First Born (Lily Moore Series) Read online

  First Born

  Book 1 in the Lily Moore Series

  By Tricia Zoeller

  First Born by Tricia Zoeller, copyright © 2013 by

  Tricia Zoeller.

  “Come to the Edge” by Christopher Logue, copyright © Christopher Logue, 1996. Reprinted by permission of the estate’s agency, David Godwin Associates.

  KINDLE ISBN: 978-0-9893963-0-1

  Published by Blue Portal Press LLC,

  http://blueportalpressllc.weebly.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, institutions, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to, photocopying, recording or by any information storage retrieval system, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews or where permitted by law.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Art and Typography by Claudia McKinney of Phatpuppy Art and Ashley Dawn of Bookish Brunette Designs.

  Ebook Formatting by eBook Architects/Firebrand Technologies

  Editing and Book Formatting by Written Dreams Editorial and Writing Services.

  Dedication

  For my husband Lou—“Against All Odds.” Thanks for humoring me, Mr. Nonfiction. For my family and friends who have raised me up during the lowest points both in my writing and in life.

  Acknowledgments

  To Rosemary Hill, widow of poet Christopher Logue, thank you for permission to use “Come to the Edge.” A special thanks to Editor, Brittiany Koren of Written Dreams for her guidance.

  To my critique partners and beta readers—you have my deepest appreciation and respect: Karen Chamberlain, Amanda Haas, Catherine O’Brien, Lin Llamazales, Cheryl Puetz, Byron and Bronwyn Robinson, Heather Smith, and Neil Wilkinson. To Tammy, thanks for discussing diabetes with me. Shout out to V.A.M.P. Book Club whose members have cheered me along the way.

  To beta reader and incredible friend, Stacy Bailey Darnell, thanks for always championing me and listening. To fellow author, M.E. May (Michele)—this book would still just be a thought without you! Your constant encouragement, guidance, and strength have been my inspiration.

  Other wonderful sources of knowledge: Chinese language—Dr. Liuxi Meng, Kennesaw State University; Circe Tsui, and Lily Li. Police Procedure—Dr. Stan Crowder, Kennesaw State University; Lee Lofland and Derek Pacifico via Yahoo Groups Crimescenewriter; Retired Officer Ted Richardson. Ballistics—GA Firing Line; fellow writer, Claire Burke. Medication questions—Kim and Nattaya as well as the rest of the Walgreens Pharmacy staff in Marietta, GA. General medical questions—Pat Higgins.

  For all those experts who helped me along the way, thank you for sharing your knowledge. I take full responsibility if I still didn’t get it right.

  Finally, thank you to the Georgia Writers Association for being an amazing resource for authors.

  Table of Contents

  “Come to the Edge”

  CHAPTERS 1–20

  Chapter 1 — The Edge

  Chapter 2 — Missing Girl?

  Chapter 3 — Reality Bites

  Chapter 4 — Take a Bite Out of Crime

  Chapter 5 — Fenghuang Cheng, China

  Chapter 6 — Good Luck Shih Tzu

  Chapter 7 — Li Liu

  Chapter 8 — Family Dynamics

  Chapter 9 — Maggie Moore

  Chapter 10 — From the Lost Notes of Peter Marx

  Chapter 11 — Transformations

  Chapter 12 — Close Call

  Chapter 13 — Fenghuang

  Chapter 14 — From the Lost Notes of Peter Marx

  Chapter 15 — Caldwell’s Dream

  Chapter 16 — Findings

  Chapter 17 — The Stalker

  Chapter 18 — The Watcher

  Chapter 19 — Down at the Ranch

  Chapter 20 — Seth

  CHAPTERS 21–40

  Chapter 21 — The Storm

  Chapter 22 — In Search of Lily

  Chapter 23 — The Millers

  Chapter 24 — A Visit to the Manor

  Chapter 25 — At Death’s Door

  Chapter 26 — From the Lost Notes of Peter Marx

  Chapter 27 — Lucky Cat

  Chapter 28 — Caldwell’s Dream/Interrogation

  Chapter 29 — Evidence

  Chapter 30 — Sanctuary

  Chapter 31 — Bad Love

  Chapter 32 — Lake Updates

  Chapter 33 — Something Old, Something New

  Chapter 34 — Moore Trouble

  Chapter 35 — Help from Some Friends

  Chapter 36 — Lily and Seth

  Chapter 37 — The Cat’s Out of the Bag

  Chapter 38 — Secrets

  Chapter 39 — Does a Caged Bird Sing?

