Lethal Invitation Read online

  Lethal Invitation

  Randall Dale

  Copyright © 2020 by Randall Dale

  Published by Randall Dale

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Other books by Randall Dale

  Pardner’s Trust Series

  Pardner’s Trust

  Friends in Deed

  Hidden Regrets

  A Good Man Gone

  Branson Hawk Series

  The Wichita Connection

  Dead Man’s Gold

  The Beginning

  Curley

  The Posse

  The Captain’s Coat

  Previous Praise From Number One Bestseller Cherokee Parks

  Having greatly enjoyed Randall Dale’s previous Westerns, the Branson Hawk series, it was with great delight that I read this latest entry. It did not disappoint, as, in the tradition of all good writers, Randall rode the series down a new fork in the trail with Curley. In a style reminiscent of one of the premiere authors of the Western genre, Louis L’Amour, Randall pulled a character for one book to delight us with an expansion of that character.

  I applaud Randall for his diligent historical research and for being able to glean from that history the seed of this story, as well as being able to grow that seed of an idea into a truly remarkable tale. Throughout the history of slavery in the United States, there are many tales told of runaways, the brutal treatment for those captured and returned to evil masters, as well as the harsh treatment that created the need to run in the first place, which should explain their repeated attempts to escape to freedom, and of those who aided in that escape to freedom for those fortunate enough to make if the “The North.”

  Curley tells a tale of a runaway slave, as well as containing a companion tale of the very fragile wealth and privilege known to a few Northerners, and with a well thought out plan Randall expertly draws the two stories into one. The culmination of this story leaves the reader with the feeling of purpose and accomplishment, as well as faith in mankind. So sit back, get comfortable and enjoy this tale as told by one of the more popular authors in the Western genre today, just as I have done.

  Cherokee Parks -- Bestselling author of “The Trader,” “No Town For Outlaws” and many other Westerns.

  Previous Praise From Casey Nash

  “Curley” is a moving story of a young boy brought up as a slave who yearns to be free, a God-given right put in his soul by his Creator. He endures unbelievable cruelty and overcomes unfathomable odds to earn that freedom.

  Enjoy this most intriguing work by Dale, who takes the reader back in time, a hard time in America’s history, a sad time, where for many like Curley, just staying alive was a daily chore.

  Great job, Randall, a master at detail and description.

  Casey Nash – author of the acclaimed “Gundown At Stillwater”

  Previous Praise From Bestselling Author William H. Joiner, Jr.

  “Curley,” Book 4 of the Branson Hawk series, is another masterpiece from the iconic Randall Dale. If you’re a fan of the Classic Western, “Curley” checks all the boxes. Randall is one of my favorite authors for a reason. I know what I’m getting when I read his books—the best in Western fiction entertainment.

  William H. Joiner, Jr. – Bestselling author of “The Legend of Jake Jackson,” “Angel Jacobs” and many other Westerns.

  Contents

  Lethal Invitation

  Previous Praise From Number One Bestseller Cherokee Parks

  Previous Praise From Casey Nash

  Previous Praise From Bestselling Author William H. Joiner, Jr.

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  The End

  Other books by Randall Dale

  Chapter 1

  The slight, fine-featured twenty-one-year-old boy with a crooked nose sat in the front row listening only occasionally to the lecture about crime and punishment. He had always been a front-row student, but that decision had not been a result of wanting to excel, rather it was because it had been expected of him—and he always did what was expected. He was a junior at the University of Arizona, a school he hated because Tucson was so hot and it never rained. He was there and doing well scholastically although the decision to attend was not his own. His father had graduated from law school there before moving to San Diego to join a law practice so plans had been made for Edward to attend his dad’s alma mater before his birth. He was majoring in Criminal Justice, not because he had any interest in the subject, but because his father had mandated he become a lawyer and join the firm. The undergraduate degree was nothing more than a stepping stone to get into law school. Edward hated the school, the subject, the professors, his roommate—and most of all, his dad.

  He shifted in his chair just enough to glance over his shoulder at the other students. In spite of himself, he frowned. What a bunch of losers.

  He returned his gaze to the front of the classroom wondering what he was doing there. He knew he could be successful at almost any endeavor provided it had to do with brains and not brawn because his IQ was significantly higher than average, certainly much higher than any of the kids in the class. He supposed his intelligence was a result of his voracious reading. Even as a child, he’d loved to turn the pages of the old set of encyclopedias in his dad’s den, reading about every subject with young fascination. He thought of his love of history and frowned again because his path toward the legal profession had been chosen and he complied, outwardly cheerful but inwardly resentful.

  Despite his bad mood, this day’s lecture was admittedly more interesting than most. The professor, Dr. Milligan, a short, balding man in a plaid jacket and thick glasses, was detailing case studies of homicide investigations. He was a homicide detective who had returned to college after retirement to earn a Ph.D. in Criminal Studies so he could teach at the University. On this day, of particular interest to the students in the class, were the glaring mistakes made by murderers which led to their arrest and conviction.

