Run from Nightmare: A Delilah West Thriller: 2 (Delilah West Thriller Series) - Softcover

O'Callaghan, Maxine

9781941298275: Run from Nightmare: A Delilah West Thriller: 2 (Delilah West Thriller Series)

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ISBN 10: 1941298273 ISBN 13: 9781941298275

Publisher: Brash Books, 2014

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"One of the first of the modern women PIs and  also one of the grittiest," Los Angeles Times  

Before Kinsey Millhone, Sharon McCone and V.I. Warshawski, there was Delilah West, the sensitive, gutsy and resourceful private eye who shattered the boundaries of mystery fiction…

RUN FROM NIGHTMARE

When thirty-year-old Janet Valek dashes off to some small desert town and doesn’t come back, her worried family hires PI Delilah West to check up on her. Delilah gladly accepts the mundane case. Delilah is still reeling from hunting down her husband’s killer and has as buried herself in routine cases ever since. The more routine the better. But it turns out that Janet has vanished, and when corpses turning up dead. Delilah fears Janet may be in a shallow grave…and discovers that there are people who would like to put the feisty PI in one, too.

The second unforgettable Delilah West thriller from Maxine O’Callaghan, Shamus Award nominee, and recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Private Eye Writers of America.

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About the Author

Author of the groundbreaking Delilah West private eye series Private Eye Writers of America Lifetime Achievement Award Winner Shamus, Anthony and Bram Stoker Award Nominee Maxine O'Callaghan was born in Tennessee in 1937 and grew up in the boot heel of Missouri as a sharecropper's child. She was the first in her large extended family to finish high school and left a few days after graduation with ten dollars and a bus ticket for Memphis. She went from there to Miami where she joined the Marine Corp Reserve and then to Chicago where she went on active duty for a while and got her first taste of California during basic training at the Recruit Depot in San Diego. In 1972 she moved with her husband and two children to Orange County, CA, a long way from the cotton fields of her childhood. As a stay-at-home mom she began her writing career with short stories, including one to Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine about a private detective named Delilah West, which predates both Marcia Muller and Sue Grafton's entry into the female PI genre. She published thirteen novels and a collection of short stories. She has been nominated for both the Anthony and Bram Stoker award. Her novels and short fiction featuring Delilah West were honored by the Private Eye Writers of America with their lifetime achievement award, The Eye, for her contribution to the field.

Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Run From Nightmare

A Delilah West Thriller

By Maxine O'Callaghan

Brash Books, LLC

CHAPTER 1

I parked behind my office building about two o'clock that Wednesday afternoon, peeled my legs off the vinyl seats and slammed the door with relief. Somewhere this late-September afternoon was brisk and cool, full of swirling leaves and hints of winter. In Southern California the Santa Ana winds screamed down the mountains, honing the air to sinus-crackling clarity and sucking the remaining moisture from dry grass and scorched brush on the hillsides.

I picked my way across the garbage-strewn alley, ducked into the back entrance and headed straight for the soft-drink machine that whined in a dark corner. It gulped four quarters before it grudgingly rattled a Coke can down the chute. I wrapped my hands around the icy aluminum as I climbed upstairs and thought longingly of my cool office.

Beneath the faded gold-leaf lettering on my door that reads West & West Detective Agency, the custodian had taped a warning: No air-conditioning. Overloaded circuits.

I dug out my key and opened the door, muttering profanities at the useless window unit that cut off any hope of a breeze.

Fifteen minutes, I promised myself, propping open the door. Even my two-finger typing ought to finish the report in that length of time, and then I could get the hell out of here.

I kicked off my shoes, stripped off my panty hose and dug out a pair of sandals I keep in the bottom desk drawer, wondering why I'd bothered to dress up. A tailored skirt and blouse might be appropriate attire for getting statements from doctors on a personal-injury suit, but the receptionists who politely took the checks and informed me that "Doctor's busy right now," were not impressed.

Holding the cold can against my forehead, I picked up the telephone and dialed my answering service.

"Rita?" I propped the phone between my ear and shoulder and broke a fingernail prying up the tab on my cola. "Ouch, dammit ... it's Delilah."

"Is that any indication of the way your day is going?"

"Pretty close." I took a long, cooling swallow. "Any messages?"

"No, but ... Delilah? Are you going to be there for a while?"

