The Phone Call (A Psychological Mystery Short)



  THE PHONE CALL

  A Psychological Mystery Short

  By R. Barri Flowers

  The Phone Call is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THE PHONE CALL

  A Psychological Mystery Short

  Copyright 2016 by R. Barri Flowers

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Image Copyright Axyse, 2016

  Used under license from Shutterstock.com

  CRIME AND THRILLER NOVELS BY R. BARRI FLOWERS

  Before He Kills Again

  Dark Streets of Whitechapel

  Dead in Kihei

  Dead in Pukalani

  Dead in the Rose City

  Fractured Trust

  Justice Served

  Killer Connection

  Killer Evidence Legal Thriller 4-Book Bundle

  Killer in The Woods

  Murder in Honolulu

  Murder in Hawaii Mysteries

  Murder in Maui

  Murder of the Hula Dancers

  Murdered in the Man Cave

  Murder on Kaanapali Beach

  Persuasive Evidence

  Private Eye Bestselling Mysteries 2-Book Bundle

  Seduced To Kill in Kauai

  Serial Killer Thrillers 5-Book Bundle

  State's Evidence

  * * *

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  The Phone Call

  Murder of the Hula Dancers – Bonus Excerpt

  Dead in Kihei – Bonus Excerpt

  Killer in The Woods – Bonus Excerpt

  About the Author

  THE PHONE CALL

  The phone rang three times before Jennifer Lane decided that her husband Peter was not going to answer it. She thought that odd, considering it seemed like he was always on the phone talking to business acquaintances practically from sunup to sundown. What was different this time?

  They were in bed, both reading books, which seemed to be the preferred bedtime activity of late next to sleep.

  The phone went silent just before the call went to voicemail.

  Jennifer looked at Peter's handsome profile, marred only by the glasses that hung haphazardly on his nose. "Why didn't you answer it?"

  He shrugged. "Figured they'd leave a message if it was important. Obviously it wasn't."

  She had no reason to disagree, though his logic seemed to be selectively applied.

  The phone rang again.

  Peter made a halfhearted attempt to reach for it, but Jennifer had already leaned over him and lifted the phone from his nightstand.

  "Hello."

  "Peter?"

  The breathy woman's voice sounded strangely familiar, but Jennifer couldn't quite place it. "Can I tell him who's calling?"

  "Peter," the woman said again with a heavy sigh.

  Jennifer looked at the Caller ID. It indicated the number was private and the caller unknown.

  "Who is it?" Peter asked.

  Jennifer wondered the same thing with more than a little curiosity as she handed him the phone. "It's for you..."

  He put the phone to his ear. "This is Peter."

  She watched the muscles in his face tense as he said, "Jennifer who?"

  Her first thought was that he didn't know any other Jennifers. But clearly the caller knew him.

  Peter's thick brows knitted. "Is this some kind of joke?"

  Jennifer certainly found no humor in the idea that her husband might be having an affair with her namesake.

  "Since my wife is right here beside me, you obviously aren't her. Now do us both a favor and don't call this number again," he said angrily. Peter disconnected, but held onto the phone.

  Jennifer eyed him. "What was that all about?"

  "Hell if I know. Some woman, obviously high or something, was trying to impersonate you, I think."

  "You didn't recognize her voice?"

  "No. It could've been anyone."

  "But not just anyone would have our private number."

  Peter frowned as the phone rang again. He hesitated.

  "Answer it!" Jennifer insisted. "Let's see what else this mysterious woman has to say. Or would you rather I spoke to her?"

  "Why don't we both listen in, just so you'll know I have nothing to hide."

  Jennifer wondered if she had overreacted. She shot that down, knowing her husband had strayed once before. She had forgiven him after he promised it would never happen again.

  Had he lied to her?

  Peter put the call on speaker.

  "Are you there, Peter...?" the caller gasped.

  "Who the hell is this?"

  "Jennifer..."

  He rolled his eyes. "My wife?"

