River City Dead
Praise for the Aggie Mundeen Mystery Series
SMART, BUT DEAD (#3)
“Hurrah for Aggie Mundeen, an effervescent heroine who finds trouble wherever she goes even when the initial pursuit is purely intellectual. Aggie’s pluck, humor, intelligence and loving heart will always keep her young and always make readers smile.”
– Carolyn Hart,
Agatha Award-Winning Author of Ghost to the Rescue
“Smart. Aggie Mundeen is smart. But. But she’s also a little clumsy, irrepressible, and irresistible. Dead. She might well end up dead if she continues nosing around the university where her questions are not wanted. Smart, But Dead is the perfect combination of brains and heart. A tight mystery, an irrepressible heroine, and superb writing.”
– James W. Ziskin,
Anthony Award-Nominated Author of No Stone Unturned
“Smart, But Dead features an impetuous, warm-hearted heroine, blessed with an insatiable curiosity, passion for learning and an unquenchable zest for life.”
– Mystery People
“Will keep you guessing until the last page. Very well-written and excellent storyline. Highly recommended!”
– Obsessed Book Reviews
DANG NEAR DEAD (#2)
“Well-paced and written, there are bursts of humour in this novel which had me roaring with laughter. The plot is intricate, with a satisfying ending…A great read and highly recommended.”
– Diana Hockley,
Australian Mystery Novelist
“A satisfying mystery with complex characters and a plot that builds to a satisfying crescendo.”
– Midwest Book Review
“Suspenseful, engaging, funny, and unique. I loved following Aggie as she asked questions and followed clues. You will fall in love with Nancy G. West’s writing just as I have!”
– Universal Creativity Reviews
FIT TO BE DEAD (#1)
“Fit to Be Dead has it all: intriguing characters that point to romance, an engrossing plot, a compelling puzzle and well-disguised clues—a fun read.”
– L. C. Hayden,
Award-Winning Author of the Harry Bronson Mystery Series
“West’s main characters’ histories suggest they could fill a series. I hope so. I love this book!”
– Rollo K. Newsom PhD,
Professor Emeritus, Texas State University,
and an editor of Lone Star Sleuths
“From the first sentence, readers receive a satisfying sense of West’s fun plays on words: ‘Shaping up at my age can be murder….I’m mechanically inept. My condition may be genetic.’”
— Midwest Book Review
“Aggie Mundeen’s wry observations on life, death, and the struggle to whip mind and body into shape make Fit to Be Dead delightful. Joining a health club has never been so dangerous...or so amusing.”
– Karen McCullough,
Author of Shadow of a Doubt and A Question of Fire
Books in the Aggie Mundeen Mystery Series
by Nancy G. West
FIT TO BE DEAD (#1)
DANG NEAR DEAD (#2)
SMART, BUT DEAD (#3)
RIVER CITY DEAD (#4)
Sign up for Henery Press updates
and we’ll deliver the latest on new books, sale books, and pre-order books, plus all the happenings in the Hen House!
CLICK TO SIGN UP
(Note: we won’t share your email address and you can unsubscribe any time.)
Copyright
RIVER CITY DEAD
An Aggie Mundeen Mystery
Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection
First Edition
Trade paperback edition | January 2017
Henery Press
www.henerypress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright © 2016 by Nancy G. West
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-133-0
Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-134-7
Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-135-4
Hardcover Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-136-1
Printed in the United States of America
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Although I delight in San Antonio’s unique River Walk, festivals and flavors, without input from the wonderful people below, this book wouldn’t exist. I am grateful for their knowledge, help, time and support.
• Author/historian: Lewis F. Fisher
• Battle of Flowers Association: Carol Canty, Lauren Cothren, Sue McClane, Jane McFarlane, Lynn and Thad Ziegler
• Casa Rio Mexican Food: Elaine Glasscock Olivier
• City of San Antonio: Joseph Cruz, Lincoln George, Kelly Kapaun, Devon Lambert, Christine Morgan
• Excellent editors at Henery Press
• Ft. Sam Houston National Cemetery: Frank Farris
• ISS Grounds Control: Roger Hastings
• Metal Plating: Corky Phipps
• Professor/Chemist: Joseph B. Lambert
• San Antonio hotels: Brian Getman, Michelle Flores, Marissa Torres
• Shops at La Villita: Angelita, Casa Manos Alegres, Equinox, River Art Group, Starving Artist Art Group benefiting Little Church of La Villita, Villita Stained Glass
• Texas Cavaliers: Phil Bakke
Especially, Donald R. West, who supports my compulsion to write when it interferes with a normal life.
Any errors that exist in the novel are mine.
I do not, however, accept responsibility for whatever Aggie Mundeen might do.
One
April 1998
Not every city has a river running through it. And not many women plan a rendezvous at a San Antonio River Walk hotel during Fiesta Week after years of self-imposed celibacy. I was about to make history.