  Edward leaned back, lifted the retractable, hide-away desktop and slid it into its place at the side of the auditorium-style seat. He crossed his spindly legs then absently flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the knee-length shorts he habitually wore. He folded his arms while focusing on the lecture.

  “This particular case is very interesting,” droned the professor while clicking a button on the remote control to bring up a disturbing photo of a dead woman stuffed into the trunk of a car. “Tabetha Bast, age, 26, stabbed repeatedly in the throat and chest.”

  Several groans could be heard from the students at the disturbing picture so the professor wasted no time in clicking the advance button to the next photo showing a bloody, six-inc
h knife next to the body in the trunk. Milligan stepped to the side of the podium and pointed at the students with a short, stubby finger. “The murderer made two crucial mistakes. First, he was the woman’s boyfriend and everyone knew it, second, he left the murder weapon in the trunk with his fingerprints. It was almost as if he wanted to get caught.”

  Edward pursed his lips, wondering how someone could be so stupid. If he ever murdered someone, he’d make sure it would be the perfect crime. His mind wandered to his first thoughts of killing another human being. He had been a freshman in high school taking a mandatory physical education class and he was undoubtedly the least athletic student in the gym. As much as possible, he stayed away from any physical contact because he was so small and skinny.

  That day the PE coach paired him with the six-foot, four-inch class bully and star of the football team for one-on-one basketball drills. “Get in there and guard your man,” barked the coach, so Edward, seeing no way out, faced the much bigger boy.

  Edward cringed as the bully sneered at his pale face, five-foot, six-inch frame and his toothpick arms and legs. The bigger boy bounced the ball at his side. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the coach wasn’t looking, he threw the ball directly into Edward’s face causing his head to snap back and blood to rush from his broken nose.

  The rage was instantaneous and any sense of judgment vanished from the usually reserved youngster. He rushed in and what might have been described as a fight was on. Edward landed no blows, though he took several. All he could do was wrap his bony arms around the footballer’s waist and shriek in frustration.

  “Get away from me you fag!” screamed the big boy as he threw his assailant to the floor.

  “Fight! Fight!” yelled the other students as they quickly gathered around.

  “All right you two, knock it off,” shouted the coach when he became aware of the conflict, then seeing who it was and surmising what had happened, the coach started to chuckle.

  As embarrassed as Edward had been at the treatment received from the bully, hearing the laugh and seeing the expression on the coach’s face was worse. For the next several days he fantasized at length about different ways he could kill both the coach and the big boy. He could see, in his imagination, the funerals, the coffins, the mourners and finally the headstones with their gracious but untrue epitaphs carved in the granite.

  But those thoughts had been nothing more than fantasy because, after all, he was a good boy and always did what was asked no matter how much he wanted to do otherwise. It had always been that way because pleasing his mom and dad was of the utmost importance. But that didn’t stop him from dreaming, and over the years he had meticulously planned, but never carried out, countless murders of acquaintances as well as total strangers. He found the concept tantalizing and he inwardly ached for a chance to do something so obscene. That was, however, out of the question because his parents would be appalled.

  Edward shook his head as the big screen in the darkened auditorium style classroom showed a new murder scene. The professor’s hard-heeled loafers clacked as he stepped to the side of the classroom to continue his monologue. He pointed the clicker at the screen and a red dot appeared.

  “Here we have a case that was solved almost by accident.”

  Edward’s attention was drawn to the picture of what must have been a hastily dug grave in a marshy wetland that looked like it could have been somewhere in the Everglades. A booted foot emerged from the ground so the logical assumption was of a connected body buried there.

  “The murderer shot this man outside of Kissimmee but made the mistake of trying to hide the body. Chances are if he would have let him lay the alligators and wild dogs would have made him unrecognizable and probably unfindable. Instead, some backwoodsmen found the grave and reported it to the police. An investigation brought to light that the dead man and his killer were acquaintances, and further investigation uncovered that the murderer was the estranged, jealous husband of the dead man’s new girlfriend. A search warrant was issued and the murder weapon found under a mattress in the killer’s home.”

  Edward chewed his lip as he focused on the picture of the uncovered body, then as the professor clicked the remote, the mugshot of the murderer, a scraggly looking, long-haired man with rotten teeth appeared. Edward wondered again how someone could be so stupid as to keep the murder weapon.

  “Does anyone see a parallel between these cases?” Dr. Milligan stepped once again to the front of the room. He placed the clicker on the stand then tugged on the lapels of his plaid coat while rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He patiently waited for an answer.

  “Two people are dead,” quipped a student from the back of the hundred seat hall. The remark brought scattered laughter and the professor smiled.