  "Yes, it's me..." the woman said.

  Jennifer cocked a brow. She met her husband's blank stare. Was this some code he and the woman had cooked up to try to cover his tracks?

  "This is ridiculous," Peter snorted. "You're not my wife!"

  "Why are you saying that?" the caller asked. "I don't understand."

  "You and me both. Look, did Bob put you up to this or what?"

  Bob Foxworth was Peter's best friend and the one who Jennifer knew had helped her husband hide his previous infidelity.

  "I've been in an accident..." The woman moaned eerily, causing Jennifer to shudder. "Carlson's Canyon... Lost control of the car on rain slick road... It overturned..."

  Carlson's Canyon was about ten miles from their house in Lake Pearl, California. Over the years, it had developed a bad reputation for its winding roads with no guardrails and rugged landscape that, while breathtaking, could also be a death trap for anyone unfortunate enough to run off the road in the wrong spot. Carlson's Canyon had already claimed four lives that year. Jennifer wondered if the woman really had been hurt. Maybe delirium had set in, causing the misidentification.

  Peter held no such sympathy. "Look, whoever you are, whatever your problem is, it has nothing to do with me."

  Somehow Jennifer found solace in his hard stance, even as suspicion gripped her like a fever. Was he truly in the dark about who the caller was? Or was this just a clever act by a clever man trying to cover his bases?

  "Please, Peter...help me—" The woman's voice grew weaker.

  "I can't," he said, disconnecting the call.

  Jennifer stared at him. "You think it was a crank call?"

  "I have no idea. Who knows what was going on in her head?"

  "Maybe we should call 911."

  "And tell them what? That a woman claiming to be you says she's been in an accident? I don't think so."

  The strange call left Jennifer shaken. What if the woman really had been in an accident and needed help? Had Peter, in his attempt to disassociate himself with the caller, been overly callous and indifferent to her pleas—no matter how bizarre they were?

  Admittedly, Jennifer had serious doubts about the authenticity of the caller's plight. For one, she'd indicated the car accident was due to a wet road caused by rain. Problem was they were in the middle of a summer stretch where it had not rained in more than a month. The forecast called for dry weather for at least the next seven days.

  That brought Jennifer back to her initial suspicion. She glared at her husband. "Are you having an affair with that woman?"

  "No," he said sharply. "I can't believe you'd even ask me that."

  "Can't you? What am I supposed to think? A woman calls you at night on our private number with some cockamamie story. And you act like it's just someone who ha
ppened to pick our number at random. I'm not buying it."

  "So what do you want or expect me to say? That I engineered the call just to hurt you again? I wouldn't do that. I'd never hurt you again."

  "I wish I could believe you." Jennifer met his eyes, trying to erase the painful memories of discovering her husband in bed with another woman. How could she be sure it wasn't happening all over again?

  "You can. I swear to you, Jenn, there is no other woman in my life. I can't explain why she called or how she got this number. Maybe it was just a sick joke."

  Jennifer's instincts told her there was more to this than a sick joke. But could she trust those feelings? Was the frightening sound of the caller's anguished voice getting to her?

  Jennifer looked at her husband. "So, what if she was telling the truth about the accident?"

  "Then someone's bound to find her sooner or later," he said.

  "But what if they don't?" Jennifer didn't know what she hoped to achieve with this conversation of what ifs. Should she really be concerned about something that probably hadn't even happened? But what if the woman was in trouble and help didn't arrive until it was too late? Could she ever forgive herself?

  "It's not up to us to save the world," Peter said. "I say we let it go."

  "But maybe she called you for a reason."

  "And what reason would that be?"

  "I don't know. You tell me. I just don't think she asked for your help out of the blue."

  He sighed. "What can I do to convince you that she's not my secret lover, or anyone else I know?"

  Jennifer wasn't sure that he could convince her. Women didn't call her husband at night as damsels in distress without there being some motive other than the obvious. She could have used the bizarre story as a way to get Peter to come to her rescue. Or, in other words, out of the house and into her bed.

