Excerpt from "Murder by the Mile"

Excerpt from Murder by the Mile

The Many Mile Marathon Chairperson Dolores Hyatt had been working in the huge race tent when runners began to share the news about what was happening on Watts Ridge. She had been horrified as the details emerged, but she kept the volunteers focused on processing the racers and making sure they all received their t-shirts and giveaways.

“Dee,” Abby Lange hissed at her. “It’s him!”

Dolores looked up from her clipboard. Michael stood in the entrance scanning the tables. Strangely enough, he was dressed in his jogging suit even though she knew her soon-to-be-ex-husband hadn’t run in the race. Or had someone else checked him in?

She saw when his gaze locked onto her. She tried to control her rapid breathing as he strode over to her.

“We need to talk,” he said flatly. “Now.” The anger in his voice made her flinch.

For a moment, her body nearly betrayed her. She had always done what her husband said, had always taken his anger as her due, and had hid the bruises to protect him. But she would never do that again.

“You need to talk to my attorney,” she said, proud that her voice didn’t 
quiver. “Call Harold Hast –” 

“I know who it is,” Michael cut in. “I read the papers you had served to me today.”

“I guess the server couldn’t find you yesterday,” Dolores said. “Call Harold.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Michael yelled. “Now, come with me!”

People looked at them. Abby rose and came to stand behind Dolores. 

Dolores looked down, feeling the old familiar shame flood her. Only Abby’s hand on her shoulder kept her in her chair.

“Michael, you should go,” Abby said. 

“Stay out of this,” Michael snarled. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“She does,” Abby’s husband Mack said from behind the real estate agent. Mack, a construction foreman, stared down at Michael. “And if you think you’re going to beat my wife like you beat yours, you got another think coming.” Mack brought his face down to an inch from Michael’s. “Why don’t you just go before I make you go?”

For a moment, Dolores thought Michael was going to throw himself at the much larger man, but he mastered himself.

“This isn’t over,” Michael told Dolores.

“Call Harold Hastings,” she said, not trusting herself to look up. “I won’t talk to you.”

“You will.” Michael turned and left the tent.

“He’s so mad,” Dolores said, sick with fear.

“It’s okay,” Abby said. “It’s okay now. He can’t hurt you now.”

“He’d better not try,” Mack said. “I’ll snap him like a twig.”

“Mack, that’s enough,” Abby said. “Dee, are you all right?”

Dolores nodded. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“Mack, take her clipboard,” Abby commanded. “Dee and I are going to take a break.”

“But I don’t know what to do,” Mack said.

Abby glanced at him. “You’ll learn.” She handed the clipboard to Mack. “Dee and I will be right back.”

Abby led Dee over to the refreshment table where she got them both a cup of black coffee. “We can sit in my car,” Abby said. “It’s right over here.”

In the car, Dolores cried for a good ten minutes while Abby held her hand.

Finally, Dolores pulled herself back together. “I’m sorry, Abs.”

“Sweetie, I’m always here for you,” Abby said. "You were very brave in there."

Dolores shook her head. 

“You know what I think?" Abby said. "I think it’s so sad that a nice man like Cyrus Fowler is dead while Michael Hyatt isn’t.”

“Don’t say that,” Dolores said. But she secretly agreed, and for a moment, wondered how to do it.

(Excerpt from the forthcoming mystery novel Murder by the Mile. Copyright 2017 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. Thank you for reading.)