Better Off Dead

Better Off Dead Mountain Shadow Mysteries Book One Tarah Benner Contents Also by Tarah Benner Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Author’s Note Explore Mountain Shadow Also by Tarah Benner Witches of Mountain Shadow (Books 1-6) Christmas in Mountain Shadow The Witch’s Fortune Blood Ties The Elven Blade The Elderon Chronicles (Books 1-5) The Lawless Saga (Books 1-4) Bound in Blood The Fringe (Books 1-5) The Defectors Trilogy (Books 1-3) Digital Edition This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold 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. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please visit your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration of content is permitted. This book is a work of fiction, and any similarities to any person, living or dead, are coincidental and not intentional. Published by Blue Sky Studio, LLC Copyright 2023 Tarah Benner To Granny — I’d love to solve murder mysteries with you. Chapter One As I stared at the rat’s nest of cables hanging from the wall, I realized that I’d been robbed. My brand-new smart TV was gone, leaving only the empty mount. My tastefully decorated midcentury apartment looked like a war zone. Someone had knocked over my bird of paradise plant just inside the door and broken the white clay pot. Books and papers were strewn all over the living room floor, and one of my kitchen chairs had been upended. My little home office in the corner was in complete disarray. They’d taken my fifteen-hundred-dollar desktop computer, as well as my laptop and iPad. Pens and highlighters were scattered all over my desk, along with the contents of my file sorter. Moving in a daze, I went into the bedroom and stared at my mattress resting crookedly on the box spring — throw pillows lying pell-mell on the floor. The closet doors were wide open, as if someone had been rifling through my things, and the dresser drawers had been emptied. I froze when I saw the jewelry box still sitting on my dresser. It didn’t contain anything of value — just some inexpensive necklaces and rings that I wore on a regular basis. The family heirlooms were hidden in a shoebox under my bed, tucked between the Christmas decorations and a box of wool sweaters. I knelt down and reached for the familiar battered box and froze when my hand skimmed the void between my twin plastic totes. No. No, no, no, no, no. Bending over, I pressed my temple all the way to the floor to confirm what I already knew. The box where I’d kept my most precious treasures was gone. Great-Grandma’s pearls, Gramps’s silver watch, my dad’s class ring — all of it was gone. I sat up and tried to breathe as a hard lump formed in my throat. What sort of thieves took a dusty old shoebox but left the antique black-walnut jewelry box that had been sitting out in plain sight? The answer smacked me in the face almost immediately, but my brain kept searching for some other explanation. There was only one person who knew what I’d kept in that shoebox, and I really, really didn’t want it to be him. My legs felt like jelly as I got to my feet and walked out into the living room. My heart was throbbing dully somewhere behind my collarbone as my gaze darted from the framed photo of the two of us resting crookedly on the end table to the cut-out picture of Todd’s head that I’d pasted on a groom’s body. The bobble-headed groom version of him dominated the center of my wedding dream board, along with a similar photo of me against a Hawaiian sunset. With shaky hands, I dug my phone out of my back pocket and dialed my fiancé. Blood pounded in my ears, and the call went straight to voicemail. Don’t panic, I told myself. It doesn’t mean anything. Never mind that the manager at our wedding venue had called to let me know that our second-choice date was still available if we put down a deposit — the deposit that Todd was supposed to have dropped off weeks ago. I’d given him my half as soon as we’d decided on the venue, and he’d said he’d swing by on his way home the next day. When Todd hadn’t answered my call from work, I’d called the caterer, the bakery, the florist, and the DJ. None of them had received our deposits, either. I’d been spiraling the entire ride back to my apartment, preparing to confront Todd when he got home. And then I’d found . . . this. It’s not what you think, I told myself firmly. Todd couldn’t have stolen the money. I knew I’d sound like a crazy Bridezilla if I accused him, so I dialed the number for Southwest Airlines. I’d scribbled a confirmation number that Todd had given me in the corner of my wedding calendar, which was covered in a rainbow of sticky notes. Each color corresponded to a different aspect of the event, and I’d drawn a big pink heart around our date-iversary. Todd had been strapped for cash after putting down the deposit on our venue, so I’d given him my credit card to purchase the plane tickets for our honeymoon in Hawaii. My voice shook as I read off the confirmation number, hoping it was all a big misunderstanding. We’re sorry. We do not have a reservation that matches that number. “Dammit.” I hung