This Doesn't Happen in the Movies

This Doesn't Happen In The Movies

A Reed Ferguson Mystery

First Digital Edition published by Llama Press

copyright 2011 by Renée Pawlish

LICENSE NOTES:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.  This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people.  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your personal use only, then you should return this copy to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy.  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Hecker, Beth Treat, Angie Eron, Marie Lynch, Jim Visoskas, and my parents.  If I've forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.

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What Others Are Saying About
Nephilim Genesis of Evil
by Renée Pawlish

I Couldn't Put It Down!

This is not my normal genre but the title caught my attention. As soon as I saw it I recalled the Nephilim from my long ago Sunday School classes. I downloaded the sample, read three pages, and then purchased the book. My intuition was dead on. Renee is a heck of an author. The book grabs you immediately and it doesn't turn you loose until you've read the last word. Ms. Pawlish is a storyteller of the highest order. She brings her characters to life and sends them straight into your head. Her descriptions are vivid and the plot doesn't waver; that's all one should expect from any book, though it's way more than we normally get. I'm not even tempted to say it was worth the price because I don't indulge in gross understatements. After you buy the book, carefully plan when you will begin reading it because it's more than likely you won't be able to put it down. Renee Pawlish is now on my favorite writer list and it's not a long one.

Bert Carson, author of
Southern Investigation

www.bertcarson.com

A Chilling Read!

Fans of early Bentley Little should enjoy Nephilim: Genesis of Evil, a chilling, horror outing that uses The Apocrypha as source material for its menacing beings. It’s a well-crafted tale of the re-emergence of spirits who are the offspring of humans and angels. The spirits begin possessing humans in a small Colorado town in order to obtain corporal form, capturing the attention of paranormal journalist Rory Callahan who’s traveled from New York City where he witnessed a strange and malevolent presence. Rory joins forces with Anna Holmes, a local resident with a troubled past. Anna is a counterpoint to the skeptical Rory, allowing a deeper metaphysical exploration as the novel charges forward into a full-fledged confrontation between good and evil. This is a powerful and well-written effort.

Sidney Williams, author of
Midnight Eyes
and
Blood Hunter

www.sidisalive.com
Great Read!

Pawlish has created a wonderful story that will pull readers in from the very beginning. The Nephilim, children of fallen angles and mortals, have resurfaced in the small town of Taylor Crossing, and Rory's curiosity lands him in the middle of an epic battle within the town. Watching the story unfold was amazing, and I really came to love the characters, especially Rory as he pieced together the background of the town and realized what the Nephilim truly were.

I really enjoyed this book, especially since I'd never heard the term Nephilim before. It turns out that I've been reading a lot of books about the Nephilim lately and just didn't know it. I am thankful that Pawlish presents them in such a way that I now truly understand what they are, and realizing that the Nephilim are actually mentioned in Genesis chapter 6 was a jolting experience, making this novel all the more scary as it unfolded. Pawlish is a wonderful storyteller, weaving the novel together through both past and present events, masterfully revealing the plot twists and turns. The mystery and suspense of the novel kept me on edge as I read and I highly suggest those interested in fallen angels read this novel.

A Book Vacation

Buy the eBook version of
Nephilim
at
Amazon
or
Smashwords
(sample chapters available at Smashwords).

Nephilim Book Two Available Soon

The long-awaited second book in the Nephilim Trilogy will be released this fall! Visit
www.reneepawlish.com
for more information.

This Doesn't Happen In The Movies

CHAPTER ONE

“I want you to find my dead husband.”

“Excuse me?”  That was my first reaction.

“I want you to find my husband.  He’s dead, and I need to know where he is.”  She spoke in a voice one sexy note below middle C.

“Uh-huh.”  That was my second reaction.  Really slick.

Moments before, when I saw her standing in the outer room, waiting to come into my office, I had the feeling she’d be trouble.  And now, with that intro, I knew it.

“He’s dead, and I need you to find him.”  If she wasn’t tired of the repetition, I was, but I couldn’t seem to get my mouth working.  She sat in the cushy black leather chair on the other side of my desk, exhaling money with every sultry breath.  She had beautiful blond hair with just a hint of darker color at the roots, blue eyes like a cold mountain lake, and a smile that would slay Adonis.  I’d like to say that a beautiful woman couldn’t influence me by her beauty alone.  I’d like to say it, but I can’t.

“Why didn’t you come see me yesterday?” I asked.  Her eyes widened in surprise.  This detective misses nothing, I thought, mentally patting myself on the back.  She didn’t know that I’d definitely noticed her yesterday eating at a deli across the street.  I had been staring out the window, and there she was.

The shoulders of her red designer jacket went up a half-inch and back down, then her full lips curled into the trace of a smile.  “I came here to see you, but you were leaving for lunch.  I followed you, and then I lost my nerve.”

“I see you’ve regained it.”  I’ve never been one to place too much importance on my looks, but I suddenly wished I could run a comb through my hair, put on a nicer shirt, and splash on a little cologne.  And change my eye color – hazel – boring.  It sounded like someone’s old, spinster aunt, not an eye color.

