Black Cat Blues Read online

  Black Cat Blues

  Jo-Ann Carson

  JRT Publications

  Nanaimo, B.C., Canada

  Black Cat Blues is a work of fiction. Although it takes place in Vancouver, which is a real city on the west coast of Canada, all names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ©Jo-Ann Terpstra

  ISBN – 978-0-9738902-8-0

  Contents

  Introduction

  Praise

  Aknowledgements

  Dedication

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-One

  22. Chapter Twenty-Two

  23. Chapter Twenty-Three

  24. Chapter Twenty-Four

  25. Chapter Twenty-Five

  26. Chapter Twenty-Six

  27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

  29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

  30. Chapter Thirty

  31. Chapter Thirty-One

  32. Chapter Thirty-Two

  33. Chapter Thirty-Three

  34. Chapter Thirty-Four

  35. Chapter Thirty-Five

  36. Chapter Thirty-Six

  37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

  38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

  39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

  40. Chapter Forty

  41. Chapter Forty-One

  42. Chapter Forty-Two

  43. Chapter Forty-Three

  44. Chapter Forty-Four

  45. Chapter Forty-Five

  46. Chapter Forty-Six

  47. Chapter Forty-Seven

  48. Chapter Forty-Eight

  49. Chapter Forty-Nine

  50. Chapter Fifty

  51. Chapter Fifty-One

  52. Chapter Fifty-Two

  53. Chapter Fifty-Three

  54. Chapter Fifty-Four

  55. Chapter Fifty-Five

  56. Chapter Fifty-Six

  57. Chapter Fifty-Seven

  58. Chapter Fifty-Eight

  59. Chapter Fifty-Nine

  A Note from Jo-Ann Carson

  Ain't Misbehavin' - Chapter One

  Also by Jo-Ann Carson

  About Jo-Ann Carson

  Bibliography for Brother XII

  Suggested Book Club Questions

  Introduction

  Black Cat Blues

  A nightmare waits in the alley . . .

  Stabbed in an alley behind the Black Cat Blues bar, private investigator Jimmy Daniels clings to life just long enough to tell Maggy Malone a secret.

  Maggy, a curvy blues singer with a sultry voice and a razor sharp mind is starting her life over after a lousy marriage. Reluctant at first to get involved with a murder, she tells no one the secret. But when the murderer stalks her, she changes her mind.

  Maggy teams up with Jimmy’s brother, Logan, a handsome suit with a tidy view of life. They figure out the killer is looking for gold buried on Gabriola Island by the notorious, cult-leader Brother XII.

  The body count rises. Will Maggy catch him? Or will she be his next victim?

  Black Cat Blues is the first story in the Vancouver Blues series. If you like Indiana Jones and urban noir, you’ll love this story, which combines all of their best traits in a fast-paced, captivating and sensual, romantic suspense.

  If you want adventure and romance in your life, buy Black Cat Blues today.

  An Award Winning Romantic Suspense, set in the Pacific Northwest.

  Vancouver Blues Suspense Series, Book 1

  By Jo-Ann Carson

  Smart, Sexy Suspense

  Praise

  Black Cat Blues – Awards

  First, 2013 Southern Heat (contemporary series)

  Third, 2013, Lone Star contest (Romantic Suspense)

  Finalist, 2013 Romancing the Lake (Romantic Suspense)

  *****************************************************

  Early Reviews

  ***** “Maggy Malone sings the blues, plays guitar, and finds dead bodies but she avoids police. She attracts men, murderers, bad luck, & cops. Each chapter begins with a musical quote which is quite fun. The Vancouver setting is a wonderful change. Add in a tale of treasure, cults, premonitions, bad marriages gone awry, a blind man, hunky suitors, witty RMCP, & a Marlin spike-wielding killer & you have a fascinating mystery with a little romance tossed in for good measure. I think I’ll become a Maggy Malone fan. My first Jo-Ann Carson book, but it won’t be my last. I won this book in a contest & the review is my own.” Kay Lib, 5 star review on Amazon

  ***** “Holy hell this is a dang good book! Fast pace that will keep you turning the pages! Not an easy book to put down nor walk away from when you started! Sure found myself reading all night and losing track of time. There’s so much that lays behind the cover that you don’t won’t to miss!” Peggy Salkill, 5 stars Amazon

  ***** “Black Cat Blues, is a heart-stopping non-stop thrilling suspense. I could not put it down! It kept me reading until late into the night. I devoured it to find out who was the murderer! Exciting till the very last page. Amazing debut, for Jo-Ann Carson’s new series Vancouver Blues Suspense. A must to read if you love thriller suspense with a romantic touch! Excellent writing, a very fast-paced thriller that you won’t want to put down.

