Clueless: The Mia Kazmaroff Mysteries, #5

By Susan Kiernan-Lewis

A peaceful autumn weekend in the north Georgia mountains quickly turns to terror when a freak ice storm traps Mia and Jack and eight other people in an isolated mountain lodge—with a psychotic killer. After a note reveals that they have all been brought to the lodge to pay for crimes committed in their pasts, the bodies quickly begin to pile up.
Can Mia and Jack discover the identity of the murderer among them? 
And can they do it before the killer exacts bloody revenge on everyone at the lodge…until there are none?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Kiernan-Lewis
• Release date: Sep 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223818571

Susan Kiernan-Lewis

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Susan Kiernan-Lewis is the author of The Maggie Newberry Mysteries, the post-apocalyptic thriller series The Irish End Games, The Mia Kazmaroff Mysteries, The Stranded in Provence Mysteries, The Claire Baskerville Mysteries, and The Savannah Time Travel Mysteries. Visit www.susankiernanlewis.com or follow Author Susan Kiernan-Lewis on Facebook.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Bakery Owner Slain, Daughter Missing

Sandra Wyman, proprietor and owner of the Sweet Dreams Cupcake Shoppe in northwest Atlanta was found shot to death in her bakery after a 911 call reported shots fired in the vicinity. Witnesses reported seeing two masked males—possibly Caucasian—near the bakery at roughly four in the morning.

Atlanta homicide detectives believe Wyman knew her assailants and was attacked shortly after letting them into her store. Sources say Wyman, who was divorced, typically began work in the early morning to bake the cupcakes the bakery was known for. She was often accompanied by her thirteen-year-old daughter Deborah who has still not been found.

If anyone has any information about the whereabouts of Deborah Wyman, please contact the Atlanta Police Department.

The newspaper clipping was creased from where it had been folded. It showed no tears or rips, no smears on the print.

The killer straightened the fingers on the disposable gloves and carefully re-folded the clipping before sliding it back into its acid free envelope.

1

Sometimes people watching was just a major pain in the butt.

Especially when, instead of sitting in a mall with a mocha latté in your hand, you were doing it kneeling in an azalea bush with one knee planted in a decomposed dog turd.

For that reason if no other, Mia was particularly glad that today she was in her parked Toyota sedan on a residential street in an older Atlanta neighborhood. Even in mid-October the lane looked lush, fringed on both sides with leafy dogwood trees and dense hedges of azaleas.

It always bothered Mia when she saw her target in the flesh for the first time. Usually it turned out to be a perfectly nice man or woman going about their lives with no idea that someone was photographing them in order that at some point down the line their whole world could go swirling down the toilet.

It wasn’t that Mia sympathized with what these people where doing—they were almost always the cheating spouse of whoever Mia’s check-writing client happened to be.

It was just that, at this point, they almost always looked so happy.

Mia snapped a series of photographs as Denise Matheson exited her spiffy little Audi TT which she parked on the street in front of her boyfriend’s Brookwood condo.

Denise didn’t look like a lying scumball.

She looked like the type who would cry easily.

Mia refined the focus on her Canon PowerShot. She shot Denise as the unsuspecting woman locked her car and bounded up the steps and into the arms of her waiting boyfriend.

Mia photographed that too. In other circumstances, it occurred to her that Denise might want a copy of these photographs. Granted, they weren’t portrait quality but they were certainly good enough to frame and put on your bedside table.

But probably Denise wouldn’t want a copy. Even if the divorce never got as far as a courtroom—and few of them did—Mia was pretty sure Denise wouldn’t be interested in seeing sexy Marcus—or these photographs—ever again.

The client said they had kids.

Denise was happy right now, Mia thought as she studied the red brick condo building with its clutch of glossy ivy draping down the front wall, but what Denise was doing this afternoon was going to destroy the happiness of a lot of people.

Or maybe what I’m doing will do that.