She nodded.  “Yes.  I have to find out about my husband.  He’s dead, I know it.  I just know it.”  Her tone swayed as if in a cool breeze, with no hint of the desperation that should’ve been carried in the words.

“But he’s also missing,” I said in a tone bordering on flippant, as I leaned forward to unlock the desk drawer where I kept spare change, paper clips, and my favorite gold pen.  Maybe writing things down would help me concentrate.  But I caught a whiff of something elegant coming from her direction, and the key I was holding missed the lock by a good two inches.  I hoped she didn’t see my blunder.  I felt my face getting warm and assumed my cheeks were turning crimson.  I hoped she didn’t see that either.

Perhaps I was being too glib because she glanced back toward the door as if she had mistaken my office for another.  “This is the Ferguson Detective Agency?  You are Reed Ferguson?”

“It is and I am.”  I smiled in my most assured manner, then immediately questioned what I was doing.  This woman was making no sense and here I was, flirting with her like a high-school jock.  I glanced behind her at the framed movie poster from the
The Big Sleep
, starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.  It was one of my favorites, and I hung the poster in my office as a sort of inspiration.  I wanted to be as cool as Bogie.  I wondered what he would do right now.

She puckered pink lips at me.  “I need your help.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”  Now I sounded cocky.

The pucker turned into a fully developed frown.  “I’m very serious, Mr. Ferguson.”

“Reed.”  I furrowed my brow and looked at my potential first client with as serious an expression as I could muster.  I noticed for the first time that she applied her makeup a bit heavy, in an attempt to cover blemishes.

“Reed,” she said.  “Let me explain.”  Now we were getting somewhere.  I found the gold pen, popped the top off it and scrounged around another drawer for a notepad.  “My name is Amanda Ghering.”  She spoke in an even tone, bland, like she was reading a grocery list.  “My husband, Peter, left on a business trip three weeks ago yesterday.  He was supposed to return on Monday, but he didn’t.”

Today was Thursday.  I wondered what she’d been doing since Monday.  “Did you report this to the police?”

She raised a hand to stop me.  “Please.  I already have and they gave me the standard response, ‘Give it some time, he’ll show up.’”

That one puzzled me.  The police wouldn’t file a missing persons case for twenty-four hours, but after that, I was certain they would do something more.  “They didn’t do anything?”

“They asked me some questions, said they would make a few calls to the airlines.”  Amanda paused.  “They were more concerned about my relationship with Peter,” she said, gazing out the window behind me.  The only thing she would see was an incredible view of a renovated warehouse across the street.  For a brief moment, her face was flushed in as deep a sadness as I’d ever seen.  Then it was gone, replaced by a foggy look when she turned back to me.  “You see, Peter wasn’t exactly what you’d call a faithful husband.”  She frowned, creating wrinkles on an otherwise perfect face.  “Well, that’s not completely true.  He was faithful, to his libido at least.  But not to our marriage.”  I paraphrased the last couple of sentences on the notepad.  “He travels quite a bit with his company, computer consulting, so he has ample opportunity to dally.  And he never tries hard to conceal what he’s doing.”

“Did you tell the police all of this?”

“Yes.  I believe that’s why they’re not doing that much.  That, and the fact that there appears to be no foul play, has kept them from doing little more than paperwork.”

“You’re afraid they’re not treating his disappearance seriously.”

“Exactly.”

I scratched my chin with the pen.  “I’d have to disagree with you about that.”  I didn’t have much experience – okay I didn’t have any experience – but in the tons of detective books I’d read and all the movies I’d seen the police would take someone of Amanda’s obvious wealth with some concern.  At least until she gave them a reason not to.

“They don’t have the resources to track him down,” she countered.  “That’s left up to me, which is what I’m here to do.”

“And this way you also keep any nasty details private.”

“Exactly.”

“Why come to me?”

Amanda glanced around the sparsely furnished office and the stark white walls decorated with noting more than movie posters, as if she were second-guessing her choice of detectives.  “You came recommended.  I know you’re not licensed but…”

“You don’t have to be in the state of Colorado,” I interrupted.  Anyone who wanted to could be a detective here, just hang up a sign.  Hell, you didn’t even need a gun.  I could testify to that.  Never had one, never shot one.

She waved a hand at me.  “I don’t care if you’re licensed or not.  I know your background.  You come from a well-to-do family; you know when to be discreet.”

I came recommended.  Now that caught my curiosity.  The only thing I’d done was to help a wealthy friend of my father track down an old business partner.  It was slightly dangerous but not noteworthy, and at the time I didn’t have an office or a business.  I had been between jobs, so I decided to pursue an old dream.  I hung up a shingle to try my hand at detecting.  I loved old detective novels, had read everything from Rex Stout and Dashiell Hammett to Raymond Chandler and James M. Cain.  I’d watched Humphrey Bogart, William Powell, and all the classic film noir movies.  I pictured myself just like those great detectives.  Well, maybe not.  But I was going to try.