Sam and I were meeting at Casa Prima Hotel. Hopefully our first days and nights together in River City would be more fiesta than fiasco.
And we could avoid dealing with crime.
To calm the jumping beans in my stomach, I decided to make a quick detour to Barnes and Noble. Instead of turning south from Hildebrand toward downtown, I turned north on Highway 281 and headed toward Loop 410. If SAPD called Sam away, I’d need something to read. He assured me they wouldn’t contact him, but sometimes they had to rely on an experienced homicide detective for a difficult case.
Barnes and Noble was packed. After a lengthy search through half the store, I found aisles brimming with romance novels. I didn’t relish being caught scouring this area. In my Flash-News column, “Stay Young with Aggie,” I answered readers’ questions about everything from fitness to relationships. As an “expert,” I wasn’t supposed to need help.
It wasn’t as though I was innocent. I became painfully experienced after Lester the Louse seduced me when I was barely eighteen, impregnated me and vanished like mist. But stories of other people’s romances might be enlightening.
Slipping down an unoccupied aisle, I reached for a title that caught my eye, A Well-Spent Night. A bare-chested, muscled Scottish hunk wearing a plaid kilt bulged from the cove
r. I squinted at the title, which upon closer inspection actually read, A Well-Spent Knight. Worked either way. I flipped pages to the middle, found what I was looking for and started reading. There was a lot of heavy breathing and rippling biceps, but it never said why the guy wore a kilt or how he got it off. I’d wondered about that. Historical romance might not be the thing.
I replaced the book and continued down the aisle. The face-out cover of Steaming in Hawaii gleamed with electric blue ocean water and swaying palm trees. A gorgeous half-dressed couple grasped each other beside the cobalt ocean. Sam and I would have a swimming pool at our River Walk hotel. Close enough. I slipped the novel off the shelf and flipped through pages. The title did not refer to steam from Hawaii’s volcanoes. Skimming pages, I noticed contemporary novels offered details and felt my body parts tingling.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a young sales girl eyeing me. Was my face flushing?
“Can I help you?” About twenty-five with swinging hair and a pouty mouth, she looked sexy, bored, and all-knowing.
Whipping the novel under the arm laden with my shoulder purse, I reached blindly toward the shelf for another novel, hoping I didn’t look like a waif grasping for crumbs.
“So many choices.” I doused her with my superior bank-teller expression. “I doubt if any of these books are really that good.” Another cover caught my eye with the title The Long Hard Ride. A shirtless muscle-bound cowboy stood spread-legged front and center while a steer romped around behind him. I snatched the book off the shelf.
“Imagine that,” I said. “You even have westerns.” She smirked. Some urge compelled me to jabber. “I don’t think he could ride a steer dressed like that.”
The new-fangled phone jangled in my purse. I resented the impertinent metal box demanding my attention. Digging to retrieve it, I dropped the books. The sales girl swiveled over and scooped them up. “I’ll keep these at the counter while you search for more.” She cocked a corner of her sulky mouth before walking away. I fumbled to flip open my Motorola StarTrac.
“Where are you?” It was Sam, using his professional detective voice.
“I just needed a few things. Have you seen the…our room?”
“You need to get down here, Aggie. We have problems. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He hung up.
That was the last thing I wanted to hear. Scouting the quickest route to the exit to avoid the sales girl, I skirted through rows of books, sailed out into the sunshine and headed for my Wagoneer. I rolled down the windows, leaned my head back on the seat and inhaled clean April air, convincing myself that whatever problem Sam encountered couldn’t be that bad.
Revived, I cranked up Albatross, my station wagon, headed south on 281 and turned right on McCullough toward Broadway, the main thoroughfare to downtown and the Fiesta parade route. Huge paper flowers with streaming ribbons decorated doors. Shop windows proclaimed “VIVA FIESTA!”
Crews were setting up roadside bleachers for several hundred thousand people to watch parades later this week. Civic-minded ladies organized the first parade to honor President Polk’s visit, stopping horse-drawn carriages in front of the president’s viewing stand to lay wreaths in front of the Alamo, the shrine of Texas’ independence. Resuming their parade, they threw flower petals at onlookers, creating the Battle of Flowers Parade in 1891, the first Fiesta event.
How perfect that Sam Vanderhoven and I would begin blending our lives during Fiesta. At least that’s what I hoped we were doing. Since he was an SAPD Homicide Detective, I naturally tried to impress him with my investigative skills. Unfortunately, my headstrong (he might say, “irrational”) behavior frustrated him. The last time I intervened against his advice, I almost got myself killed. At least the crisis made us realize we loved each other. We’d even pledged to trust one another, which might prove to be the bigger hurdle.
The towering Casa Prima Hotel loomed in the next block, re-activating my jumping beans. What did Sam’s call mean? Had he discovered a crime, considered the burden of my pesky interference and decided to jettison our rendezvous?