"Just long enough to finish a report."

"Will you wait for me? I'll leave right away. I need to talk to you."

"Come to my apartment. I have visions of cold drinks and cold salads."

"No, kiddo, I can't. It's ..." She hesitated. "Well, it's business. Your kind of business. Can't talk now. There's another call. See you in half an hour."

"Rita?" I began, but she disconnected the line.

Weird, I thought as I slowly recradled the phone.

I drank half the can of Coke and wondered about Rita Braddock. Ours had been strictly a business relationship until my husband, Jack, the other half of West & West Detective Agency, was killed. Jack was an orphan, my immediate family was dead and most of our friends were scattered. I had needed somebody desperately. There was a big hole in my life, and Rita did her best to fill it. We became closer than friends. She was more like family. I clenched my fists as a painful tide of memories swept me back to that black, bitter time ... It took an enormous effort to pull my thoughts away.

How much did I really know about Rita? Basic statistics, of course. She was in her mid-forties, lived in a one-room apartment behind her office and was as much alone as I was. She spoke only once about her ex-husband. Tersely she described how he deserted her and their five-year-old son, lived a short, alcoholic life and died in the gutter. The boy, Michael, had been killed in the fall of Saigon. She mentioned a sister who lived back East, but I got the impression they weren't close.

Friends? Enemies? Lovers? I ought to know, I told myself, remembering with a twinge of guilt how long it had been since I had made an effort to see her.

These past months I'd been like some terrified creature, inching its way out of a hole, too wrapped up in my own pain to notice anybody else. What had happened to Rita during that time? Why did she need a private detective?

It was useless to speculate. I'd know soon enough. Meanwhile I dug out my notes, cranked a sheet of paper into the typewriter and stared at it morosely. Twenty minutes later I ripped the report out of the typewriter, scrawled my signature at the bottom of the page and stuffed it into an envelope.

"Thank God," I said and tilted the last of the Coke into my mouth. It was lukewarm and sticky-sweet, but I drank it anyway.

Just as I dropped the can into the wastebasket, Rita walked through the door.

"Jesus," she said. "You planning to grow orchids in here? I thought you had the air conditioner fixed."

"I did, but ... ah, the hell with it."

I went over and punched the "on" button. The unit whined sluggishly to life and cool air drifted from the vents.

Rita closed the door and sat down across the desk from me. Red hair, cropped short, curled around her freckled, square face. She had long since come to terms with the fact that her size sixteen derriere would never fit into size ten designer jeans, so she was sensibly dressed in a wrap skirt and a blouse that was large enough not to strain over her breasts.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I called this meeting," she said with a nervous grin.

"The thought did occur to me."

"I want you to find somebody, Delilah. Her name is Janet Valek and she —"

I shook my head as I remembered the last time I'd gone to look for a girl, a simple missing persons case that turned into a nightmare of death. "No, Rita. I don't take cases like that anymore."

"I noticed. You've been hiding out here for months behind a lot of dull routine."

"I like it," I muttered.

"Crap. You're running scared."

"Diplomacy was always your finest quality."

She ignored my remark. "Delilah, I know you went through hell when Jack was murdered. You blamed yourself for his death. But you never gave up until you found his killer."

"Oh, yeah, I was brilliant."

"Kiddo, it's over and done with. It's time you got on with your work. I need you, and dammit," she added sharply, "you owe me one."

She was right about that. Her loyalty had kept me out of jail long enough to finish that investigation — to expiate my guilt. What else could I say? "All right, Rita, I'll listen. But no promises."

She took a deep breath. "My son, Michael, was engaged to Janet Valek. It wasn't that I didn't like the girl, but it seemed to me she'd had too much money and not enough love. I thought Mike was headed for trouble."

"Did you say anything to him?"

"Me? Of course. Mike told me to mind my own business. Anyway, maybe it would have worked out, but Mike died and ..." She looked away, into the past, for a long, sad moment.

"Janet and I were close for a while," she went on. "Afterward we stayed in touch. You know — Christmas, birthdays, lunch now and then. Anyway, I hadn't heard from her for a while and then she forgot my birthday. So, big deal, but she always sends me a card, something special. She's that kind of a girl; she goes to a lot of trouble to pick it out. Well, it bothered me, so a couple of weeks later I called to make sure she was okay. The maid told me that she was out of town."