  Of course Peter would distance himself from it. He was very good at that. Deny, deny, deny. As if that in and of itself would make this simply go away.

  But with no proof, Jennifer could not really accuse him of infidelity again. Maybe if she could talk to the woman face to face, the truth would come out.

  But where would she find her? Carlson's Canyon was a good place to start.

  Jennifer studied Peter's handsome face. "Just forget the whole thing," she said.

  "You sure?"

  "I'd like to be. I just hope she doesn't call anymore."

  "Yeah, me too," he said.

  Peter put the phone back on the nightstand and turned out the light. Soon he was snoring softly while Jennifer lay there thinking about the phone call.

  * * *

  A half an hour later, Jennifer slid from her husband's arms. She quietly slipped into a robe and left the room.

  Downstairs, she cut the TV on just as the weatherman was speaking.

  "...A freak and violent storm has hit several local areas including Bridge Bay and Carlson's Canyon..."

  Jennifer shivered at the thought. Had the caller really skidded off the road and been trapped inside her car in Carlson's Canyon?

  If so, had she phoned others too? Or had Peter been the only one she chose to call for some reason?

  Jennifer debated whether or not to call 911. The last thing she needed was to be the butt of someone's very poor joke.

  Or her husband's cheating ways.

  But she had to do something.

  Grabbing her cell phone, Jennifer called 911.

  "Can you tell me if you've received any reports tonight of a woman in a car accident in Carlson's Canyon?"

  "I'm not showing anything, Ma'am," the operator said.

  She had to be sure. "Could you please check again?"

  "Are you aware of such an accident?"

  "My husband received a call from someone claiming she was trapped in her car in Carlson's Canyon," she told the operator.

  "Did she say where exactly?"

  "No."

  "What's the name of the person involved in the accident?"

  "Jennifer," she said, feeling uncomfortable.

  "Last name?"

  "I don't know her last name."

  "What's your name?" the operator asked.

  "Valerie Lane," she said, opting to use her middle name to keep from making the situation even more confusing.

  "I'll notify the police, but I can't guarantee how long it will take them to check it out. We've had an unusual number of calls tonight due to the weather."

  Jennifer hung up. She was having second thoughts about the whole thing. Maybe she should just forget about it. Peter obviously had. Now that she'd reported the alleged accident, it was out of her hands.

  But every second counted and time had already been wasted since the woman called. How much longer would she have to wait till help arrived?

  At that moment, Jennifer made the decision to do what she had wanted to ever since the caller had invaded her world.

  * * *

  Jennifer went back to the bedroom. Peter was lying on his side and showed no sign of waking up. She considered briefly telling him about her desire to see if she could locate the distressed woman, but was sure he would try to talk her out of it. Especially if he had something—or someone—to hide.

  No, this was something Jennifer had to do on her own. She gathered her clothes and crept quietly into the hallway.

  She took an umbrella and her cell phone with her.

  Outside there was no sign of rain. Jennifer wondered how they had managed to be spared nature's wrath.

  Had Carlson's Canyon gotten the worst of it?

  She drove down Highway 219. Soon huge drops of rain were pounding her windshield. Jennifer had to turn the wipers on full speed just to see ahead. In the torrent she could barely make out the sign that read: Welcome to Carlson's Canyon.

  Jennifer looked back at the road only to see a deer suddenly appear out of nowhere directly in her path. It made no effort to move, as if frozen by fear.

  She slammed on the brakes, but realized it was too late to keep from hitting the poor animal.

  Just before the moment of impact, the car swerved sharply to the right, then spun out of control. Jennifer screamed and put her hands up defensively as the car veered off the road, overturning several times down a steep slope before landing upside down.

  When Jennifer came to, she was upside down with the seatbelt holding her in place. Groggy and in a great deal of pain, she somehow managed to reach down and pick up her cell phone. She punched the speed dial to her house. A flash of lightning lit up her cracked windshield.