Two
Sam
The hotel manager notified SAPD Detective Sam Vanderhoven that a woman might be dead in the penthouse.
“Since I think she’s dead,” the manager said, “I was reluctant to call EMS and have them screeching up here in the middle of Fiesta Week. I thought you could handle it.”
“I’ll go right up,” Sam said. “We have to notify EMS, but I’ll tell our dispatcher to have them douse the sirens and use the service elevator.”
Sam radioed SAPD’s dispatcher to notify EMS and advise the Patrol Sergeant of a possible suspicious death. The sergeant would send patrol officers. He took the elevator to Casa Prima Hotel’s penthouse.
The man in the perfectly tailored suit standing outside the suite looked deathly pale in contrast to his red power tie. Sam walked toward him, hand extended. “Sam Vanderhoven, SAPD. EMS is on the way.”
“Hotel Manager Harry Haddock. I’m pretty sure she’s dead. I can’t believe this is happening during Fiesta. Did you ask EMS to come through the back entrance to the hotel?”
“Yes. When did you find her?”
“The maid, Sara Giles, found her in the room and called me about ten minutes ago. I came right up, looked in the suite and asked Sara to sit over there.” He pointed to a table and chairs at the end of the hall.
“We’ll talk to her. Did you see anybody else on the floor?”
“No.”
“Have you talked to other guests?”
“No.”
“Okay. You stay here. I’ll have a look.”
Sam walked into the room and saw her. There was no blood or signs of trauma, but her chest didn’t rise and fall from breathing. Wrapping two fingers in a single layer of his handkerchief, he placed them on her carotid artery and didn’t feel a pulse. She could have died of some unknown physical malfunction, a drug overdose or murder. He didn’t think she’d been dead long. He studied the position of her body.
He took a quick walk through the entire suite—living room, bedroom and bathroom—conducting his preliminary investigation. Studying details, he was careful not to disturb anything that might be evidence. He saw drag marks in the carpet from the bathroom, through the bedroom to the living room. It looked like one person’s shoe prints dragging another person to the sofa. Once he documented everything he could see with the naked eye, he knew the death was suspicious and called Homicide.
“Louis, this is Officer 3856 at Casa Prima River Walk Hotel. I was in the lobby waiting to meet somebody and got a call from the manager saying there was a seriously ill, possibly dead girl in a penthouse suite. I had the dispatcher call EMS. There’s no trauma or bleeding, but I think she’s dead. She’s late twenties to early thirties, and carpet indentations show two sets of footprints, as though somebody dragged her to the sofa. Her body looks like somebody positioned it. Who’s on duty?”
“Rick Montaya is next up.”
“I just started my RDs, but I can hold this down until he gets here. I can stay on as backup.”
“Good. I’ll tell the Patrol Sergeant we’re sending Rick.”
“Thanks. We’ll need several officers. The manager is worried about publicity ruining his business.”
“Got it. Montaya is on his way.”
Rick Montaya was an energetic, capable detective. Sam let out a sigh and went back to view the victim. Tragic. Unbelievably tragic.
Using the same footpath he used before, he walked back to the manager standing in the hall.
“Did you know the victim?”
He nodded. “Monica Peters. She was a guest every year during Fiesta Week.”
“Does anything in the room look out of place to you?”
Haddock reluctantly peered inside the room. “No. Neat and clean as usual. Except for…” He cleared his throat and blanched.
/>
“I understand. Did the maid comment about the victim or the room?”
“When she called, she said she thought the woman in suite three might be dead. When I came up, she was crying and pointed to the body.”
“I see. Why don’t you go stand down there in front of the penthouse lounge. An officer will come talk with you.”
Walking to the other end of the hall, he introduced himself to the maid who found the girl, asked a few questions and instructed her to stick around so an officer could take her statement.
He was back in front of the elevators when Detective Rick Montaya stepped off.
“Rick, I’m glad you were next up. I just started my RDs and came down here to meet a special woman…first time we’ll have a weekend together. Good timing, huh? I can stick around as backup. The girl is down there. Come see what you think.”
Rick followed him into the room. Both remained quiet as Rick studied the victim and absorbed the scene. He pointed to drag marks in the carpet. Sam nodded. Both men followed the marks with their eyes back to where the woman lay.
“Yep,” Rick said. “Suspicious.” He lowered his voice. “She could have been doing drugs with a friend and overdosed. Maybe he dragged her around trying to revive her. When he couldn’t, he panicked and fled. Did the manager see anybody around?”
“No one except for the maid who found her. She’s waiting down the hall for an officer. Here’s my notes on what she said. I don’t think the victim has been dead long. I considered broadcasting a BOLO, but it would have led to a thousand questions from every officer around wanting to know who to be on the lookout for and the basis for detaining them. Plus, it would put the killer on alert, if there was one. We can’t be sure what happened.”