Mia set the GPS on the camera so the embedded metadata would pinpoint the precise location for any jury if that should prove necessary. She herself would testify to the address of course but you never knew.

She glanced at her watch. It would be great if ol’ Marcus would walk Denise to her car when she left. That way Mia wouldn’t even have to move to get the more incriminating shots.

After all what gentleman wouldn’t walk his lover to her car to give her a goodbye kiss?

She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel as she waited and her thoughts drifted back to her own condo where Jack was busily whipping up what appeared to be a majorly romantic meal for the two of them.

He needn’t have bothered.

Mia knew what he was up to. She’d known last night. With her gift for finding the full story behind anything she touched, it hadn’t taken much—picking up his car keys, running her fingers along the back of his cellphone—to figure out what he was thinking.

He was going to propose tonight.

Jack sprinkled the croutons and pine nuts on top of the salad. He’d made this dish many times before but it had only occurred to him today that Mia would probably not turn her nose up at a salad that was fifty percent bread.

He paused at the thought, his hand hovering over the bowl full of greens.

If things went as planned tonight she would no longer be his carb-crazed girlfriend but his bread-loving fiancée.

A warm flush filled him at the thought. Would she say yes? Was there any doubt? Was he rushing it? They’d only been together a year. But they’d been living together for nearly every week of that year.

He turned to the counter to inspect the steaks laid out on the chopping board. He’d love to make something a little more special tonight. It didn’t have to be flambé. Even a nice Béarnaise would do, but Mia was a meat and potatoes kind of girl and a romantic meal wouldn’t get very far if she were making faces through it.

His cellphone vibrated against the marble kitchen counter top. Jack wiped off his hands on the dishtowel slung over his shoulder and glanced at the screen. Mia was working but he’d half hoped she’d check in before dinner. He knew that was silly. She had no idea tonight was a special night. There was no reason for her to call unless she was having a problem on the surveillance case she was on.

He picked up the phone.

Hey, Geoff, he said. How’s it going?

Geoff Turnbull was half owner of a very successful advertising boutique in Atlanta. Jack had cooked for him and his wife on several occasions—usually when Geoff needed to wow clients—and as different as they both were, a budding friendship was developing between them.

Hey, man, Geoff said, his voice thick with a Georgia-born southern accent. I catch you at a bad time?

Not a bit. What’s up?

I need to add a few more people to the roster for the weekend. That cool?

Jack was catering a small company retreat for Geoff’s agency in the north Georgia mountains. His personal chef business had taken off great guns in the last few months and he was booked every weekend. Geoff’s gig was supposed to be largely team building and because Geoff’s agency was small he was able to have it at a small private lodge. That also meant Geoff didn’t need a major catering company to handle the weekend. Jack had been delighted when Geoff asked him if he could do it. It was peak leaf watching season in the mountains and the weather should be perfect.

Jack had already asked if his girlfriend could accompany him.

Make that my fiancée, he thought with a grin.

No problem, Jack said. You’ve got five now. You and Jenny and your partner, the head account services guy and the agency accountant.

Right. I want to add a couple of the younger employees. Liven things up a bit, I thought.

Just two more?

That’s right. And of course you’ll need enough for you, your lady, and the staff. The lodge has two locals to help you in the kitchen. As long as you’re not expecting a sous chef, we should be good.

Jack laughed. Just as long as they know how to wash a dish.

Brilliant. So everything going good with you?

Yep. Hanging in there.

All right then. See you tomorrow.

Roger that. Give my best to Jenny.

Will do.

Jack hung up.

He and Mia would begin their engagement with an all expenses paid weekend at a luxury resort lodge in the mountains.

Could life get any more perfect?

It was as obvious as if he’d scrawled it in lipstick across their shared bathroom mirror.

Mia wasn’t sure why she hadn’t been expecting this. They’d been living together for a year. Her own mother had hinted at the prospect of it.

Maybe because Mia was always on the same wavelength as Jack, it surprised her to realize he was a little ahead of her.

Make that way ahead.