  Chapter 40 — Flying Shih Tzu

  CHAPTERS 41–58

  Chapter 41 — Slimy Bohunk

  Chapter 42 — Lodestone

  Chapter 43 — GBI

  Chapter 44 — Katie Quinn

  Chapter 45 — Renegade

  Chapter 46 — From the Lost Notes of Peter Marx

  Chapter 47 — New Ally?

  Chapter 48 — Power Struggle

  Chapter 49 — Moore Armageddon

  Chapter 50 — Under the Gun

  Chapter 51 — Hibacker Farm

  Chapter 52 — Lily

  Chapter 53 — The Summit

  Chapter 54 — From the Lost Notes of Peter Marx

  Chapter 55 — Murder

  Chapter 56 — First Born

  Chapter 57 — Aftermath

  Chapter 58 — And She Flew

  Come to the edge.

  We might fall.

  Come to the edge.

  It’s too high!

  COME TO THE EDGE!

  And they came,

  And he pushed,

  And they flew.

  —Christopher Logue

  Chapter 1

  The Edge

  “I want to show you something,” Phil said. He swung the BMW into the parking lot of Grady High School’s empty football stadium sending Lily off balance. She clutched the door handle as the car rocked to a halt.

  “I think I just want to go home,” she said. He had talked about himself the entire time at dinner, but she attributed it to nerves. Once in his car on the way to get ice cream, he made some ridiculous sexual innuendos.

  “Ah, Phil?” Lily called as he jumped out his side and came around to the passenger door. He yanked the door open, and offered her his hand. She didn’t take it.

  “Here, let me help you.” He leaned in and undid her seatbelt. “I think you drank too much wine.”

  “I’m not feeling so good. I thought we were going for ice cream?”

  “Let’s take a walk and get some air first.”

  His smile made her stomach twist. She didn’t understand why her brain was so foggy. She only had two glasses of wine with dinner. She looked past him to the empty stadium. This was not her idea of a romantic evening.

  Phil clutched her arm. “Let me...” He pulled her out of the car and kicked the door closed. Once on her feet, Lily fully realized something was not right. Her legs could barely hold her. “I don’t mean to be a party p—”

  He pushed her back
against the closed door and planted an open-mouthed kiss on her lips. The wine from dinner had made her tired, but his touch was like a Jägerbomb. The Red Bull part kicked in. His warm breath on her face smelled of booze and bad gums.

  “I can make you feel better, Lily.”

  She squirmed against him, but he trapped her with his body. Lily couldn’t bring her knee up because of her narrow pencil skirt. He jammed his beefy knee between her thighs binding her legs completely.

  Her head swam as she tried to gain her faculties. “Get. Off. Me.” When she looked at him, he wore a smirk, but he took one step back. Lily exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath. She turned to the side to open the door. Suddenly, her head slammed against the window. Pain shot through the bones of her skull, sending shock waves from her temple, down her jaw to her teeth. She could not believe he just hit her. Her fear tasted of metal and bile. Her hand clung to the side mirror of the car as she knelt on one knee, her entire body weak. She managed to turn and stare at him. When he struck her face again, her vision flashed a brilliant white.

  Rage. Pure unadulterated fury accompanied the blinding light and surged through her body. Her fingers throbbed. Her teeth ached. A cramping sensation fingered its way up her spine before a spinning disorientation all but consumed her. She stayed conscious, but barely. She righted herself as terror ignited her. As she tackled him to the asphalt and bit him, his screaming filled her ears. Liquid metal filled her mouth. His blood. Her vision blurred and she lost contact with him.

