Fire and Ashes Read online

  PRAISE FOR BRAIN STORM

  “Viets brings readers a treat with a new series featuring coroner’s investigator Angela Richman . . . Viets, a stroke survivor herself, builds her unusual premise into a compelling thriller that moves quickly and builds suspense steadily.”

  —Booklist

  “Devastating migraines send death investigator Angela Richman, the heroine of this well-paced, darkly humorous series launch from Viets (The Art of Murder and fourteen other Dead-End Job mysteries), to the emergency room . . . Angela’s endearing, spirited, and resilient humanity resonates on the page. Viets takes an entertaining detour from her usual cozy territory.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “[Viets’s] complicated heroine deserves a return outing.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Cozy veteran Viets (Dead-End Job mysteries), a stroke survivor, returns to her crime fiction roots with this intriguing tale that will attract forensic mystery buffs and fans of Max Allan Collins’s CSI tie-in series.”

  —Library Journal

  “Brain Storm soars as Viets shows Angela’s painful recovery, buoyed by her strong spirit and will to live.”

  —South Florida Sun Sentinel

  “[Brain Storm] is an affirmation of hope and recovery with bits of well-placed humor to enhance a murder mystery plot that also touches on insurance fraud and hospital politics. Fronted by a unique and winning protagonist, this new series promises to be as popular as Viets’s others.”

  —Oline Cogdill, Mystery Scene Magazine

  “In her thrilling new series debut, Brain Storm, Elaine Viets calls upon her own challenging life experience in introducing Angela Richman, a death investigator working for upper-class Chouteau County in Missouri. Like Viets, Angela suffered a series of strokes, and this death investigator is now struggling—in the midst of her recovery—to investigate a homicide that put her lifesaving neurosurgeon Dr. Jeb Travis Tritt in jail. Crisply written, with deft characterizations and action, Viets tells a tale that only she could have written.”

  —Brendan DuBois, author of Fatal Harbor, two-time Shamus Award winner, and three-time Edgar Award finalist

  “A very powerful and unusual novel. I think you’ve got everything here that a reader loves—a hospital drama and thriller, a strong central character. Made much more interesting because the central character is a very unreliable narrator.”

  —Ann Cleeves, international bestselling author of the Vera Stanhope and Shetland series

  “Elaine Viets has written the exciting first book in a multilayered crime novel series. Angela Richman is not only an investigator but a victim in this complex novel of crime, punishment, and medical malfeasance.”

  —Charlaine Harris, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  “Elaine Viets’s newest is both a timely medical drama and a compelling mystery. Brain Storm gives us a detailed look at the shattered life of a determined death investigator. Readers will want more of Angela Richman’s adventures.”

  —Jeff Abbott, New York Times bestselling author of The First Order

  “In Brain Storm, Elaine Viets takes a dangerous turn down a dark alley but manages it with panache and a touch of humor. Angela Marie Richman is a kick-ass protagonist who is victimized by the thing we all fear most—our own mortality. This is territory Viets knows well, and she does a nice job of showing the readers the terrain, all while entertaining them.”

  —Reed Farrel Coleman, New York Times bestselling author of Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

  “Trapped in a nightmarish world after suffering six strokes, death investigator Angela Richman finds she can’t trust anyone—including her own mind. A thrilling, suspenseful, twist-filled read that kept me up late into the night, Brain Storm marks a fascinating new direction for a wonderfully talented writer.”

  —Alison Gaylin, USA Today bestselling author of the Brenna Spector series

  “Haunting and creepy, with a fast-paced, twisty plot, and a protagonist you will not soon forget—this is Elaine Viets at her most deliciously dark.”

  —David Ellis, Edgar Award winner and author of Breach of Trust and nine other novels

  “I’ve been a fan of Elaine Viets’s books since she debuted her leather-clad heroine Francesca Vierling. And now I am delighted to see her give us another strong female character we can root for—death investigator Angela Richman. I’m also stoked to see Elaine venture into darker territory with Brain Storm, a multilayered mystery that is rich in its sense of place and character and propelled with medical intrigue. Brain Storm has everything I love in crime fiction—complexity, intelligence, pretzel plotting, and a touch of dark humor.”

  —P. J. Parrish, New York Times bestselling author of Thomas & Mercer’s She’s Not There and the award-winning Louis Kincaid series

  “With Brain Storm, Elaine Viets offers readers a rare gem: a mystery that not only engages the head but also compels the heart. Following a near-fatal stroke, death investigator Angela Richman must struggle to regain her physical and mental health while at the same time trying to solve the murder of the inept doctor she blames for her predicament. Drawing on her own experience, Viets chronicles the harrowing journey back from the brink of death. And perhaps the most amazing aspect of the novel is that in the midst of such terrible darkness, Viets manages to deliver hilarious one-liners any comedian would envy.”

