Miller's View

Miller's View

by M. W. Potts

ISBN: 9781458215888

Publisher AbbottPress

Published in Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Literature & Fiction, Mystery & Thrillers, Mystery & Thrillers/Mystery, Romance/Romantic Suspense, Romance

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Special Pricing

New Release Romantic Mystery, 2014 edition, english, paperback, Signed by author 6.00

Book Description

Romantic mystery unfolds within pages of M.W. Potts’ new book

Sample Chapter

Detective Jonathan Miller grabs his phone, rubs his eyes and

tries to focus on the clock by the bed. The voice at the other

end of the line makes no sense to him.

The dispatcher tries again. “A motorist has spotted a man’s

body in the wooded area near exit 36 off of Route 55 in Hammond.

I will tell them you’re on your way.”

Jonathan stretches and tries to undo some of the knots the last

twenty-four hours have tied in his muscles. The tips of his fingers

are just a whisper away from the ceiling. He dresses in khakis, a

navy-blue polo shirt—slightly stained from last night’s dinner—

and his comfortable Frye slip-ons. He runs his fingers through his

thick, curly hair and is on the scene within twenty minutes.

He steps out of the car and looks toward the spot where the

body was found. His green eyes narrow to a slit as they follow the

bright yellow crime scene tape down an embankment and about

fifty feet into the thick brush.

Page 2

M . W . P o t t s

“No ID. No wallet. Nothing in his pockets,” the officer on scene informs him.

Detective Miller is now thankful for Louisiana’s recent dry spell.

The field he is trudging through is typically four to six inches deep

in water and mud. He holds his flashlight at eye level as he searches

the area near the body. There is no blood or anything else to tell me

what happened to this man. There is nothing on this road for miles, so

where did he come from and where was he going? One set of tire tracks

is discovered leaving the area, so Miller takes pictures of the marks

for comparison, but there isn’t a car in sight. “Just dumped here, I

guess. This is not our crime scene.” His thoughts escape his lips.

Where was he killed? The young detective looks around for clues

and realizes he can’t see his car from where he is standing. He

cannot see any of the cars. If it weren’t for the flashing red and blues,

he would not be able to locate them.

The bushes are so thick and the sun is just now peeking over the

horizon. At the time of the call, it would have still been very dark.

How could someone driving by doing a minimum forty-five miles

per hour and no one does forty-five on this stretch of blacktop

see a body from the road?

After the emergency responders lift and load the body into the

ambulance, they head for the coroner’s office, and Detective Miller

heads to his office. As he drives, his head spins with questions;

this is going to be a long day. Headquarters is quiet this time of the

morning. Only a few scattered desk lamps illuminate the files of

working officers. Miller plops his fatigued body into a worn but

comfortable leather swivel chair and yanks the chain that wakes

up his lamp. He needs to find a name for the victim discarded on

the side of the road.

Page 3

M i l l e r ’ s V i e w

Hammond only has a population of about 17,700 people in the

Parrish of Tangipahoa and more than half are women. If this guy’s

a local, it shouldn’t take long to ID him. Miller fingers his well-used

Rolodex and calls on longtime friend Jason Harper, his contact at

the local television station.

He explains the situation and finds that Harper is all too willing

to help him. Deciding it would be in poor taste to show the dead

man’s photo on the news, Miller has a sketch artist draw a likeness

of his victim. He faxes the face to Jason, who puts it into the hands

of the broadcaster. It’s just in time to make the early morning news.

“Breaking news. Hammond local police need your help in

identifying this person. Black male. Twenty-five to thirty-five years

old. Short brown hair and hazel eyes. About 6' 1" and 170 pounds.

If you have any information regarding this man, please contact

Detective Jonathan Miller at Police Headquarters.”

It doesn’t take long before the calls come in. The locals don’t

mind making phone calls; just don’t come knocking at the front

door. That’s when they tend to play the “hear no, see no, and speak

no evil” game. People have seen this guy all around town, and they

didn’t mind letting him know. Apparently, he has been hanging

around some of the local diners, antique, and hardware shops over

the past couple of months, asking questions about a girl. But the

call Miller is holding his breath for comes days later.

M . W . P o t t s

Page 4

“Hammond Police headquarters. Homicide division. Detective Miller speaking.”

“I know that guy you’re looking for,” the croaky voice says.

“How do you know him?”

“He rents an apartment from me.”

“Where is this apartment?”

The voice on the other end gives Miller the address. The loud

click comes before he can get a name.

“Great. Now I have a face and an address. Officer Branson,

you’re with me on this one.” Miller grabs his sport coat and heads for

the Treasure Cove Apartments about ten miles away from the 55.

Officer Branson checks to make sure he has all of his gear and

then double-times it to catch up to Miller. Ted Branson is even

newer to the department than the fast-rising Detective Miller and

he has his eyes set on a gold detective badge of his very own.

Miller, on the other hand, hit the fast track to detective right

out of the academy. Being a fourth-generation family member on

the force only added to his gilded position. His quick assessment

of crime scenes is unmatched in the department.

At the end of the winding road, a long, two-story building

holding no more than twelve small apartments stands before them.

The thick vines cover most of the upper level balcony and the bushes

out front are unkempt and under watered. A few worn, wicker

chairs wait patiently, yearning to be used on the long verandah.

A middle-aged man—barely chest-high to Jonathan—steps out

of the side door and meets them as they approach. His thick legs

M i l l e r ’ s V i e w

Page 5

and pot belly are not complemented by his partially balding head

and thick glasses.

“You the landlord of this building?”


“What’s your name?”

“Tom Bradley”

When he speaks, Miller recognizes the voice from the phone

call. He catches the tell-tale rasp of a habitual smoker in his voice

and stains on his fingers.

“Follow me.”

The landlord leads Miller and Branson into the apartment.

Much to his dismay, he discovers nothing of value. A few pieces of

furniture—remnants of a flea market—scatter the one-bedroom

unit. The red plaid sofa and orange chair scream “teenage girl”

against the lime green shag rug on the floor. The dark brown

curtains hang on just enough hooks to keep them off the floor.

Nothing matches. This man would’ve made Martha Stewart cry.

“The man was here long enough to make his bed. He left clothes

in the closet and drawers. He didn’t pack his suitcase. Everything’s

still here, so he must have been coming back.” Branson moves

throughout the room, careful not to disturb the surroundings.

Miller turns to Bradley, still nervously lurking in the doorway

as he watches the detective move about the apartment. “Does this

guy have a name?”

“Yeah, of course. Edwards. Donald or David. No… Daniel.

Yeah, that’s right. Daniel Edwards.”


Excerpted from "Miller's View" by M. W. Potts. Copyright © 2014 by M. W. Potts. 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

M. W. Potts

M. W. Potts

About the Author Born and raised in D.C., M.W. Potts is a wife and mother of three. She worked in both public and private schools and with the federal government. She spent 11 years homeschooling her daughters and other children. She is now a full time caregiver and author in Palm Bay, Florida. She has previously published “As I See It: A Strange Young Woman’s Obsession Confession.”

View full Profile of M. W. Potts

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