  “Touché.” He gave a patronizing salute and nod to the smart aleck, then waited for the chuckling to subside. “Yep, two people are dead. Anything else?” The snickers quieted as the students considered the question.

  “The murderer and the murdered knew each other,” came the answer from another front-row sitter, a young man two seats to Edward’s right. Edward studied him in profile and decided the boy would make a classic cop with thick neck, broad shoulders and a flat face.

  “Exactly.” Dr. Milligan clapped his hands with a nod and a smile. “The fastest way to get arrested is to kill someone you know.” He waited patiently for to mood to become serious again. “Anything else?”

  The room was quiet for a moment then the professor pointed to someone in the middle of the room. “Yes?”

  Edward looked over his shoulder to see which student Dr. Milligan had seen. A pretty girl glanced timidly around the room before answering.

  “Neither got rid of the murder weapon.” Her voice was quiet and mouse-like.

  Dr. Milligan nodded. “And why do you think that is?”

  The girl hesitated, licking her lips and glancing nervously around the room. She was saved when the class clown called, “Because they were stupid.”

  The professor nodded again, accepting the answer amidst scattered laughter. “I’ll agree they were stupid, but the question remains, why would someone be so stupid?” He paused. “Or is it something more than stupidity?”

  The students grew pensive as they contemplated the question. Edward was also quiet, although he knew the obvious answer. It was because they had not planned. The murders were spur-of-the-moment decisions. To kill someone and get away with it required meticulous planning. He knew, for he had planned numerous murders using varying methods, and he knew if he ever did actually kill someone, his planning would be the difference. Every detail would be carefully scrutinized with every possibility of discovery meticulously analyzed and eliminated. He was smart, smarter by far than any gumshoe cop.

  Dr. Milligan continued rocking on the balls of his feet. He cocked his head. “I think sometimes the killer wants to get caught.”

  Edward looked up quickly. Surely he had not heard correctly. What an idiotic statement. Why would a killer ever want to get caught? He thought for a few seconds and found the concept intriguing. He was happy when another student asked the question out loud.

  “Yes,” continued the professor with raised eyebrows. “There are many homicide detectives, me included, who feel the majority of murderers secretly want to get caught.”

  The classroom was quiet while the students waited for an explanation to the bizarre statement. Dr. Milligan reached for the remote and clicked again. The screen changed to a picture of a white poster-board onto which letters cut from magazines and newspapers were taped together to form words and sentences. The professor waved his arm expansively toward the screen.

  “Take this for example. It is one of many notes sent to the police during a terrible five weeks in Phoenix several years ago. A shooter killed fourteen people and wounded another twelve. It got so people there wouldn’t go out after dark. The day of each shooting, one of these would show up in a police station
somewhere in the area.” He then read for the students the contents of the note. “Cars are speeding, children reading, bloody sidewalk after dark.”

  He paused for effect even though he had the complete attention of the class. “The note was found in a south side police station in the morning and a woman was shot and killed outside a midtown library close to a busy street that evening. The killer left these puzzles each day and you can imagine the frantic work that went into trying to break down the clues. Eventually a hunch by a detective about one of the puzzles paid off and they caught the man in a parked car with a rifle in his hands.”

  Dr. Milligan surveyed the students, then pointed to the screen. “Psychiatrists claim these notes are cries for help and that the killers actually want to be caught.”

  Edward frowned. How dumb could they be? If he ever killed someone, he’d certainly not want to get caught.

  Dr. Milligan glanced over his shoulder at the clock mounted in the front of the classroom. “For Friday see if you can find instances where a murderer tried to make someone aware that they were going to kill, then dig a little more to see if whatever they did helped the police solve the case. See you then.” He gave a half-wave of dismissal.

  Edward lounged in his chair while the rest of the class exited through the doors on either side at the back of the hall. He always disliked the gathering crowd exiting through the doors and he had plenty of time to get to his next class anyway. It was a meteorology class with Dr. Smallwood held in the Econ building close to the center of campus. He’d been told it was a fairly easy class and it counted toward graduation as a science so he signed up. He cared nothing for the weather, he only needed the credit and a grade.

  He squinted as he stepped from the half-century-old red brick building into the glaring, September Tucson sun. His attention was drawn to the flat-faced future cop sitting at a bench in the shade along with several students. They were laughing at something he’d said and it was obvious the boy was well liked by his peers. Next to the boy sat an extremely attractive girl, one Edward had secretly admired since the semester began. He was instantly jealous. He’d never had a girlfriend and in truth, he was afraid to talk to girls. He’d been accused of being homosexual even though he wasn’t. He presumed it was because he was skinny and small with delicate features. To his shame, his unwanted nickname all through high school had been Pretty Boy. He supposed if he had been a girl, he would have indeed been pretty, but alas, he had been born a boy with a girl’s face.