  —William Kent Krueger, Edgar Award–winning author of the New York Times bestseller Ordinary Grace

  “A huge welcome to Angela Marie Richman, an edgy death investigator with a rapier wit and even sharper powers of observation, who makes her debut in Elaine Viets’s Brain Storm. I loved the deadpan humor from this character, a tough broad who’s survived with a vengeance and has scores to settle.”

  —Hallie Ephron, New York Times bestselling author of Night Night, Sleep Tight

  OTHER TITLES BY ELAINE VIETS

  Angela Richman, Death Investigator

  Brain Storm

  Dead-End Job Mysteries

  Shop Till You Drop

  Murder Between the Covers

  Dying to Call You

  Just Murdered

  Murder Unleashed

  Murder with Reservations

  Clubbed to Death

  Killer Cuts

  Half-Price Homicide

  Pumped for Murder

  Final Sail

  Board Stiff

  Catnapped!

  Checked Out

  The Art of Murder

  Killer Blonde: A Dead-End Job Novella

  Josie Marcus Mystery Shopper Mysteries

  Dying in Style

  High Heels Are Murder

  Accessory to Murder

  Murder with All the Trimmings

  The Fashion Hound Murders

  An Uplifting Murder

  Death on a Platter

  Murder Is a Piece of Cake

  Fixing to Die

  A Dog Gone Murder

  Francesca Vierling Mysteries

  Backstab

  Rubout

  The Pink Flamingo Murders

  Doc in the Box

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2017 Elaine Viets

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Ama
zon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477848807

  ISBN-10: 1477848800

  Cover design by Damon Freeman

  For Dick Richmond, good friend and newspaper editor, who taught me how to say more with less.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  EPILOGUE

  THE INSIDER’S GUIDE TO CHOUTEAU COUNTY PRONUNCIATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  Day one

  Five fire engines, two ladder trucks, a portable light truck, a battalion chief’s van, and what looked like every cop car in Chouteau County were fighting this fire. Death investigator Angela Richman knew it was already too late—she was summoned only for death. Tonight, someone had died in that blazing building, choked by the smoke and seared by those flames. Angela oversaw the bodies at Chouteau County crime scenes or unattended deaths. The death investigator reported to the county medical examiner.

  Who was it? Angela didn’t know yet. The detective’s call was cryptic: “Luther Ridley Delor’s house is on fire. One body so far. They’re bringing it out. Get over there now.” Seventy-year-old Luther called himself a financier to take away the sting of how his family made a trainload of money: running a nationwide chain of payday loan companies. People—especially desperate ones—knew the slogan “You get more with Delor.” Was the old man dead? Was the victim his young fiancée? Or did a friend or servant die in that hellish fire?

  Angela prayed there was only one victim. She’d expected this death. This was the third major fire in the county in two weeks. Fear smoldered beneath the comfortable surface of Chouteau Forest, Missouri, the biggest town in the county. Chouteau County was a ten-square-mile preserve for the 1 percent and those who served them, about thirty miles west of Saint Louis.

  The blaze was in Olympia Forest Estates, an exclusive development built five years ago. That made it brand-new compared with the county’s extravagant old-money mansions: robber barons’ Romanesque castles, English country houses, and Bavarian hunting lodges built at the turn of the last century. Olympia’s brick-and-stone houses seemed subdued after those architectural fancies, but they were still luxurious. Thanks to relentless advertising, everyone knew their prices—three to five million—and their amenities.

  Angela, still recovering from six strokes, brain surgery, and a coma at the fairly young age of forty-one, leaned on her cane behind the yellow caution-tape barrier while she tried to spot the best route through the shifting, smoking chaos. She’d trundled her death investigator kit—a black rolling suitcase—across the water-soaked street. Her plain black pantsuit kept her warm in the chilly May night, and her flat, black lace-up shoes helped her navigate the treacherous ground.

  Hastily dressed gawkers had gathered in the cul-de-sac outside the burning house. Angela stood next to a scrawny-legged, bald man in blue boxers and sandals and tried not to look at his pale, flabby chest. She knew him: Ollie Champlain. Ollie lived on stale bar snacks and martinis at the Forest Country Club.

  “Woo-eee!” Ollie said. “You can almost smell the money burning. That’s Luther’s house.”

  Dread seized Angela. Now that she heard Luther’s name, the death was real. The Forest “financier” had created a major scandal at age seventy. He’d left his wife of forty years for Kendra Graciela Salvato, a twenty-year-old manicurist. Luther’s wife was fighting the divorce, but he’d given Kendra an engagement ring with a diamond bigger than Delaware and swore they’d marry as soon as he was free.

  “Don’t be disgusting,” said a worried woman clutching her long, baggy plaid bathrobe. “The smell is horrible.”

  Angela caught the toxic stink of melting plastic mixed with the stomach-turning stench of burned meat and hair. The flames were eating the victim’s body.

  Ollie refused to be shamed. He acted as if the fatal fire were staged for his entertainment. “Look at the firefighters taking axes to that bay window. I can hear the corks popping in that thousand-bottle wine room.”

