Unwed and Dead (The Dead Ex Files Book 1) Read online

  Unwed & Dead

  The Dead Ex Files – Mystery #1

  By Claire Kane and Stan Crowe

  www.breezyreads.com

  Published by Breezy Reads, Copyright 2016

  ABOUT THE BOOK:

  Victor St. John thinks stunning news reporter Lacey Ling is his match made in Heaven, even after she dumps him. On the night he plans to win her back, he's stopped by a small inconvenience—his own murder. Despite newfound hobbies of dodging demons and suffering the snarky demands of his deceased cat-turned-spirit guide, Victor is literally dead-set on finding out whodunit. With help from the woman he loves, of course.

  When Victor’s spirit comes calling, Lacey thinks she's gone nuts. The last thing she needs is to be haunted by her love-sick ex. Surprisingly, she finds that Victor actually does make a good partner... in detective work. But will a supernatural helper be enough to prevent her own untimely demise?

  More Books by the Authors

  CLAIRE KANE

  Z & C Mysteries:

  The Riddles of Hillgate

  Cruise to Murder

  Hexes and X’s

  Legend of The Lost

  A Grave Situation

  The Howliday Inn

  A Ghostly Dare

  The Menopause Murders:

  The Demise of The Lotto Queen

  The Revenge of Pooky Poo

  A Charli Chan Mystery:

  A Yen for Murder

  Lights, Camera, Murder

  To Catch a Fox

  *

  STAN CROWE

  The Cinderella Project

  Love Spell

  Autumn Wings

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  ONE

  Victor St. John cautiously stepped into his Tokyo apartment, keeping the grocery bag he held concealed behind him. “Lacey?” he called. “Jessica?”

  It was dark. For a moment, he had the impression that one of them was just inside, waiting for him, perhaps even planning a surprise. At least he’d given Lacey a spare set of keys. Jessica, on the other hand…

  He flicked on the light and found everything in order. A wary search of the hall and his bedroom, also revealed nothing.

  “Hello?” Still no response. Good. He sighed in relief, then smiled, making his way around the stacks of moving boxes that covered the living room’s hardwood floor to the kitchen where he’d put the rest of his plan into motion. He set his bag on the counter and got to work.

  Gently, he emptied its contents: a pair of the best steaks he could find—he could have bought an entire cow in America for what he paid for them—a bottle of wine that would make his parents jealous, and a nice little rock on an engagement band. Forward much? Sure, but maybe if Lacey knew just how committed he was, she’d change her mind. Victor St. John was a man on a mission. He swallowed again at the cost of the evening, but Lacey Ling was worth it.

  He paused at a snifter poised on the counter, a healthy dose of dark red liquid already leaving a ring around the inside of the glass. Next to it was a note, written in kanji. Taking the glass in one hand, and the note in the other, Victor read what Lacey had left for him. “To you, my love,” he said, automatically translating from Japanese.

  His heart stopped. Had she really written this? If so, when? And why wasn’t she still in the apartment? He smiled, thinking that maybe she’d stepped out to get something comfortable to wear to dinner. Had all the time they’d spent apart broken that glacier that formed between them? It had been six weeks since she dumped him. Maybe she just needed time to reconsider. Stomach flopping like a fish, his spirits soared. Tonight’s plan might actually work.

  “Well,” he said to himself, “can’t let the little lady down, can I?” He swirled the liquid, sniffed lightly—not a bad scent, but not the best he’d ever encountered—and sipped at it. It was lukewarm, and a tad on the bitter side, but not bad enough to not finish. He knew she’d be upset if he rejected the offer, so he downed it in a long gulp, then wiped his mouth.

  He grimaced at the taste. “Yeah. I should have taught her where to shop for wine,” he muttered, before taking his own bottle and setting it in the freezer to ensure it was properly chilled before what he was sure would be the best dinner they’d ever had.

  He turned to the stove, set out a pan, and pulled out his phone, where he’d bookmarked a recipe his boss, Mister Taniguchi, had highly recommended. Pulling some cooking sherry from the tiny cupboard (he’d never gotten over how much the Japanese spent on such minuscule living spaces), he unscrewed the lid, and poured a little into a pan while turning on the gas burner. (He felt lucky to have found a place that had one).

  A thud sounded in the next apartment over, causing him to start, but with a shake of his head, he turned on some tunes and lost himself in his cooking. Knowing Lacey, she’d arrive half an hour before he’d asked her to, and want to take over the cooking, at which point, the game would be up. He felt lucky that she’d left after leaving a note.

  Victor sighed, and checked his watch. “Best get a move on, Vic,” he muttered, grabbing a cutting board and a knife, before pulling some fresh garlic cloves from the fridge. As he shut the door, he felt his head swim a little. Blinking through the dizziness, he turned back to the counter to start cutting the garlic, only to feel an unexpected wave of nausea rip through his gut. “Ugh. That sushi joint last night must have gotten it wrong.” A cold sweat broke on his forehead, and he had to catch himself with both hands to keep from dropping. After a few moments, though, the sensation seemed to pass, and he made his way unsteadily to the sink for a glass of water, dismayed to note that his vision was blurring rapidly.

