UNCOVERED
An Autumn Covarrubias Mystery, 2
SX Bradley
Evernight Teen
Teen Thriller, @70k words
Last year sixteen-year-old Autumn solved her sister’s murder. This year, she is part of a high school forensic dream team that assists the police when teens are kidnapped. When it’s discovered the kidnappings are part of a secret online survivor game, the police and team focus on the game maker—the man behind the game.
The focus of the investigation shifts when Autumn is singled out and becomes the target of the Game Maker’s sick game. Through encrypted messages hidden in steganographs, Autumn must discover who the last kidnapping victim is if she hopes to save him in time.
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Excerpt:
There was minimal blood spatter on the black and white checkered floor. Mainly small, spherical droplets. My hands trembled as I removed the ruler from my new black case. The numbered evidence markers outlined a crimson polka dot path. Squatting down, I held out the ruler, and it landed with a loud ping as the steel hit the tile. All eyes darted toward me. I shrugged an I’m sorry.
Everyone resumed their tasks, except for Minerva. She rolled her eyes at me, which was miraculous considering the spider-leg eyelashes she wore. I gave her a country-club smile, then refocused on the blood spatter.
I picked up my ruler and measured the diameter of several drops. Average was 6 mm. Low velocity. She could still be alive.
“Clear.” Shock , silence. “Sorry for your loss, miss.”
I shook my head, trying to clear the memory. This was different. Low velocity meant small force of impact. These types of droplets were caused by someone dripping blood, not by a blow or gunshot. Or by knife wounds. They could belong to the missing ice cream girl, or if we were lucky, the kidnapper. The Texas state crime lab would have to sort that out, and it could take forever.
I documented the results in my evidence log. My handwriting was shaky, but legible enough for my team.
It’s not her. This is different. This girl may still be alive. There’s hope.
I blew out the fear in one big breath and got back to work. I examined the pattern on the floor. The low blood volume found at the scene was a positive sign, but it wouldn’t matter to her family. They were being tormented every second she was gone. Right now, the tricks their minds
were playing on them, the things their imaginations were conjuring, were sadistic. Panic loved to be a bitch like that.
I had to help her and her family. After all, it was why I’d accepted the offer to participate in the Science and Technology Associates in Forensics Foundation’s—or STAFFF’s—forensic training camp.
I stepped back and looked at the ice cream parlor from all angles the way I’d been taught this past summer.
Even though the parlor had a 1950s décor, it was a new addition to the city of Nogales. The overhead fans kept the space cool, and the clack, clack, clack rhythm echoed in the empty shop. The checkered floor was a nice contrast to the deep red booths and bar stools. The walls were adorned with vintage signage and photos of Nogales landmarks. A Wurlitzer jukebox stood proudly by the front entrance. On any other day, it would be a place I’d like to visit with my boyfriend, Caedon.
My four other STAFF teammates were walking around performing the various tasks assigned to them. It was our first case, and I prayed we’d do a kick-ass job, because there was still hope and a chance to impact her fate.
Today, we were at the ice cream shop to act as free consultants for the Nogales PD and to learn about forensics firsthand. Our first team objective was to form no judgments or conclusions before all the facts were in. We would then create a crime scene analysis and summary to forward on to the detective in charge of the investigation. He’d give us his feedback, and that would factor into our grade.
Objectivity was key. Quick-draw conclusions could lead you down the wrong path and to the home of…oh, I don’t know, let’s say…my high school principal. Principal Tamez still hadn’t forgiven me and never would. Ponzi Scheme Boy knew I was onto him, except there was this little thing called evidence that the police liked to have before arresting anyone for embezzling.
He reeked of dishonesty and was definitely hiding something underneath that greasy comb-over. One day, I’d find out exactly what he was up to and find the evidence I needed to put him away.
Author Bio:
Susan grew up in South Texas, about ten miles from the U.S.-Mexican border. As a child she spent the summers in Mexico with her grandparents and extended family. During these vacations, she frequently created mysteries for her siblings and cousins to solve. These mysteries were her first stories. Nancy Drew soon became her childhood hero and inspiration to write mysteries for young adults.
Her greatest joy is her daughter who is quite the storyteller and likes to come up with the characters’ names for mom’s stories.
When she’s not writing or studying, you can find her looking after her personal mini-zoo which consists of two fish, one thief of a dog, and some hermit crabs.
Susan loves estates sales, traveling, spending time with her family, and discovering new books at the Columbus Metropolitan library.
Susan graduated from the University of Texas, is currently pursuing an MFA from Seton Hill University, and dreams of one day owning a touch screen murder board like the one on her favorite TV show, Castle.
website: http://www.sxbradley.com/
Social Media: https://twitter.com/SusanXBradley https://www.facebook.com/SXBradley http://susanxbradley.blogspot.com/
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Exclusive Excerpt for Hooked on Books Forever !
“Here’s my theory.” I turned around and faced them. “The Gamer and Puzzle Maker team up to create this sick survival game. A game that puts people in different threatening situations to see if they can get out. When they do, they’re marked with the brand of success. But what if they’re also testing and improving their kidnapping skills for a bigger crime? The crime they’ve really been planning this whole time. The one that is going to be the pay-off.”
“The crime they’ve been sending us hints on through the steganographs?” Heather picked up the pictures from my desk. “They’re letting us know who it is to see if we can save him before they get to him. But why? Why tip us off?”
Detective Kasanoff rubbed his chin and looked over at Officer Cavazos. “What do you think, Roland?”
“Makes sense. They’ve wanted to get Autumn engaged in the game and the only way to do that was to make it high risk. Something they knew she’d be willing to play.” He searched Detective Kasanoff’s face to see if that was the right answer.
“They knew that with Autumn’s history, she wouldn’t let it go if someone’s life was on the line. Those assholes. No fun playing a game if you don’t have a worthy opponent.”
Eduardo’s compliment scared me. Hell, Eduardo was scaring me. He was pacing around now like a caged tiger. I was familiar with that mood. It was the same predatory unrest he’d had when we’d found Celeste’s secret visits to a teen domestic violence website. Thanks to her detailed posts, we were able to figure out that it’d been her boyfriend who’d killed her.
We stared at the computer screen waiting for God only knew what to appear. Fear was starting to take hold of my body. I wondered if anybody in my life would ever be safe if I continued to pursue an FBI career. No wonder federal agents are always single or orphans on TV. I still couldn’t figure out why they were targeting me, though.
“Okay, here we go.” Jose rubbed his hands together like he was brewing up a magic potion. “I’m getting something. Just decrypting it now. Pretty soon we should have an image.” He was smiling now and with good reason. He’d done an amazing job for us.
The image started out in sparse pixels and slowly, the missing pieces began to fill in, much like a puzzle. A vague outline began to appear. Colors found their way in and there was no mistaking that this time it was going to be a portrait. Numerous famous artists, such as Van Gogh, did self-portraits. I wondered if the Puzzle Maker was going to use one of the old masters or impressionists to hide his code. If so, Heather would be on it.
The hair began to fill in and a deep russet began to frame a blurred face. I backed away from the computer like it was going to explode.
Oh God, it couldn’t be. My mouth grew dry and my heart rate tripled.
Then emerald green tiles found their place in her eye sockets and I shouted, “It’s Celeste. It’s a picture of my murdered sister.”
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