  “Humph,” Plaid Bathrobe said. “The way Luther drinks, I doubt he could keep a thousand bottles.”

  “He was definitely pissed tonight,” Ollie said. “I watched him stagger home with his little Mexican cutie. Kendra had to help him inside the house. It was fun watching her in that tight white dress. Luther was too drunk to walk into his house, much less run out of it. Jeez, I hope that’s not her burning in that house. What a waste of a fine p—” Plaid Bathrobe glared him into changing his crude words. “A fine young woman,” he continued. “The Rhinestone Cowboy’s a shriveled old coot. I hope she gets out alive.”

  The Forest residents secretly laughed at Luther’s garish outfits. The liver-spotted financier dressed like a drugstore cowboy, from his black Stetson with the diamond hatband to his tight, western-cut jeans flared to fit over his handmade Lucchese boots. Luther’s rhinestone-studded shirts sparkled. Angela rather liked his style.

  “I hope they both get out alive,” Plaid Bathrobe said, her tight gray curls bobbing in disapproval.

  “The firefighters are going to have a hard time searching Luther’s place to save him and Kendra,” Ollie said. “It has four or five bedrooms.”

  “At least they don’t have to search a thirty-room mansion,” Plaid Bathrobe said. “A house in Olympia Forest is downsizing for Luther. He left the Delor estate that’s been in his family since the 1890s to move in with that woman. They never entertain, and it’s no big secret why. No decent person would visit or invite them. She may get lost in that big place. Her house was practically a shack.”

  “What time did you see Luther and Kendra come home?” Angela asked.

  “About nine o’clock tonight,” Plaid Bathrobe said. “I’m Elvira Smythe. I heard the sirens a little after midnight. My husband slept through it all. He’s still asleep.”

  Angela took out her iPad. Both these people had information she might be able to use about the body she’d be examining.

  “I wonder if he set his place on fire with one of his cigars,” Mrs. Smythe said.

  “No, it was the arsonist,” Ollie said. “Had to be.”

  “Whoever he is, he’s destroying only the best neighborhoods,” Mrs. Smythe said. “There hasn’t been a fire in Toonerville yet. That’s where she’s from.”

  Mike Peters, a blond cop who looked like a cute country boy, came out from behind the yellow tape barrier. “Okay, people, let’s go home. The blaze is under control. It’s safe to return to your houses.”

  “I think I will go back inside,” Mrs. Smythe said, pulling her plaid bathrobe closer. “It’s cool, even if it is May.”

  “Good idea, ma’am,” the cop said.

  “I see some friends over there.” Scrawny Ollie practically sprinted toward a group across the street.

  The cop turned to Angela. “Hey, Angela, are you working?”

  “Afraid so. I got the call from Ray Greiman. I was waiting for the smoke to shift so I coul
d see my way through.”

  “I’ll escort you.” He lifted the yellow tape, and Angela ducked her ponytailed head under it. “Watch your step—that’s broken glass and slippery mud. Glad you’re dressed for work. How are you feeling? You had quite a battle not too long ago.”

  “A year ago last March. Six strokes, brain surgery, and a coma. Three months in the hospital, including physical therapy.”

  “You’ve made an amazing recovery.”

  “It’s been a long road back. I’m glad to be working again.”

  “And looking good, too.” He smiled at her. “I don’t suppose . . .” He stopped.

  Uh-oh, she thought. The newly widowed Angela still wore her wedding ring, hoping it would ward off any potential dates—but even married women get hit on.

  Mike seemed to gather his courage, and the words tumbled out in a rush. “I don’t suppose you go out with cops?”

  “I would, Mike, but I’m not ready to date yet. It’s too soon.”

  “I understand. But when you’re ready, I’m here.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled and changed the subject. “Do you know who’s dead? Is it Kendra or Luther? Is anyone else inside?”

  “Don’t know. I just got here, and they put me to work keeping out the ghouls. The firefighters found a body in the upstairs bedroom. I hope it’s not Kendra. She’s a pretty thing. They’ll be bringing out the body shortly.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Day one

  Kendra was alive and kicking. Mike led Angela through the snake tangle of hoses, ladders, and equipment to the side of Luther’s house, where three burly paramedics struggled to force Luther’s screaming, wild-eyed fiancée into a waiting ambulance.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Kendra shrieked at the paramedics. “Cowards! If you won’t save him, I will. Luther’s still inside!” Her eyes were wide and glittery.

  Angela was no expert, but it looked like the fire had been largely contained to the second floor. The roof had gaping holes, and glass shards sparkled under the broken windows. An aluminum extension ladder was propped against the front of the brick house under a window missing its glass and frame. Smoke still billowed out the front windows and door. The whole yard was taped off, and more uniformed police officers held back the half-dressed neighbors who pushed forward for a better view of Kendra’s battle.