  What is going on?

  He nursed the headache rising in his temples. “Never going to finish in time if I keep feeling this way.”

  Draining the water in one, long gulp, he moved back to the cutting board and picked up the knife. His clouded vision hampered his efforts to mince the garlic and but he pressed on, taking extra care not to leave a finger in the small-but-growing pile of chopped produce, and wondered how much his old college girlfriend, Jessica, would laugh if he did. Geez, he thought, she’d probably offer to help. He shuddered to think of how close he’d gotten to making things permanent with her. But Lacey—she was different. She was the real deal.

  He heard a noise again, only this time he realized it was from his living room. I’m more out of it than I thought if she snuck in like that. He looked up slowly, careful not to agitate his headache again. Oddly, the light had been switched off. “Lacey? That you?” Wiping the knife clean, he half stumbled out of the kitchen, wondering what kind of surprise she had in store for him.

  “Lacey?” he said, flipping on the light.

  Pain erupted in the side of his face. Before he co
uld react, a hand snatched his collar and hurled him to the floor. He gasped—half from shock—and arched his back. A fist piled into the back of his head, and a kick forced him to curl into a ball. He rolled out of the way, and managed to get halfway up before another kick blasted him. By pure instinct, Victor’s knife lashed out, and his attacker hissed in pain.

  Desperately he struggled in vain to clear his vision. In the darkness of the living room, all he could see was a black, vaguely human blob retreating from where he held the knife. Victor backed into the kitchen, still waving the knife in front of him. When his attacker lunged, Victor fell back on his military martial arts training. He tried to block and thrust, but the intruder dodged, and drove a knee into his groin before grabbing for the knife. His stomach still roiled, and his head felt like it was caught in a tornado, but he knew that losing the knife meant only one thing—that he wouldn’t be eating dinner with Lacey that night.

  Her face appeared in his addled mind, and with a roar, he heaved his attacker off him and drove the man into the wall. He earned a punch for his efforts, and Victor staggered back into the stove, sending the pan skittering off the burner and on to the floor. The bottle of sherry was knocked sideways, where it sullenly bled out on to the stovetop.

  Waves of pain and vertigo crashed in on Victor at the same time the burglar did. Victor went down hard, and dropped the knife. Both grabbed for it at the same time, but by some miracle, Victor’s hand found it first even as the man was diving for it. Like lightning, Victor whipped it up, and heard a sickly, wet tearing sound followed by a gurgling scream as his attacker collapsed on to him. Instinctively, he twisted the knife, but could already feel his grip slipping. His vision clouded around the edges, and he vomited. Any advantage he may have had had just disappeared.

  And then the weight was off him. Frantic footsteps retreated into the hall. Whatever Victor had done, it had been enough. He’d rest for a minute—his body refused to let him do much more— then he’d phone the cops. Explaining this to Lacey was a different matter.

  I paid a lot of money for those steaks, too. His stomach violently protested the idea of ingesting half-raw meat, and he threw up again. Head pounding, and breath shallow, he only managed to look up at the counter one more time before sliding into the billowing grey clouds closing in around his vision.

  His last thought was to wonder what the flames on his counter were about.

  *

  The local news, that night, would include the usual things—typhoon recovery, economic reports, tensions in the South China Sea, and a fire that gutted a high-rise apartment in Tokyo, leaving the charred husk of a single victim, and scant few clues as to why it happened.

  TWO

  The quiet, incessant ticking of a clock pressed on Lacey Ling’s mind as she sat in the semi-dark of her grandmother’s tiny home on the outskirts of Tokyo. The scent of “old woman” seemed to weigh on the air, as if her mother’s mother’s life was breathing a final sigh before letting go. Lacey had come to Tokyo on company business, and decided to take the opportunity to present a proposal to the aged woman. Instead, the conversation had, inevitably, turned back on Lacey and toward her continued singlehood. She cringed, but humored her, out of respect for her elder.

  “Nainai,” Lacey said, stroking her grandmother’s whitened hair, “I’m just not ready to commit, and especially not to him.”

  Nainai peered up at her through pink eyelids, lying in a bed of multicolored silks. “He is stable. He has a job; a good one at that. And he would give you a handsome son.”

  “We’ve only known each other a few months, Nainai!” Lacey shook her head in frustration, long black bangs framing her oval face.

  “Your grandfather and I didn’t know each other before our wedding day! Five months is plenty of time. Plus, he’s an American.” A wrinkled finger pointed up in emphasis.

  “I’m an American too. Chinese-American, no disrespect. There are plenty of men back home in the States, all around, I can have a chance with.”

  A hacking cough started. Nainai cupped her mouth and closed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, you need to rest. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.” Lacey stood up from her antique, stuffed chair.

  The elderly Chinese woman pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I’m not dead yet! Let me tell you what Confucius says—” Her dark eyes were focused with excitement.

  “Oh, no. Not Confucius again, Nainai.” Lacey put a hand on her hip.

  “Confucius say, ‘You are a pretty girl, but not always smart!’”