And why was that? Mia was crazy about him. There was no doubt she wanted him. The sex was red hot and unlike a lot of couples, their idea of frequency was spot on.

How much more perfectly matched could they be?

There was only one problem. And his name was Benedict.

She opened up her phone to look at the photo she’d downloaded and her heart swelled with anticipation.

He was beautiful.

She especially loved the dark brown freckles sprinkled across his rump. And even Ned had to admit that he had one of the prettiest faces he’d ever seen on a horse. At 16 hands, Benedict was big, but she was sure she could handle the size. He was a purebred Appaloosa—something she never thought she could afford.

The truth was, at ten thousand asking, she couldn’t afford him.

A needle of guilt wove its way into her thoughts. She’d been carrying this picture around for two weeks now. She’d shown it to Ned—her riding buddy up at the Cumming, Georgia, barn—until he started waving her away whenever she pulled out her phone. She was so totally in love with this animal—had imagined riding him, flying across the pastures at the stables, or jogging alongside the Chattahoochee River—only about a thousand times.

She’d change his name. That was a given. He was currently Benedict out of Radar.

Who names a horse Benedict? she wondered. Especially when he looked so much like a Trevor or maybe a Rockstar.

A ping on her phone made her look to see that Ned was texting her.

<Made an offer on Pegasus yet?>

She knew Ned thought ten grand was an insane amount of money to spend on a hunter-jumper when all she was really going to do with him was pleasure ride. After her last accident on horseback, she’d promised her mother she wouldn’t compete anymore.

Yes, it was a lot of money. But ten thousand is not too much for the horse of your dreams, she reasoned.

<I’m just about to> she texted.

<Bravo. Have u told Jack yet?>

Mia felt a flush of annoyance. She should never have told Ned how much the horse cost. And she definitely didn’t intend to tell Jack. Just forming the thought in her mind made her mad.

Why do I feel like I have to answer to him?

<He doesn’t own me!> she typed. As soon as she re-read it, she deleted it. It sounded petulant even to her.

<Not yet> she wrote and hit send, tossing the phone down on the seat next to her as if that would be the end of it.

This was her decision. Besides she knew very well what Jack would say about it. The key question was why does he even get a say?

Her attention was snagged by a movement at the front of the condo and she reflexively brought the camera up to her face so that whoever came out would fill the viewfinder. Her heart began to pound as she saw that it was the two of them.

Yeah, baby, Mia thought, already taking the picture before they even fully turned to face outward.

Her phone rang and she jumped, startled. She didn’t lower the camera but spared a brief glance down at it.

The name Stefan showed on the screen.

Mia stared at the name as the phone continued to ring. Her thoughts whirled as if the outside world had gone into slow motion. Without realizing she was doing it, she dropped the camera to the length of its strap around her neck and picked up the phone.

Hello? she said.

"Mia, chérie! I found you!"

Mia glanced up and watched her target embrace her boyfriend, her hand squeezing his buttocks, then kiss him sloppily and at length before climbing into her car and driving away.

Mia? Are you there? Or are you speechless with surprise to hear from your own husband?

2

Geoff Turnbull put the phone down and swiveled in his chair to look out his office window overlooking Peachtree Street. He watched the activity below. It was midday on a Thursday. People were scrambling to find a place in line at several of the popular lunch spots up and down the street.

People running up and down the wide cement steps of the Alliance Theatre. He couldn’t imagine why. Surely there wasn’t a matinee performance of anything at two o’clock on a Thursday?

A sharp tap at the door dragged his attention away from the view. He turned to see his partner Jarrod Stroud standing in the doorway.

Jarrod was stocky and perennially tan. He wore jeans and his hair was greying at the temples even though he was only forty-five. Geoff wondered for a moment if the guy might be frosting his hair?

Got a minute? Jarrod said before closing the door behind him and moving into the office to stand in front of Geoff’s desk.

