Evil at Lake Seminole by Steven B. Epstein

Author:Steven B. Epstein [Epstein, Steven B. & Epstein, Steven B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781934912911
Publisher: Black Lyon Publishing, LLC
Published: 2020-06-14T22:00:00+00:00

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Brian had agreed to meet his father-in-law, Jimmy Aldredge, for a hunting trip that morning to establish an alibi. But as he sped through Tallahassee and drove by the TJ Maxx parking lot where they were supposed to meet up, Kathy’s father was nowhere in sight. “Damn,” he thought. “Too late.”

Just then, as Brian pulled up to a red light, things went from bad to worse. He spotted a State trooper at the stoplight just across the intersection. Less than 50 yards away. The body of his best friend—who he had just shot and killed at pointblank range—was stowed in the back of his truck. His heart was racing so fast, he thought it might leap out of his chest.

The light remained red for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, it turned green. When it did, the trooper drove off in the opposite direction. Brian breathed a huge sigh of relief and headed home. “Close call,” he thought, relieved to have survived his first brush with the law.

He pulled into his driveway and quietly entered the house, hoping Kathy hadn’t yet awakened. His good luck continued—she was still asleep. He took off his clothes and crawled into bed next to her, hoping she would believe he had been there all along.

He had to get up with his father-in-law to explain why he hadn’t been there to meet him. He called him from the house phone and spoke in a whisper to avoid rousing Kathy.

Brian apologized for oversleeping and missing their hunting trip. He nudged Kathy, telling her he had overslept and didn’t make the trip and that he was heading out to train some dogs. She rolled over and went back to sleep, seemingly none the wiser.

When he walked out the side door, Brian’s heart leapt yet again, this time from what he saw under the back of his truck, which was sitting at an angle on his sloped driveway, the front a good bit higher than the back. Something was dripping from the tailgate onto the surface of the driveway.

As he got closer to the rear of the truck, he realized it was blood. Mike’s blood. He quickly grabbed a garden hose, spraying down the concrete to remove any traces of the red liquid, all the while gripped by fear a neighbor might be watching. Or worse yet, that someone might approach him. Mercifully, no one did.

Mike’s assassin knew he needed to dispose of the body. Quickly. But he had no tools or shovel. So Brian headed to the Walmart, parked his truck, and scurried into the store. Mike had been there some 12 hours earlier, cheerfully greeting customers as he rang the Salvation Army’s Christmas bell. He was back again—just a few yards from that very spot—this time as a bloody corpse stuffed into a dog crate in the back of a Suburban.

Brian feverishly rummaged through the aisles, tossing items he thought he might need into his cart: a shovel, a tarp, and a pair of dumbbells.

Before he could make it to the checkout area, though, panic set in again.

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