  A sigh. “He eats Lucky Charms while watching Godzilla on repeat, likes Christian rock… and I have proof he sometimes wears the same socks two days in a row!”

  “Not two days in a row.” Nainai pressed a hand against her blouse in dramatized shock. “Look, I know you American girls marry for love. That’s fine. It’s what your mother did. I just know there’s something about Victor that’s different. He has a spiritual side. He’s a person you can depend on.”

  Lacey’s expression stayed flat.

  “But you don’t love him?”

  “We had a whirlwind romance, as you know. I couldn’t get enough of him… until suddenly one day I did. I’ll put it this way: he doesn’t have the maturity I’m seeking. His boyishness can only be cute for so long. Plus, we’re too different. It could never work out.”

  “So you don’t love him.”

  Lacey looked away. “Not like that.”

  Nainai slowly reclined and shut her eyes. “I won’t push you further. That is that. Pass me my dim sum.”

  Lacey placed the ornate saucer of ornate snacks in bed, then kissed her grandma’s forehead. “Um, Nainai, I have something to talk to you about, other than Victor.”

  Nainai took a bite of a small steamed bun stuffed with pork. “Go on.”

  “I talked to Mom, and she agrees, you should come home with me to live back in the States.”

  “Now why would I do that?” Her eyes narrowed. “Leave my home that I and your late grandfather made? Those drapes were handsewn by me at just seventeen years old. That chair you sit on goes back to the Ming Dynasty. I have memories here.”

  “I agree, there are items here of great value, but what’s most important right now is that I care for you. I can come back for many of these things. You don’t want to be here all alone, do you? Your family isn’t here; it’s where I’m at.”

  The old woman’s forehead wrinkled as she took another bite. “Hmmmm.”

  “Come on. Confucius say, ‘You should do it.’” Lacey winked.

  “You can’t use my lines!” she joked. “I’ll think about it…”

  “Goodnight.” Lacey grabbed a black oversized purse off the floor, and put it over a shoulder. “I’ll be back later.” Though Nainai hadn’t committed, Lacey could tell she was thinking about it; that meant Lacey probably wouldn’t have to cancel the one-way ticket she’d already bought her grandmother. With her primary task complete, she turned her mind to the next thing on her list: her ex. She sighed, but straightened her hair all the same as she hailed a cab for a ride into the city.

  *

  Soon enough, Tokyo’s city lights of loud neon billboards and towering buildings were Lacey’s backdrop. Colorful, crowded advertisements in Japanese couldn’t lure her into their tourist traps, however, as she stepped out of the cab, nearly a block away from her destination. Glancing at her Apple watch, she noted she was fashionably late for her appointment with Victor. She would’ve rather been early, but the cab hit delays on the ride from Nainai’s, and with traffic gridlocked near Victor’s apartment, she reasoned it was probably easier to walk the rest of the way, even in her $120 shoes.

  She sighed. Victor had invited her to his place on the excuse of “some final business over dinner.” He insisted she come, as he was set to fly out tomorrow morning. Though she saw through his act, she’d decided to be a good friend and help, even if part of her was looking forward to saying goodbye.

 
; The streets were wet from a recent rainfall. Puddles reflected reds, blues and pinks, appearing like giant ink splotches. Lacey’s tall beige heels cautiously clacked along as she wove through businessmen, college students and an occasional prostitute or two. Ahead, she saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. She ignored it and peeked inside her purse. Wrapped in butcher paper were two steaks side by side. If Victor had to choose, Lacey was certain he’d pick her cooking. She was a natural at it. Victor tried making steak for her before. She asked for rare; it was past well done. She wouldn’t let that mistake happen again. No, she would see to it that nothing was burnt tonight.

  *

  High above Lacey’s frustration, Victor woke to the sight of his apartment looking like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, and a bad house party composed of Japanese firefighters and police traipsing through puddles of water. When had Lacey invited these guys? And what happened to the guy who had attacked him? Is that who was on the sheet-covered stretcher out in his damaged hallway?

  I guess I stabbed him deeper than I meant to. Geez. I wasn’t trying to kill the guy. He shouldn’t have come for me in the first place.

  Victor stood with surprising ease and no longer felt the slightest bit drowsy. His nausea, headache, and dizziness were gone too. In fact, he felt absolutely superb. There was a strange sensation that he’d lost some weight while he was unconscious, but hey, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, as long as it wasn’t the muscle mass he’d been building over the last year.

  Turning in a slow circle, he noticed that the firemen—who were practically crawling all over his apartment—were in full gear. It only took a split second’s thought to remember that he’d seen flames before he’d blacked out. Suddenly, he was glad they’d come.

  “Hey,” he called. “How’d you guys get here so fast?” But that didn’t seem right. The charred walls, the piles of ash and melted plastic where his furniture once were didn’t speak to a speedy arrival. As it was, they continued swarming the place, clearly too busy to answer, carrying on as though he hadn’t said a word. Standing in the middle of the unmitigated disaster, Victor knew that someone had some explaining to do. Then, something else hit him. One look at the stove made his heart sink. “Lacey likes her steak rare. She’s never going to forgive this.”