  "Hello," the voice bellowed sleepily in Jennifer's ear. It was Peter.

  Hearing his voice gave her hope. "Peter," she moaned. "Help..."

  "Who is this?" she heard him say.

  "It's me...Jennifer." She grimaced, certain her legs were broken as well as one of her arms.

  "Jennifer?" Peter repeated. "Look, who the hell are you and why do you keep calling here saying you're Jennifer?"

  Her immediate reaction was anger rather than the crippling pain and weakness that wracked her body. "I'm your wife. Why are you acting this way?" She tried to conserve her energy. "I've been in an accident... Carlson's Canyon... Lost control of the car on a rain slick road. It overturned..."

  There was a long pause.

  "Jenn...is that you?" Peter asked.

  "Yes," she cried.

  Another pause.

  "You drove to Carlson's Canyon?"

  "I had to try to find her," she said.

  "Who?"

  It was only in a moment of clarity that Jennifer knew who the mystery woman was, even if she couldn't explain it.

  "Me. I had to find myself, Peter." She swallowed. "And put the past where it belongs so I could focus on our future."

  Peter seemed to understand what she was saying.

  "Hold on, sweetheart," he pleaded. "I'm on my way. Don't you dare die on me! I love you, Jenn. I swear no one will ever come between us again."

  "I love you too," she told him,
knowing that she had become the victim of her own nagging doubts.

  Peter had passed the test of faithfulness and Jennifer was sure they would have the rest of their lives to work on making each other happy beyond words.

  # # #

  Following is an excerpt from book three in this exciting series by R. Barri Flowers

  MURDER OF THE HULA DANCERS: A Leila Kahana Mystery

  Prologue

  Hula is a form of visual dancing created by Polynesian settlers on the Hawaiian Islands, typically performed with mele or oli, meaning song or chant. Ancient hula, known as kahiko, such as 'āla'apapa and 'olapa, was often performed to honor or entertain chiefs. Hula began to evolve during and beyond the 19th century through influences of the West, known as 'auana, meaning to "drift" or "wander," and included performances for religious purposes, such as worshipping a Hawaiian goddess; as well as historical journeys, and pure entertainment and fun for those in attendance.

  Hula dancing done while standing is called luna dance, and in a sitting position it is referred to as noho dance. Hula is normally taught by a kumu hula—a teacher knowledgeable in the dance form—in schools known as hālau. Students of hula, called haumana, include alaka'i or leaders, kokua or helpers, and dancers or 'olapa.

  As an engaging art form, hula often uses various hand, hip, and foot movements, such as the kaholo, kawelu, and 'uwehe; while representing words or nature in chant or songs, like palm trees swaying or ocean waves. Hula 'auana or modern hula is sometimes complemented with fire knife dancing performers and often includes popular music performed by musicians, including a lead vocalist, using acoustic stringed instruments.

  Hawaiian hula dancers are mostly women who dress in colorful costumes that reflect the mele or oli, beauty of the islands, and the spirit of aloha. When hula in paradise is threatened, misfortune can follow...

  * * *

  Yoshie Akiyama had been a professional hula dancer on Maui for two years, performing at many different occasions, including anniversaries, award presentations, birthdays, celebrations, events, graduations, luaus, weddings, and more. She loved what she did and knew she did it well. It brought in enough money for her to own her own home and stash away a bit for a rainy day, even if those seemed to be few and far between on the Hawaiian Islands.

  Employed by the Aloha Hula Dance Company, Yoshie also performed at private clubs, homes, and for individuals who wished to watch a sexy dancer gyrate and shake her hips and ass for their pleasure. Though some other hula dancers she knew took it a step further—actually a few steps—selling their bodies for extra pay or to get drugs, Yoshie stayed away from that. Yes, she'd had a drug problem once, but she was clean today and just wanted to do whatever she needed to have a bright future.