BOOK DETAILS

Apartment 412: Enter at your own risk.

Apartment 412: Enter at your own risk.

by Pamela G. McCoy

ASIN: B0762F8HC2

Publisher Pamela G. McCoy

Published in Mystery & Thrillers/Mystery, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Mystery & Thrillers, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description

$2.99

A quiet Southern California town terrorized by a suspected serial killer after two women are shot dead at a senior housing complex.

A psychological thriller set in a small town, 90 miles north of Los Angeles. Someone is targeting the residents of Sun River Senior Apartments. After two residents are murdered and several are reported missing, two undercover detectives move in. However, they soon get sidetracked when they discover something even more sinister is happening on the building's fourth floor.

Sample Chapter

It was a little after eight in the morning on October 7, 2014. Megan Parker was sitting at her kitchen table having breakfast and reading the morning newspaper. She had no way of knowing she had entered the last hour of her life. Unaware she was about to become his first victim.

She had planned to meet her neighbor, Susan Bentley, at nine o’clock in the lobby of their apartment building. The two elderly friends often rode the shuttle bus together to the senior center on Tuesdays for weekly bingo. So when her doorbell rang, she assumed it was Susan. However, when she opened the door, a young man was standing there, smiling. A man she had never seen before. He was holding a duffle bag in one hand, a newspaper in the other. He offered her the paper without saying a word.

“Thank you, but I already have one,” she said, smiling nervously. “Do I know you?”

“No,” he answered dryly.

“How can I help you then?” she asked. “Actually, I thought you were my neighbor. You see, I’m expecting her at any moment.”

He gave her a steely glare and whispered, “I don’t think so.” Then he put down the bag, reached inside his jacket pocket, and pulled out a handgun. He pointed it at her.

She just stood there, paralyzed with fear. Panic prevented screams from escaping her mouth.

He motioned for her to move aside and let him in, and like an obedient child, she did.

Once inside, he asked, “Where’s your bedroom?”

She swallowed hard, slowly raised her hand and pointed. “Back there,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Okay, let’s go,” he demanded.

As he followed her, she feared what was about to happen. She only hoped it would be over quickly, and that he would leave soon after.

Once inside the bedroom, he pushed her to the floor. Then, without any warning, he fired a single shot, striking her in the chest.

She closed her eyes as the bullet pierced through her skin. It felt like a bad dream. The kind where you wake up drenched in sweat and your heart is racing. But she knew this was no dream as her mouth filled with blood. She knew she was dying as she lay on the floor, in pain, and gasping for air. Only a few shallow breaths remained of her life.

He crouched down beside her. “Don’t be afraid to die,” he whispered, a hint of alcohol on his breath. “Stop fighting and try to relax. It’ll be over soon,” he said, before firing again in her right temple.

Afterward, he sat down on the edge of her bed and stared at her body, admiring his work. His eyes followed a trail of blood as it streamed down her body to the carpet. Then, he noticed some of her blood had gotten on his clothes. “Damn,” he muttered.

However, he was prepared and went to the bathroom to change out of his blood-speckled clothing. He stripped down to his boxers and then reached inside the duffle bag and took out a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt. He placed the soiled clothes in the bag. He checked his watch, right on schedule.

At nine o’clock, Susan left her apartment and walked across the hall to Megan’s. She rang the doorbell, but after waiting a few minutes and getting no answer, she figured Megan had already gone done to the lobby. She left to get the elevator.

At the elevator, she noticed a young man waiting and she smiled. “Good morning,” she said.

He nodded, unsmiling. When the elevator door opened, he stepped back, allowing her to go first.

“Thank you,” she said.

His cold expression unchanged.

She began to feel a sense of dread being alone with him with less than a few inches separating them. Her gut told her he was no good. He turned and looked at her. His blue eyes seemed to go straight through her. Her stomach tightened.

