The Sound of Murder

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Also, be sure to check out my Facebook group to discuss my books, and anything horror or thriller related: www.facebook.com/groups/LogansInsatiableReaders/ The Sound of Murder A Veronica Shade Thriller Book 3 Patrick Logan Prologue PART I – The Interview 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 PART II – Fire, Gas, and Sweat Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 PART II – A Real Hero Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Epilogue END Author’s Note Other Books by Patrick Logan For my three girls. May your inspiring curiosity be rewarded with lives full of incredible stories. The Sound of Murder A Veronica Shade Thriller Book 3 Patrick Logan Prologue “More bills, Ronnie. More bills.” Ronald Milligan raised his eyes from his coffee and stared at his wife. Sporting a long white nightshirt, she stood with her back to him, her shoulders hunched. He sighed. I thought we agreed not to talk about money in front of Laura? Ronald glanced to his left and offered his daughter a wan smile. “Bill? I’m sorry, honey, you’ve mistaken me for someone else. My name’s Ronnie.” Laura giggled and slurped Cheerios off her spoon. “You think this is funny?” Both of their smiles vanished. “You really think this is funny, Ronnie?” Zinnia Milligan had since turned and was flapping a handful of envelopes in her right hand. “How long do you think this is gonna last before they cut off the TV?” “They’re gonna cut off the TV?” Laura asked, her eyes going wide. Ronnie patted her head. “No, they’re not.” Then, to Zinnia, he said, “I’m doing the best I can here. I’ve already worked three overtime shifts this week.” Zinnia’s face dropped and Ronnie stood with the intention of comforting his wife. But the woman was having none of it. At thirty-six, Zinnia was still as attractive as the day they’d met. Smooth dark skin, full lips, and the most intense eyes that he’d ever come across. But at this moment, as a sneer crept onto her face, she looked absolutely hideous. “Well, clearly whatever you’re doing is not good enough.” If his daughter wasn’t there, if Laura wasn’t sitting beside him and staring at them both, Ronnie would’ve been tempted to say what had been on his mind for the last three months. I’m working overtime and you’re not even trying to get a job. It might not be your fault that you were let go—the hotel industry, like everything else, is constantly downsizing. But you could try. You could change out of that fucking nightgown that you wear day in and day out and try. Hell, if you don’t want to work, that’s fine—you could just stay home with Laura. That would save us a bundle on daycare costs. “Nothing? You’ve got nothing to say for yourself?” Ronnie had to bite his tongue to avoid speaking. After an intense stare that lasted several seconds, Zinnia raspberried her lips and shook her head. Then she turned her attention to that damn cell phone that never left her sight. Ronnie took a final sip of his coffee. “I love you, sweetheart,” he said. “I love you too, Daddy.” Ronnie bent, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and then smoothed her curly black hair. “I’ll be home late tonight.” Zinnia didn’t even look up from her phone. With a sigh, Ronnie grabbed his Bear County Deputy hat off the counter, put it on, and then dipped the brim toward his daughter. “I’ll be back, pilgrim.” *** People have this idea about law enforcement—about cops, State Troopers, County Deputies. They think that they get their jollies pulling people over for exceeding the speed limit by as little as a single mile per hour. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Pulling people over meant paperwork. And Ronnie Milligan would much rather just sit in his car and listen to a podcast or audiobook all day, take his mind off his failing marriage than fill out forms. But there was a difference between speeding and speeding. Even on rural roads, Ronnie would only allow a twenty, maybe twenty-five percent over the limit buffer. But if anything looked reckless or dangerous? He wouldn’t hesitate to flick on his siren and lights. And when Ronnie clocked the white Mazda sedan going eighty in a fifty zone? That was exactly what he did. There was always a moment when you put on your lights that your adrenaline spiked. No matter how benign the traffic stop, this surge always got Ronnie’s heart pumping. The driver of the Mazda pulled over immediately, the car’s bald tires sending so much dust and dirt into the air that he couldn’t read the license plate. Radio coverage was spotty out here, but he called in the traffic stop anyway after parking about twelve feet behind the white car. The dust settled enough for him to see a single person in the vehicle. A man, most likely, wearing a ball cap. Ronnie adjusted his belt, made sure his holster hadn’t shifted while sitting and got out of his car. As he approached, his initial observation was confirmed: one occupant, male, medium to small