him, their conversation cut short.

  The younger of the two officers rested a hand against his radio as it emitted a squawk, and called out.

  ‘Is this your vehicle?’

  Ben ran his hand through his hair, plucked out an errant twig that had caught in his fringe and gulped a lungful of air, his heart hammering.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  Voice calm, he edged closer.

  The older officer circled the car, the beam from his flashlight arcing over the windshield, the radiator grille, the license plate splashed with mud.

  The younger officer – McLaren, according to the stripe opposite his badge – repeated his question.

  ‘Is this your vehicle?’

  ‘It is. Is the park closed? I got lost.’

  Both men took a step back as he put his hand in his pocket, fingers twitching near their weapons.

  ‘Hands where we can see them, sir.’ The other one, Thomas, barked the words.

  ‘It’s just my keys.’ He jangled them, dangling them from his forefinger and thumb. ‘I need to get back – my wife will be wondering where I am.’

  Their expressions changed then, a flash of something flitting across McLaren’s features.

  ‘Can you open the trunk, sir?’

  Ben fumbled the keys on his first attempt, then aimed the fob at the car and blinked as the indicator lights flashed.

  Thomas moved to his side as he reached out for the lid, a hand outstretched. ‘Slowly.’

  A reluctant sigh escaped Ben, his shoulders slumped as he opened the trunk and McLaren stepped forward.

  His flashlight swung over the bloodied blanket, the discarded shoe, the cell phone with its cracked screen.

  All hers.

  All the things he planned to come back and dispose of once he finished digging the grave.

  ‘What have you done with your wife, Ben? Where did you bury her?’

  He choked out a laugh tinged with irony and regret.

  ‘How the hell would I know? I told you, I got lost.’

  * * *

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rachel Amphlett is a USA Today bestselling author of crime fiction and spy thrillers, many of which have been translated worldwide.

  Her novels are available in eBook, print, and audiobook formats from libraries and retailers as well as her website shop.

  A keen traveller, Rachel has both Australian and British citizenship.

  Find out more about Rachel’s books at: www.rachelamphlett.com.

 

 

  Rachel Amphlett, A Grave Mistake

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