When they reached the lobby, he stepped aside to let her out. He looked out of place among the elderly residents who were waiting in the lobby for the 9:15 shuttle to take them to the senior center. He was about to follow Susan, but changed his mind when she joined the group waiting for the shuttle. Instead, he walked over to the den, sat down, and watched television. All the while keeping an eye on Susan. “Soon,” he muttered under his breath.

Susan was surprised when she didn’t see Megan in the lobby. After waiting a few minutes, she called her. No answer. And when Megan still hadn’t shown up at 9:45, Susan began to worry. Megan would never keep anyone waiting, she thought. And certainly not answer her phone or not show up, unless…unless something was wrong.

Susan took the elevator back up to the fourth floor to check on her friend. As she approached Megan’s apartment, she noticed the door was slightly open. She tapped on the door and called out Megan’s name. Something had to be wrong because not only was Megan not answering, but Freddie was also quiet—unusual for him. She opened the door and went inside. She had no way of knowing what she was about to see.

At first glance, nothing appeared out of place. But as she walked toward the bedroom, fear began to overtake her. She had an eerie feeling someone was watching her.

When she got to the bedroom, she opened the closed door and stuck her head inside. “Megan, are you in here?” Silence. She began to feel someone else’s presence, but when she turned and looked over her shoulder, she didn’t see anyone.

Then she heard a whimpering sound. She went inside to investigate and that’s when she looked down and saw Freddie, the little Chihuahua, at Megan’s feet, whimpering. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at her friend, lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

She reached in her purse and took out her phone to dial 911, but she was so nervous, she couldn’t get her fingers to work. Her heart was pounding.

The young man had returned and entered the murdered woman’s apartment with her key and had hidden in the closet. He figured it would only be a matter of time before her friend came back up to check on her. So, he waited, and he was right. After he heard Susan call out Meagan’s name, he opened the closet door just enough to see out.

While Susan was in Megan’s bedroom, he had slowly stepped out of the closet. Each step he made was evenly spaced and muffled by carpet.

He watched and waited in the hall, like a lion stalking his prey, as she backed out of the bedroom. And just as she turned to leave, he leaped, and pinned her down. His hand over her mouth and with one quick twist, he broke her neck.

He dragged her body back into the bedroom and then picked up Freddie and began to gently stroke his back. “There, there little fella,” he whispered. “It’s gonna be all right.” Then he put the shivering dog back down next to Megan’s body.

He exited the building and walked to the corner. He glanced down at his watch —time to check in. He opened his bag, took out his cell phone, and pressed 3.

“You’re late,” said the voice on the other line.

“There was a slight problem,” said the young man.

“What kind of problem?”

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of it.”

“What do you mean you took care of it? Took care of what?”

“Someone came to the apartment as I was about to leave,” he lied.

“What did you do?”

“What do you think? I got rid of her.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. Now it’s a double murder and that could be a problem. And you know I don’t like problems.”

“I said I took care of it,” he repeated. “Uh…I might as well tell you this too. I rode the elevator down with some old broad who came out of her apartment as I was leaving the Parker woman’s place. I’m not sure if she actually saw me leave the apartment though.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t.”

“So what happened? Is she dead as well?”

“Nah, too many old-timers in the lobby. I’ll have to come back for her later.”

“Another problem I see. That will make three women dead.”

“Like I said before, I’ll take care of it.”

“Did you call the police to report the murder, I mean murders?”

“Not yet, I’ll do that after I hang up.”

“Do that now. I’ll speak with you later.”

He clicked off and put the phone in the duffle bag—on top of the bloody clothes. Then he casually crossed the street, got in a car, and drove off.

Continues...

Excerpted from "Apartment 412: Enter at your own risk." by Pamela G. McCoy. Copyright © 2017 by Pamela G. McCoy. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

Pamela G. McCoy

Pamela G. McCoy

Texas native and former teacher, now living in Southern California. I enjoy writing and have written five books in different genres. My favorite being mysteries. I moved to New York as a teenager so consider myself a New Yorker as well. When not writing, I am usually reading.

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