"She went on vacation and it slipped her mind," I said, wondering where all this was leading.

"I figured it that way until her brother called. He's been in Europe all summer. Janet knew he'd be home for two weeks before school started, but she's still gone and nobody seems to know where she went. He's crazy with worry."

"Maybe she found a boyfriend who interests her more than a brother."

"Not Janet. She was fourteen when David was born. Their mother died a year later and Janet practically raised the boy. He just finished his first year of college and Janet really missed him. If she wasn't going to be home, she would at least call."

"Okay, let's backtrack. Does Janet live alone?"

"She lives with her father over in Newport Beach."

"Is he worried about her?"

"No, but that doesn't mean much."

"I take it you're not fond of Mr. Valek?"

"He's the biggest bastard I ever met and that's saying a lot."

"Okay, forget Valek. The maid told you that Janet went out of town. That doesn't sound as though she vanished. Did she pack a bag? Take her car?"

"Yes, but —"

"When?"

"In June, right after David left for Europe."

"Was he home then? Did he talk to her?"

"I don't know. I don't think so, but —" She looked at her watch. "You can ask David yourself. He's meeting me here in a few minutes."

"You had all this planned, didn't you?"

"Don't be mad, kiddo. David sounded so upset, and I knew if anybody could help him it was you. Besides," she added briskly, "it's time you got off your butt and started doing your job. What else do you need? A description?"

"Why not?"

"She's a couple of years older than you ...about thirty-two. Five feet six inches, dark blond hair — wait a minute. You met her."

"I did?"

"Sure. At South Coast Plaza about a year ago. Remember?"

I did, sort of. I had been working as a sales clerk at one of the posh department stores in the mall, an undercover assignment to investigate some inside theft. With the job successfully completed, I decided to break pita bread and share alfalfa sprouts with the Gucci set at Forty Carrots. The encounter in the restaurant with Rita and Janet had been brief, but now I had a hazy memory of a slender, elegant girl — thin face, almost gaunt, hair the color of amber honey pulled back simply with combs from a wide forehead. And there was something about her eyes ...

The memory faded abruptly as my office door swung open. The man who stalked in was much too old to be Janet's younger brother. He radiated more brute power than I had ever seen. His lightweight silk suit had been cleverly tailored to disguise a stomach bulge and his thinning gray hair was carefully arranged to cover a receding hairline. From the expression of disgust on Rita's face, I had a pretty good idea who he was.

A younger man followed a few steps behind, catching the door before it slammed in his face. This had to be David. Except for his dark brown hair, the resemblance to Janet was startling. The same face, angled and textured by masculinity, and, although there was nothing feminine about his slender, bony body, there was something of Janet's casual elegance in the way he moved.

The older man loomed over my desk, raking Rita with pale blue eyes before giving me the full benefit of their icy anger. "I'm Lawrence Valek. I understand my son has some crazy idea about hiring you to find his sister."

"He overheard me talking to you," David said to Rita. "He insisted on coming along."

Valek wheeled on him. "Don't talk behind my back. That's what started this whole thing. And you, Mrs. Braddock — I'll thank you to stop meddling in my family's affairs."

"Meddling?" Hard red spots colored Rita's cheeks. "David's worried about Janet; so am I. It seems pretty strange to me that you're so unconcerned."

Before the reply that rumbled in Valek's throat could explode, I put in quickly, "Let's sit down and talk about it."

I hauled over a couple of chairs from the far wall. David accepted with a grateful smile. Valek eyed the room contemptuously before he sat down. I was instantly aware of the broken window shade and the dust balls in the corners. I tried to hide my bare legs behind the desk.

"David, Mr. Valek, I'm Delilah West. If we could just discuss this calmly —"

"We won't discuss it at all," Valek said. "I came here to put a stop to this nonsense."

"Dad, please. It's not like Janet to act this way."

"It's exactly like her. She's thoughtless, cruel ... and this ... this farce is typical."

"Mr. Valek," I said soothingly, "your son strikes me as a reasonable person. I know Rita is. If we can come up with some logical explanation of Janet's behavior, I'm sure they'll accept it. Now, as I understand it, David was away when Janet left. Did she discuss her plans with you?"

