List of Secrets

CHAPTER ONE-1

CHAPTER ONE

The magnificent wilds of Sunburst Lake, Alberta, on a gorgeous late afternoon in early August 2009.

God, I love it up here, Ernest thought to himself. The view from the cabin’s back porch, across the lake toward Mount Assiniboine, was worth the trip all by itself. So different from the flat terrain back home. Every year he usually came up with a bunch of fishing buddies.

But not this time. This time was secret. This time was special.

Finally, at sixty-five years of age, he’d found the one he wanted to spend forever with. She was a sweet young thing, only thirty-one, gorgeous, with a lush, full body he planned to thoroughly enjoy for the first time later tonight. He’d been wooing her for a couple of months now, and she’d finally agreed to go away with him for a weekend together. He just knew the beauty of the location and the romance of the fireplace would finally lead to him seducing her.

After all, no one ever said no to Judge Ernest Copeland. It just didn’t happen.

As a standing judge in Fort Worth, Texas for over twenty-seven years, he’d become accustomed to his word being law. No one escaped his wrath if they failed to pay proper respect. Defendant, plaintiff, prosecutor or attorney to those accused - even John Q Public simply watching the proceedings - all stood equally targeted in his sights when he became displeased. He’d ruined quite a few promising careers in his time and was universally loathed on both sides of the aisle as a result.

He didn’t give a damn at all.

Now he gazed at his prize, this lovely lady standing beside him in the living area of the cabin she’d just followed him up to. She had insisted on driving her own rental vehicle up. A little power play, he supposed, frowning. Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t resist his charms much longer.

“I’m hungry, baby,” she mentioned. “Want me to whip up some dinner for us?”

“Absolutely,” he retorted. That was woman’s work. He had no intention of doing it.

“Okay, hon,” she said, and headed into the kitchen as he sat down near the fire with a newspaper he’d brought.

She busied herself at the stove for a bit, then crept over to the doorway to make sure he was fully absorbed in his reading and wouldn’t interrupt her. Good. He was focused. She unpacked the groceries he’d picked up in the little town down the mountain from here, then retrieved the extra special ingredient from her bag, tucking it into her pocket.

“Would you like a drink while you read?” she called out.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” he replied.

“Coming up.” And grinned to herself as she added the liquid potassium chloride she’d brought along into his glass, mixing it thoroughly with the Jack Daniels before adding ice.

“Here you go, dear,” she handed him the glass, then returned to the kitchen. Ten minutes later he called out to her, handed her the empty glass, barked, “Another,” then returned to his paper.

He seems fine, she thought. I didn’t mix it strongly enough. Time to fix that. The next drink she made she doubled the dose, freshened the ice, took it back out to him. She also added some into the beans she’d made; she hated beans anyway, so it was no sacrifice to make on her behalf. She plated his meal, served that to him too, then returned to the kitchen, pulled on the latex gloves she’d also retrieved from her overnight bag, and waited.

Five minutes in, she heard the plate hit the floor as his body finally reacted to too much potassium coursing through him. She came into the living room, sat on the couch, calmly and quietly watching as a massive myocardial infarction laid out Mr. I-Am-God on the floor like a homeless man on the street. He managed to turn his head toward her, whispering ‘help’ in a paper-thin voice. She slowly shook her head side to side, her eyes never leaving his.

As his heart gave out completely, the last thing he ever saw was her smiling face, watching him go. She gave it a bit, then reached down and checked his vitals with a practiced hand.

Good.

Now to tidy up.

She retrieved the plate and glass, took them to the kitchen, then cleaned up the food spilled on the floor. She proceeded to wash the dishes and all the cookware, taking care to wipe down every single surface she’d touched so no trace of her would remain. She repeated the wipe procedure on the front door handles, the little table beside the chair he’d fallen out of, everywhere she could think of as even a remote possibility of containing her prints.

Just before she made her exit, she pulled a tiny cellophane wrapper out of her pocket, tied it in a little bowtie like she’d seen so many times before so long ago, and placed it into his front pants pocket.

“One down, fifteen to go,” she said aloud, looking back at the scene one last time to make sure she’d not forgotten anything. And saw exactly what she’d hoped to convey– a man, sitting alone reading his paper by the fire, had what appeared to be a fatal heart attack, and fell out of the chair to the floor.

It had been her first kill. And she was proud of herself. She didn’t panic, she didn’t forget anything. She was truly amazed how simple it had all been. All I had to do was wear low-cut tight shirts and bat my eyes at that bastard, she recollected. And he lapped it up like milk. She’d never had any intention of letting him have s*x with her; she’d just had to play along so she could get him somewhere alone. And it had worked.

She walked out into the fading light for the return trip down the mountain. Climbing into her rental car, she took a small notebook out of her purse, pulled out a pen, and marked a line through Judge Ernest Copeland’s name with a great deal of satisfaction. She took a moment to breathe, to relive it, revel in it, just for a moment. Then she put her car in drive, circled wide around his car, and started her journey back.

On to the next.

* * *

* * * *

Landon Kendal was in his office, checking manifests against current inventory levels. The shipment from Italy was already two days overdue. He’d padded expected delivery dates as a routine measure, to account for unforeseen circumstances like rough seas or customs issues, but he still needed to lock down the cause of this delay.

As he reached for the desk phone to get in touch with his supplier there, his cell phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and grinned. His kid sister Sam. He smiled as he typed a response to her, hit send, put his cell back in his pocket, and continued his quest to find out where exactly his merchandise was.

* * *