  When things cleared, she saw him feeling along the locked steel fence that secured the field. By the Eighth Street end zone, he discovered the one open gate leading on to the field, but she had caught up with him. Cussing and screaming, he attempted to run away from her, but she tackled him at the edge of the bleachers. One swing at his head and he was quiet. She dragged him across the lawn by the collar and heaved him over the crossbar.

  Dizzy, Lily collapsed on her behind at the ten yard line. Everything had changed. White chalk lines stood out in stark relief against lime green grass as if viewed through polarized lenses. Pain seared through her face and temple. Her mouth stung and her eyes burned with tears. She spit out bits of asphalt, blood, and hair?

  A moan rumbled behind her. It hadn’t come from a Grady Knight. And at twenty-six, Lily Moore was no cheerleader. She didn’t dare look back. What have I done?

  She sensed him first as she pushed her face into the warm breeze. Gun oil. Fruit. Animal. Spice. A man dressed in dark clothing stood off in the distance, watching. A cap sat low over his face. He didn’t make a sound. He took one step toward her then stopped and turned his head. Loud voices came from behind the bleachers. Teenagers. Lily heard each sniff, cough, chuckle like they were standing next to her.

  The Watcher backed away toward the parking lot and disappeared from sight.

  Lily gazed at her naked body. Something was wrong with her hands, her feet. Another glance at the end zone caused her to panic. She gulped the air as she took off running. Her limbs felt uncoordinated as she ran through the lot and across the desolate street. Buildings, trees, cars looked eerily disproportionate like she’d been dropped into an alternate universe.

  Did he drug me? Terror fueled her forward, but her body just wouldn’t function. After a few blocks, she collapsed to the ground. As she lie on her back gazing up at the black branches of a massive tree, her eyelids slid open and shut like faulty garage doors. I just need to rest.

  Chapter 2

  Missing Girl?

  Detective Caldwell Simms parked his unmarked car off Charles Allen Drive in the faculty lot for Grady High School. Atlanta PD’s lead crime scene investigator, Tiny Hunt, had both the Tenth Street and Charles Allen Drive entrances blocked off to the stadium.

  Caldwell walked down Tenth Street to the main entrance of student parking. Power lines ran in front of the wrought iron arch that boasted the school’s name. Red and black running shoes suspended over them. He doubted they were part of the crime scene.

  Immediately across Tenth Street stretched 189 acres of Piedmont Park. You never knew what you would find there. People from all walks of life frequented the park, which hosted art, cultural, and musical festivals throughout the year. After dark, many a homeless vagrant found a spot to rest.

  It was a good place for people watching. You may even find a Little Person on stilts. Nah, that’s just Tiny. The moniker bestowed on their investigator as a child still fit him as an adult. Usually the sight of watching Tiny Hunt conduct a crime scene investigation while wearing his Powerstrider stilts made Caldwell smile. He couldn’t summon one at this time of morning. The spring-loaded stilts helped Tiny work a scene without needing to use his metal grabber or a stool to reach items. Plus, his ability to powerbock, run and jump athletically, earned him card-carrying status in the Badass Club. His responsibilities continued to expand with the APD. Tiny often worked in more of a liaison role for them, coordinating information between agencies. His unconventional methods added to his mystique.

  Caldwell signed the logbook before ducking under the crime scene tape.

  When he reached the bottom of the drive, Tiny greeted him. “Simmulator, I’ll walk you through in a minute. We’re still marking evidence. It spreads from the BMW crossover, through the open gate on the field, to the dumpster, and out to Charles Allen Drive.” Tiny’s dark eyes shined under the lights. Caldwell took in the yellow numbered tents and stood back as technicians took pictures and collected blood and other possible samples to test back at the lab.

  “Thankfully, we were able to reach the maintenance man at this hour and he came out to turn the lights on for us.”