"She did not. She simply packed a bag and left, as usual. This isn't the first time she's gone off without a word. She does it all the time."

"Well, if you wouldn't fight with her —"

"David, that's enough."

"No, it's not." David faced him squarely; it was Valek's eyes that shifted away. "They're always fighting, Mrs. West. It's awful. Sometimes Janet just has to go away to cool off."

So maybe Valek was right and Rita and David were worrying over nothing. "These other times when Janet went away," I said, "did she call you, David, let you know where she was?"

"Not always," he admitted. "Anyway, I wasn't here this summer so —"

"So she couldn't call you," I finished and turned to Valek. "Did you and Janet have a fight?"

"No."

"David, did you talk to her before you left for Europe?"

"Yes. She sounded sort of jumpy and — I don't know — strained. We've always been very close and I knew something was bothering her, but I thought it was because I was going to Europe without coming home first. When I think that she could be alone and sick somewhere, or ... or even ... dead."

"This is ridiculous," Valek said. "You don't think I'd let her go off without finding out exactly where she went?"

"Why, you bastard!" Rita exploded. "You let this kid worry himself sick and didn't say a word?"

"Mrs. Braddock, I told you before to mind your own business. Your connection with my family has ended ... fortunately."

"Dad!" David said, appalled. "Rita, he didn't mean —"

"Oh, yes, he did." The stricken look on Rita's face quickly turned back to rage.

I got around the desk and grabbed her shoulder. "Rita, take it easy. I'm sure he didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"Oh, he meant it all right," Rita said, standing up. "I've got to get out of here, Delilah. Call me when you talk to Janet, will you, David?"

"Sure, Mrs. Braddock." David walked her to the door and squeezed her hand. "Thanks."

I sat down behind my desk and stared into Lawrence Valek's eyes. They had the same cold flatness I'd once seen in the eyes of a boa constrictor at the zoo. I tried to think of a way to get him out of my office and fast.

"This is obviously a family matter," I said. "Why don't you two go home and —"

"Dad." Ignoring me, David stood behind a chair, gripping the back. "I'm not going to start school next week unless you tell me where Janet is."

"What?" Valek almost strangled on the word.

"I'll find her myself. Or I'll get a job and hire somebody to do it for me."

"David, why are you doing this?" A kind of pathetic bewilderment replaced the arrogance on Valek's face. "I'm trying to protect you; I've always tried to protect you."

David remained silent, unmovable.

"You're getting to be more and more like her," Valek said bitterly. "All right, I'll tell you. She went off with a man. This one's even worse than usual. Evidently she can't tear herself away from him long enough to come and see you. I'm not going to tell you where she is because I won't have you mixed up in one of her sordid messes."

"Then don't tell me. Tell Mrs. West."

"Now wait a minute," I said.

"Please, Mrs. West. Just go and make sure Janet's okay. That's all I'm asking you to do."

It seemed a simple enough request. God knows I didn't want his father for a client, but how could I say no to David? Or to Rita?

Still, I wished I'd never met Janet Valek. Because now looking at her brother, I remembered her distinctly, especially her eyes ... unusual eyes ... a soft blue smudged with violet. There was something familiar about them.

With a start I realized they reminded me of my own, which was crazy because mine are brown, nothing at all like Janet's ... except for a shadow of something dark and painful moving behind the surface.

One thing was certain. I didn't want to know what haunted Janet Valek.

CHAPTER 2

I made one last feeble attempt to get out of the job. "David, your father might have somebody on retainer who can do this."

"I don't want anybody else. I want you. Please, Dad?" The pleading in his voice was that of a small boy.

For an instant the old man's face softened. He nodded and said gruffly, "Wait for me in the car."

What could I do but say yes?

As soon as David closed the door behind him, Valek took out his checkbook. "Let's get one thing straight, Mrs. West. You're working for me and I expect anything I tell you to be confidential."

"For two hundred and fifty dollars a day and expenses, it will be."

He didn't believe me for a minute. "Keep in mind that I have a lot of friends who can see to it that your license gets pulled if it isn't."

So much for his show of human emotions. Somehow I liked it better when I could think of him as a coldhearted son of a bitch.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Run From Nightmare by Maxine O'Callaghan. Copyright � 2014 Maxine O'Callaghan. Excerpted by permission of Brash Books, LLC.
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