Jarrod was a handsome man, Geoff had to give him that. He made the most of it too. Jarrod always stood ramrod straight as if he expected to be photographed at any moment. It was amazing how much slimmer you looked when you bothered to straighten your shoulders, Geoff thought tiredly as he brushed the remnants of his tuna salad pita from the front of his button down shirt.

If this is about Zorba Vodka, Geoff said, I thought we were going to hash it out at the retreat.

Bill Myers from Zorba has called me twice this morning. He wants an answer.

Geoff’s lips flattened and he let out a hiss of annoyance. He hated that Jarrod was trying to pin him down on this. The fact was, his partner knew what his answer was—he just wasn’t willing to accept that answer.

I won’t be pushed, Jarrod, Geoff said.

"Myers wants to know now."

Then the answer is no, Jarrod, Geoff said heatedly. You know I feel strongly about marketing liquor to minors.

Do you know how big this account is? For an agency our size, it’s colossal! And a vodka client? We’ll sweep the Addys this year! I’ve already got Kristen and Alex working on comps.

Well, I’m not sure what you’ll bill their time to since we didn’t sign Zorba and we won’t.

"This is the reason we’ll always be small potatoes. You and your narrow-minded pigheadedness."

Jarrod came to stand beside Geoff’s desk and Geoff had to force himself not to stand up. It was a tactic he was familiar with. Ever since they were kids together, Jarrod had always been the bully.

How about cigarettes? Geoff said. Where do you draw the line?

I don’t. That’s the difference between us, Geoff. You are hamstringing the agency.

Be that as it may.

A vein pulsed over Jarrod’s eye.

"Do you hear yourself? Be that as it may? Going around calling yourself Geoff when we all knew you as Jeff with a J until one semester in Oxford twenty-five years ago. You’re a fatuous ass."

And you’re a megalomaniac. You always were. Even when we were kids.

Do you even care about this agency any more?

I’m done with this conversation. If you’re asking me to quit, I’ll save you the time and energy—I’m not leaving.

I’ll happily buy you out.

As if you could. This is my agency, too, Jarrod.

We’ll see about that. I’m not finished with this, Jarrod said bitingly, cracking his knuckles.

As long as you need my sign off, I think you are.

Jarrod turned and exited the office, slamming the door behind him. The Clios and Addy award statuettes perched on the glass shelves in Geoff’s office vibrated dangerously with the impact.

Geoff took in a long breath and looked at his hands on the desk before him. They were trembling.

3

Jack stood with his hands on his hips and regarded the table. Their scruffy little terrier Daisy sat in her basket under the kitchen table licking her paws. She’d already had the equivalent of half a lamb chop as Jack plated the main course.

The small bistro table in the dining room had a simple damask linen tablecloth on it with two dark chargers holding bone china dinner plates. Jack had made sure the flowers were simple: pansies and tulips in plain glass vases. Cream tapers in silver holders were nonfussy for an overall look that was understated but elegant.

He stood back to survey the scene and then groaned.

This was a mistake. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

What was he thinking? He should’ve taken her to Turner Field, bought three red hots and an ice-cold beer. The minute she saw this spread she’d make a face and ask if she was expected to dress up.

Was it too late to bung it all in the pantry and start over? He took two steps toward the table when he heard her key in the door.

Damn!

Hey, you’re home early, he said, standing in front of the table to block her view. Get some good pictures?

She tossed her car keys into the handmade ceramic bowl by the door. She looked tired, her eyes glazed over and unfocused. She slipped out of her jacket and dropped it onto the chair in the entranceway. It slid to the floor.

Everything okay? Jack said. Normally she didn’t wait to take her coat off before kissing him.

Daisy ran to greet her and Mia knelt to tussle the little dog’s ears.

Oh, sure, she said, not looking at him. She moved to the credenza in the hall where the mail was.

She must have not gotten the kind of shots she needed, Jack thought, still hesitating to move from where

Reviews for Clueless

[John Leighton · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Poor editing. Wrong character names referenced, wrong pronouns used. Good story, as all of the Mia stories are!