Cluttered Attic Secrets (28 page)

BIO: I grew up in New Jersey and now live in Texas. Including this one, I’ve had seven novels and over sixty short stories published in various places during the last dozen years. Two stories were nominated for a Derringer Award. Two others won a Fire to Fly award and another the Mysterical-e 2000 Award for Best Story Previous to 2001. Here’s how to find me (please sign up for my newsletter at my website if you’d like news about my next books and stories being published):

Website:
www.janchristensen.com

Blog:
www.janchristensen.com/blog

Amazon Author Page:
http://www.amazon.com/Jan-Christensen/e/B004XTXSYO/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/jan.christensen.9275

Twitter:
https://twitter.com/JanSChristensen

Pinterest:
http://pinterest.com/janchristensena/

Please look for my other novels:

Sara’s Search
is available for the Kindle. Contact me if you want a new autographed hardcover copy. I still have some of the original editions available.

Revelations, Organized to Death, Perfect Victim,
Blackout, Buried Under Clutter,
and
A Broken Life
are also available for Kindle and in print at Amazon.com.

My new short story collections are all titled
Warning Signs
. Check out the mile marker on each cover for the number of the collection. These are collections of, usually, three previously published stories, all in Kindle format.

There is another series of single short stories published by Untreed Reads—The Artie Crimes. If you search for “Artie Crimes Christensen,” you should be able to find them anywhere ebooks are sold. Or simply go to my website, find the covers and click on any of them to learn more.
 

ACKNOWLEGEMENTS:

Many thanks to:

My editor, Anne Victory

Linda Gage for her fabulous cover

In case you missed reading the second in the Tina Tales series, here’s the first chapter to, hopefully, get you interested:

The scream pierced the cold winter air. Tina whirled around in her driveway and stared at the old, decaying Queen Anne next door, then began running toward it. Fumbling in her bag for her cell phone, she stumbled on the cracked sidewalk leading to the house.

Another scream.

Tina dashed up the steps to the porch, then hesitated at the front door. Common sense told her not to go in. She dialed nine-one-one and waited. The silence from inside the house seemed more ominous than the screams.

Dispatch answered on the second ring. “What is your emergency?”

“Someone screaming next door to my house.”

“Address?”

Tina told her. “I’m standing outside. Should I go in?”

Before the dispatcher could answer, a distraught-looking woman burst out of the front door and banged into Tina, making her drop her cell. Tina bumped against the rotten railing, which gave way behind her. She caught herself by grabbing onto the also-decaying post. At least it saved her from flying into the dead bushes in front.

“Sorry. Sorry,” the woman mumbled. Her eyes were wide, her face pale as death. She ran her hand through her brown hair and plopped herself down on the faded green metal chair in front of the bay window. Tina shuddered. The paint was peeling. What would it do to the woman’s clothes? Nice clothes; expensive clothes, she noticed.

“What’s wrong?” Tina began to search for her phone. A stench from the open front door made her hesitate, but she couldn’t place the smell, so she continued the hunt.

“My aunt. It’s my aunt. She’s… she’s dead.”

“Mrs. Blackwell’s dead?” Tina stopped looking for her cell and stared at the woman.

A tinny voice from under the glider helped Tina find her phone.

“Hello? You there? Hello?”

“Yes.” Tina grabbed the phone and looked for a place to sit down because her legs were shaking. Nothing appealed to her—the other metal chairs were rusting and the glider looked dangerous. “Apparently there’s a dead woman in the house. Her niece found her just now.”

Mrs. Blackwell’s niece nodded. And nodded. Couldn’t seem to stop. Tina asked her, “You the one who was screaming? Is anyone else in there?”

More nodding. Then a shake of the head.

Tina made an effort to loosen her cramping hand on the cell. “She was screaming, but she’s not hurt. There’s no one else here. That we know of.”

A lone siren sounded, coming closer. The patrol car stopped in front, and two officers jumped out and ran toward the house.  Another siren wailed, and an ambulance parked behind the police car.

Tina saw her mother and great-uncle come through their front door and approach the yard. Her mother’s eyes were wide and a little frightened. Uncle Bob had his service dog on her leash and had a determined set to his jaw.
Here comes trouble.
Tina said goodbye to the dispatcher and faced the two officers.

“Who called? And why?” the one who had been driving asked.

Mrs. Blackwell’s niece didn’t answer, so Tina said, pointing to her, “I called. She found her aunt inside. Dead.”

The officers dashed inside, the EMTs close behind.

“What’s going on?” Tina’s mother asked. “Olivia’s dead?” She gave the niece a sharp look. “Jenny, you all right?”

So, her mother knew the niece. Why wasn’t Tina surprised? Tina didn’t remember ever seeing her before. Must not have been a frequent visitor.

Jenny nodded. Tina noticed she wasn’t tearful. Just shocked.

The smell coming from the house was getting to her. She approached the doorway and peeked inside. Recoiled. The place was crammed with junk, piled to the ceiling in the hallway. It smelled like a dumpster in there. Tina backed away and caught her mother’s eye. Laura frowned at her and raised her eyes heavenward. So, she knew Mrs. Blackwell had been a hoarder.

Why hadn’t Laura told her about that? Tina had come back to Newport just a few months ago and started a professional organizing business. Laura should have known Tina would be interested in a hoarder living right next door.
Oh, right, Mom didn’t approve of my new profession. She certainly wouldn’t want me anywhere near this awful mess
. Tina had no enthusiasm for mucking around in there, either.

One of the officers, the cuter one with the spikey blond hair, stepped onto the porch. He held a white handkerchief over his nose, and his eyes were watering. But he wasn’t crying. Tina realized the stench caused the tears.

He talked to the radio on his shoulder as he moved down the steps and onto the cracked sidewalk. “We need the M.E. Yes, looks like a homicide.”