  Set, in Vancouver, on the West coast of Canada and Granville Island where the heroine Maggy lives on her boat. The story starts as, Jimmy Daniels, a private investigator, is stabbed to death in an alley behind the Black Cat Blues bar, where Maggy, is a blues singer. While he is dying, he reveals to her a secret! Enters in her life, Jimmy’s brother, Logan, a gorgeous man, who intends to find out who is the murderer! They will team up to find clues to help their case, but danger is still lurking in the background. Who did it? Another man named, Hunter, will offer his help, both Hunter and Logan will fall for the beautiful Maggy. Which one will she choose? Is she ready for a long time commitment? Is she safe from danger with the murderer still not caught? Just follow her wild adventure to know more. This thriller will keep you on the edge of your seat until the exciting conclusion. Black Cat Blues, is one of the very best thrillers I have read. I have Ms. Carson on my must read list now, and can’t wait for the next book. I enjoyed it so much that I highly recommend it.” Nicole Laverdure, 5 stars, Amazon

  ***** “Wow . . . I could not put this one down. Fast moving and suspenseful. It had a touch of romance, some tense thrilling moments, a little bit of gore, a little bit of psychic ability and really kept you on your toes while reading. Maggy finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time, a few times but manages with the help of the two “hunks” in her life and a cop that didn’t give up, to prove she can do more than just sing.” B, 5 stars, Amazon

  ***** “Jo-Ann Carson has created another wonderful strong female character. Maggy Malone is working several odd jobs but would love to be able to pursue her dream of singing. One night after her gig as a sultry blues singer at the Black Cat Blues bar she leaves through the back door and finds a body in the alley, impaled with a spike. As sh
e leans down the dying man says something to her and she finds out later this is a message for his brother Logan. She doesn’t feel like she should share everything with the police and later on she finds herself as a target for the madman. Also adding excitement into the story is an old diary that points to the location of a buried treasure. How does it all come together? I love Ms. Carson’s writing style. It is very engaging from the first page and very hard to put down. I’m already in anticipation of the next Maggie Malone book.” Gina Smith, 5 stars, Amazon

  Aknowledgements

  This story has been sleeping under the bed for two years. Part of me hoped it would age like fine wine, while another part wanted to think about the characters a little bit longer. Now, I’m bringing it to life.

  I have many people to thank for helping me in this process.

  First, I’d like to thank my husband, Piet, who encourages my passion for writing. He’s been my rock through the tumultuous journey of becoming a published writer. I’d also like to thank my daughters Hannah and Jasmin for their love and support. I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful family. Writing can be a lonely art, but thankfully not with my gang.

  My deepest gratitude goes to urban fantasy writer JC McKenzie for being my kick-ass critique partner and Hannah Myles and Judy Hudson for being my first beta-readers. I used their suggestions to revise the story.

  Then there’s my professional team:

  Thanks go to my editor, Dr. Philip Newey who knows his Chicago Style inside out and helps me clean up my language.

  And thanks go to my cover designer Steven Novak. He nailed the urban noir feel of the story.

  And lastly, I’d like to thank you, my reader. Without you, there would be no story.

  All errors are my own.

  Dedication

  To my father, Max Carson, who loved the Blues.

  I miss you Dad. This one’s for you.

  1

  Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.

  Berthold Auerbach

  Walking through a dark alley at three-thirty in the morning wasn’t smart, but Maggy Malone didn’t have a choice, or at least not one she liked. A bone-numbing, cold wind off the Salish Sea hit her face as she opened the back door of the Black Cat Blues Bar. Pulling her jacket close to her body with one hand, and holding her guitar case in the other, she descended the stairs into the inky darkness of the night. But after her first step, she checked over her shoulder.

  Vancouver in November—endless gray skies and drizzle. The waning moon slipped behind layers of dark clouds, leaving little light to help her on her way. She quickened her pace. A warm glow beckoned from the street lamp, just a hundred yards away. Her scalp tingled as if a dozen spiders slipped across it. She took a deep breath of the salty night air.

  What the hell. She could handle a few minutes of fear. Singing in the best blues bar on the coast had been her life dream. If it meant getting up close and personal with the creepy, back alley on occasion, then so be it. Her shoulders tightened.

  Stepping over dirty needles, used condoms and Micky D wrappers left behind by the people who shared the alley—the prostitutes, the addicts and the homeless—she tried not to let the sadness of their lives reach inside her. But the stagnant stench of rotting garbage and urine turned her stomach. If only it would really rain, then the city would be washed clean.

  Where are the street people? Usually there’d be one or two around at this time of night, huddled against the cold, brick walls with only a blanket to keep out the cold and misfortunes of the night. Something felt wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it . . . but something. She looked over her shoulder again. No one.

  A chill crawled slowly up her spine. She adjusted the weight of her canvas guitar case into her other hand and prepared to run. She wasn’t sure what she would be running from, but just in case. A woman in an alley has to be ready.

  It had been a long night. She should never have descended into this God forsaken alley. Friggin Frank. It was his fault. She took a deep breath as her eyes darted in every direction. The feeling of darkness, much darker than the night around her, picked at her senses. Her throat tightened and she couldn’t swallow.

  I’m just scaring myself. The lights of the street were only a few yards away. Everything will be fine.

  Then she saw the body lying still in a pool of blood. A silvery spike protruded from his chest. Her breath stopped. It was the handsome stranger she had seen in the bar an hour ago. Maggy ran to him.

