The Unmasking of Kelly James

Belle Chapin The Unmasking of Kelly James First published by Danvers Writing and Publishing LLC 2023 Copyright © 2023 by Belle Chapin All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Belle Chapin has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate. Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book. First edition ISBN: 978-1-7375254-3-1 This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com For anyone who has ever wanted a pet velociraptor. Contents Preface PROLOGUE 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 Chapter 26 Epilogue Acknowledgments Preface The Unmasking of Kelly James includes the following trigger warnings: Death of a spouse/parent (off-page) In-depth sexual content Vomiting The probable death of a spider PROLOGUE “Once upon a time, there was a tavern…” Mary Hopkin, “Those Were the Days” In the town of Greenstone, in the state of Illinois, there was a tavern—the Emerald Tavern, to be exact. Tavern might be an outdated term for such a place, like its customers were supposed to be sitting there drinking ale and trying to outsmart the Redcoats or something historical like that, but once a person went inside the place, they understood. It just fit. They stepped inside, took a deep breath of the scents of beer and garlic and too many people confined in one room, and thought, oh, yes. This is definitely a tavern. And, of course, in the tavern, in the aforementioned town of Greenstone in the delightful state of Illinois, there was a table. The table was an old rectangular slab with nicked wood and so many layers of varnish that amber-colored drips were frozen in time on the table’s edge. It sat in the back corner of the tavern, just before the swinging door entrance to the kitchen—so close one could hear the servers curse under their breath as they burst through the door and stubbed their toes on the uneven floorboards. The short end of the table was against the brick wall and had two sets of red vinyl booths, one on each long side. With Greenstone being a college town, those booths probably held at least twelve people in various stages of inebriation, but it was only meant for six at the most. Or it was, until a few years ago when it became permanently meant for five. The table was, and forever would be, theirs. No matter who else sat at it in the future, that fact would never change. Although the weather was still cool outside for mid-May, when Kelly James entered the Emerald, the tomato-sauce heat inside smacked him in the face as if to say, “Bitch, where’ve you been?” As proven by a backache that could only be gained by sitting in a metal folding chair for four hours, Kelly had been at his college graduation ceremony. After four long years at Greenstone Northern University, he was the owner of a costly piece of paper telling the world he had a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology and a minor in Early Childhood Education. His gaze zeroed in on the table, and although the rest of the place was filled with graduates, their families, and the occasional out-of-place underclassman, their table was almost empty. Only one person occupied it, sitting on the farthest side of the farthest booth, his hand around a half-empty bottle of cheap beer. Their leader had arrived, and he was waiting for the rest of them. “Dylan,” Kelly said, sitting down across from the man at the sacred table. “Kelly.” Dylan tipped the bottle in greeting before taking another sip. “Have your parents left?” “They went right to the airport after the ceremony.” Kelly tied up his shoulder-length brown hair with a leather band. The back of his neck was already sweating from being near the kitchen’s heat. “They didn’t want to take a red-eye back to California.” Kelly didn’t mind his parents’ early exit. They were there to see him prance across the stage and shake some old dude’s hand, and that’s all that mattered. He’d rather they got back to Santa Monica safe and sound. “What about Elliott?” Dylan asked. “Is he meeting us here?” His voice had that false neutrality it always held when he brought up Kelly’s boyfriend. “He drove them to the airport. He’s catching a different flight to New York for a meeting on Monday.” Dylan took a long pull of his beer instead of commenting. Unlike Elliott, Dylan was an old soul. He grew up in Greenstone, and was the typical hometown hero kind of boy, corn-fed and raised on football and tractors and whatever else Midwesterners had in their ranch dressing-thickened blood. Kelly had only lived there for four years of undergrad and was