She's Not There, стр. 1

She’s Not There

Marla Madison

She's Not There

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely accidental.

Published by Marla Madison.

Cover art by Aric Zabel.

Edited by Red Pen Proofreading and Editing

ISBN 13: 978-1-4681-9595-8

ISBN 10: 1-4681-9595-6

This novel in no way attempts to duplicate the police procedures or actual police departments in the cities of Milwaukee, Brookfield, Oconomowoc, Pewaukee and Waukesha. Any discrepancies in procedure, locations, or fact, may be attributed to the author's creativity.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the members of my writer’s group for taking this journey with me and encouraging me to keep writing even when I believed an outcome would be impossible; their support and instruction have been invaluable. Donna Glaser, Helen Block, Marjorie Doering, April Solberg, Gail Francis, Darren Kirby, and the dearly departed Bob Stokes you’ve each helped me in your own individual way.

Thanks to Terry Lee, my significant other, and my dear pets, Skygge and Poncho, for staying away when I was in the middle of an important chapter and encouraging me when I wasn’t.

She’s Not There

No one told me about her, the way she lied.

Well, no one told me about her, how many people cried.

But it’s too late to say you’re sorry.

How would I know, why should I care?

Please, don’t bother tryin’ to find her,

she’s not there.

Ooh, nobody told me about her. What could I do?

Well, no one told me about her though they all knew.

But it’s too late to say you’re sorry.

How would I know, why should I care?

Please, don’t bother tryin’ to find her,

she’s not there.

Well, let me tell you ‘bout the way she looks,

the way she acts and the color of her hair.

Her voice was soft and cool,

her eyes were clear and bright but she’s no there.

But it’s too late to say you’re sorry.

How would I know, why should I care?

Please, don’t bother tryin’ to find her,

she’s not there.

Well, let me tell you ‘bout the way she looks,

the way she acted, the color of her hair.

Her voice was soft and cool,

her eyes were clear and bright, but she’s not there.

Words and music by Rod Argent

Books by Marla Madison

The TJ Peacock & Lisa Rayburn Series

She’s Not There

Trespass

The Detective Kendall Halsrud Series

Relative Malice

Iced Malice

Prologue

Eight years earlier

A black pickup raced along a narrow road that twisted sharply left, crossing a bridge over a deep ravine. The river below marked the division between adjoining counties. Lit by the oncoming headlights, four pine crosses stood out in the ground fog shrouding the opposite riverbank. Faded to weather-beaten gray, they served as a reminder of young lives foolishly lost.

Years back, four varsity football players from a nearby high school were killed when the car they rode in left the road at an impossibly high speed in a mad attempt to cross the narrow river without traveling the bridge. The vehicle didn’t make it over the river. Airborne, the car wedged into the opposite bank, leaving no survivors. It was rumored that the same car successfully completed the daredevil crossing many times before the deadly impact.

Imagining the impact of his vehicle against the riverbank, the driver of the pickup pressed hard on the accelerator as the truck approached the bridge. After tonight there would be five crosses on the riverbank. It was unlikely anyone would cover the fifth with sentimental memorabilia.

The driver’s last thoughts—and he was certain in the split second before the truck sailed over the river they would be his last—were not of his life flashing before him. Instead, gratitude for a life ended.

Autumn Leaves, Women’s Getaway Weekend

UWM Campus, Milwaukee

Friday 7 p.m.

Lisa Rayburn had hardly been able to focus on her class. She and Tyler didn’t get together often, but when they did, the magic she found in his arms kept her smiling for days. Knowing she’d be with him soon, her senses tingled as she stuffed the leftover handouts into her briefcase. She’d had one eye on the clock since she’d walked into the room.

The annual Autumn Leaves event for women offered classes on everything from money management to how to handle a divorce. For the third year running, Lisa Rayburn’s class on How To Prevent Domestic Abuse was well received by her audience. The class, one of many things Lisa did in an effort to get her message out to women, warned women not to stay in an abusive relationship. Better yet, avoid beginning one. The early signs weren’t difficult to spot. The hard part came in walking away.

Lisa looked up to see a young woman standing in front of her. A brown dress covered her thin body to the ankles. She held a manila file-folder against her chest as if afraid someone would snatch it from her.

In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, ”My name is Jennifer Hansen. I’m gathering statistics for my thesis on abused women. I need to talk to you.”