  She checked his breathing. It was shallow, but he was still alive.

  She punched 911 into her cell phone.

  Waiting for the connection, she yelled into the dark night, “Help.” But no one came running.

  Alone with a dying man. Was his murderer close by? No one gets a spike in their chest by accident. Was the murderer watching her? Tiny hairs rose on the back of her neck.

  “Nine-one-one. State your emergency.” The operator’s toneless voice cut into the night.

  “There’s a man. He’s been stabbed . . .” Maggy took off her scarf and pressed it to his wound around the spike. Could she stop the flow of blood? “Hurry.”

  “Where are you, ma’am?”

  “In the alley behind the . . .” Her own voice sounded dry and robotic. She needed to get the words out. “The Black Cat Blues Bar on Fifth.”

  “An ambulance is on the way.”

  Maggy looked at the man. Would they make it in time?

  “You need to apply pressure to the wound . . .”

  I’m friggen doing that. Bright red blood oozed through the scarf and onto her hand. The man’s face paled as his life force drained from him. She put down the phone, swallowed hard, and used both hands to apply steady pressure to her scarf. “Hang in there, buddy. Don’t die on me.”

  His eyelids moved just a fraction. But they moved.

  Swollen and cut, his face looked as if it had taken a beating. She leaned down to listen at his mouth. His breathing was faint and ragged. Seconds ticked by slowly.

  Then his lips moved. She strained to hear him.

  “Tell Logan,” he rasped. She waited for him to say more. Pain flooded his eyes. His lips trembled, but no sound came out.

  She could barely breathe herself. The man’s life was sliding away in front of her, and there was nothing she could damn well do to stop it. She pressed down anyway, and his blood seeped through her fingers.

  “Tell Logan,” he repeated. She bent closer. “The Emer . . . old . . .”

  He made a horrid gurgling sound and a gush of blood flowed from his mouth. His muscles jerked and quivered. He was fighting to live, as his organs shut down.

  As the sound of sirens pierced the night, Maggy sat up and met his dead eyes. Shivers ran through her body. Tears streamed down her face.

  “May you find peace,” she said. She closed his eyes and waited.

  ***

  “And he said nothing?” Inspector Peterson from the Vancouver Police Department asked in a low, gravelly voice that raked her senses.

  Maggy tried to tell her body to stop trembling, but it wouldn’t. A tiny stream of blood flowed dangerously close to where they stood a couple yards from the body. A policewoman snapped pictures of the dead man. A medical examiner directed two assistants to take evidence. The paramedics waited for orders. It was like standing in the middle of a CSI set, only it was real, all too real.

  Maggy took a long, shaky breath and looked at the policeman. “I don’t know him.”

  He gave her a hard-ass cop look that could peel paint off a wall.

  The dead man’s blood, now dry on her hands, tightened the surface of her skin. At least her tears had stopped. She focused on taking deeper breaths and wished the annoying cop would leave her alone.

  “I asked you if he said anything.” Gravel Voice towered above her. He stood at least six foot to her five foot three. A jagged scar ran across his square jaw. He had the broad kind of shoulders she always noticed. No doubt he would l
ook good in a uniform, but tonight he wore jeans, a Gore-Tex jacket and a navy-blue toque and looked like any middle-class man in the city, except that his hard-ass eyes screamed, “Cop!” A light rain started to fall. He continued to stare at her.

  “Nothing,” she said. “The man said nothing.”

  “You don’t know anything about the victim? He has no wallet, or identification. Nothing. If there’s anything you can tell us about him . . .”

  “No. I never met him, but . . .” Her throat felt dry like worn sandpaper. “He was at the Black Cat, down the alley, earlier tonight. That’s where I work. I saw him when I was singing. He stood at the end of the bar. I noticed him because his eyes . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to put words to her thoughts. The stranger’s eyes had vibrated with a feral wildness, as though the devil had stolen his life. But she couldn’t say that. She cleared her throat. “His eyes were intense. I don’t know if that helps you. Just a feeling I had. I don’t know his name.” She left out the part about how sexy he made her feel when he watched her sing.

  The detective’s silence was more disturbing than any words.

  She shifted her feet. “Look, I feel real sorry for the man, but there’s nothing I can do for him now. Nothing any of us can do. I need to get some sleep.”

  “You’re tired?”

  “Worn out. It’s been one hell of a day and now this . . .” She stopped, not finding the words she wanted. How could she complain about her day, when a man had been murdered? With another breath she continued, “I’ve got day jobs that start at the crack of dawn.” That was only five hours away. “Can I just go? I don’t know anything about the murder.”

  She wanted to fade into the night and be forgotten. No, it was more than that. Like a bad nightmare, she wanted her experience in the alley to end so she could get on with her life. She wanted to close the door on her memory of the stranger who had died in her arms.

  The inspector gave a solid nod of his head. His brow wrinkled. “Before you go, just tell me one more thing. Why were you in a dark alley in the middle of the night?”