  Five minutes later, Tiny walked, sans Powerstriders, through the crime scene. Caldwell noted the unusual scratch marks on the side of the vehicle, the shattered glass of the passenger window, the blood, and strands of silky dark hair clinging to the surface. He stepped back to allow the tech to collect it.

  “We already bagged Lily Moore’s purse and torn clothing.” Tiny said.

  Caldwell bit the inside of his cheek. This woman could not catch a break. He met her when he was investigating her boyfriend’s death nine months ago. Authorities found Peter Marx dead in his car on a side street about ten blocks west of this location. Marx had injected too much insulin, had a seizure and died. They ruled it accidental, although Ms. Moore had disagreed vehemently.

  Tiny’s voice brought him back to the present.

  “You talked to the lieutenant?” Tiny asked.

  “Yeah, high school kids found twenty-six-year-old Phillip Miller at the base of the goal post and called 9-1-1. Lake said it looked like something straight from the TV series ‘When Animals Attack.’”

  Tiny pointed to the ground, a set of bloody prints led past the ticket booths to the open gate of the metal fence. “Never seen anything like it.”

  “You’re thinking some kind of animal?” Caldwell asked.

  “Or somebody’s in dire need of a pedicure,” quipped Tiny. “You gonna be okay with this.”

  “What do ya mean? I’m fine.”

  Tiny studied him. “I just know that you talked to her a lot about Marx. Kinda got under your skin.”

  “Give me some credit.” Caldwell said.

  Tiny shrugged.

  On the field, Caldwell squatted to examine strange feathers as one of the techs bagged them. “What the hell?”

  Tiny shook his head. “I’m as confused as a cow on astro turf.”

  Caldwell rubbed his face.

  No sign of her. He had calls into hospitals, friends, and family. He continued the rest of the morning in auto mode not letting anything trigger an emotional reaction. He drove down Juniper Street as he scanned each house, shrub, tree, and dark corner in search of some sign of Lily Moore. Ernie Gates’s Search and Rescue dogs had already started tracking. Still, guilt rode shotgun. Caldwell wasn’t sure why things were getting to him. Perhaps because his gut had indicated something was off about Peter Marx’s dea
th despite the lack of evidence.

  He thought of Lily Moore’s green, almond-shaped eyes and all that blood. It was like being punched in the kidney. Rage kept his nausea in check. He hoped Miller regained consciousness soon so they could talk.

  * * *

  Lily’s eyes popped open as adrenaline raced through her veins. How long was I out? Her mind flashed to the witness at the football field. I need to go home. She fled past playground equipment and geese that had bedded down for the night. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the brilliant blue twin fins gleaming atop Symphony Tower, the gothic architecture standing out in Atlanta’s night skyline. Recognition bloomed as she escaped through the stone pillars flanking the Charles Allen entrance to Piedmont Park.

  Dehydrated, she stopped several blocks away to drink water from a puddle. She looked again to the night sky surprised by her heightened perception of things. Cicada chirped a mysterious serenade as clouds danced across the face of the moon. She shook her head to focus. A metallic taste permeated her mouth. She ran her tongue over her gums finding the empty socket where her top canine used to be. Suddenly, a familiar scent hit her, drawing her toward home.

  After a quick right on to Myrtle Street, she stopped in her tracks while her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Two police cruisers occupied the street in front of her duplex, their blue and white strobe lights spinning. Each turn of the lights sent menacing green-gray shadows to stretch then contract on the front wall of the yellow Victorian home. Lily shivered then held her breath when she saw a lean muscled figure pacing behind an unmarked Ford Taurus.

  Detective Caldwell Simms? Lily crept behind the neighbor’s shrubs to spy on the Atlanta Police detective. She stayed close enough to hear his side of a cell phone conversation.

  “Lieutenant, we checked the house. Her brother, Seth, let us in. No sign of her or a struggle here. Her landlady, Mona Sinclair, isn’t answering, although her car is in the driveway.” He stopped his movement as he listened. “Bite marks?”