Swan Song (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series)

Table of Contents

Preview of Mystral Murder

About The Author

Prologue

H
e had to know if her car was still there.

It was almost five in the morning and still dark. He sat in the SUV, parked at the edge of Lake
Eola Park in Orlando, staring at the Lexus. How many hours had he spent watching her house, her office, her car? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

He was going to make her pay.

His body felt stiff like a discarded, lifeless marionette. He jerked the door open and got out, sucking down a lungful of cool, moist air. To his great surprise, he saw her tall figure headed toward him. Her head was down and she was striding purposefully up East Robinson.

Quick! Get the knife!

He popped open the glove compartment and grabbed it.

A black chain-link fence prevented access to the foliage in front of the Lexus, so he simply dropped down below the front of the car, out of sight.

She stood next to the car, a thin strap across her body. She pulled the flat Louis Vuitton purse around to the front, but she never got the little bag unzipped. He grabbed her around the neck from behind, flashing the knife in her face.

She yelped in fear, and he lifted her chin with the flat side of the blade.

“Shut up or I’ll cut you!”

He dragged her past the fence, over the grass toward the SUV.

Her terror doubled as she realized she was about to be forced into a car. When he loosened his grip for a moment, she wrenched herself free and saw his face.

“You?!”

She bolted and ran down the three or four steps leading through the trees toward the lake. A few feet behind her, he managed to grab her sweater and yanked it, pulling her into the cover of the trees. Out of control and as panicked as she was, he swiped the knife wildly at her, right and left.

“
Ahh!” She cried out, as the blade sliced downward on her wrist.

Hugging her cut right hand tight to her body, she swung her left arm at him with all her might, connecting solidly with his right forearm, knocking the knife from his hand.

For a heartbeat or two, he looked at his empty hand. She seized the moment…and the knife.

She lunged at him, and he jumped back.

“Bitch! I’m going to kill you!”

Desperate to get away from him, she shot a look over her shoulder and quickly
backed onto the nearby walkway that circled the lake. A dense fog hung over the water and widely spaced lanterns created dim pearls of light strung along the concrete.

Swinging the knife back and forth, she continued to hold him at bay, feeling weaker by the minute. Her wrist was throbbing. She pulled it away from her chest and looked down. Her blood was pumping out in spurts. Horrified, she pressed it tightly to her body again, looking frantically up and down the walkway for someone…
anyone
who could help her!

There was no one.

She turned and ran, lifting legs that felt like lead.

The swan boats! They were directly ahead! She ran past the outdoor tables of a darkened restaurant, and veered into a small grouping of trees at the entrance to the boat dock. There was a knee-high, black gate with a loose cable securing it. She pushed it down with the knife, stepped through and staggered to the end of the short dock.

He was right on her heels!

She whirled and lunged at him again, and he backed up to the gate.

Pain etching her face, she threatened him with the knife as she fumbled with her injured hand, finally unhooking the furthest swan boat. She threw the knife in and fell in behind it. He made a grab for the boat, but his hand slipped as she gathered the last of her strength and pushed down hard on the pedals.

The swan slid away, rippling the still, smoked glass surface of the lake. She wasn’t more than a few feet out when she lost consciousness. Adrift, the silvery swan and its passenger slipped into a shroud of fog.

* * * * *  

Chapter 1

January 28, 2010

J
ulie O’Hara opened her eyes, nose to nose with Sol, her Bengal cat, who sounded like a trolling motorboat and weighed nearly as much. He was wearing his usual expression of feline content.

She pushed him away, glancing at the eerie, neon-green numbers on her alarm clock…6:00. She pulled the comforter over her head, trying to ignore both the clock and the cat. But it was no use. A busy day loomed in front of her.

Julie was a body language expert known professionally by the single name, “Merlin”. In addition to her consulting and corporate training, she was currently in the process of writing a book. Her manuscript,
Clues, A Body Language Guide
, was undergoing a rewrite. Reorganizing
Clues
along the lines suggested by her editor would strengthen the book, and Julie had committed her mornings to the task. Later, she had a consulting appointment with John Tate, an attorney, to assist him with jury selection for an upcoming trial.

That will probably take all afternoon. I better get going.

Sighing, she pushed the cat and the cover aside and swung her long legs over the side of the bed. Clad in an oversized gray cotton tee-shirt, she opened the French door to the balcony and stepped outside into the half-light, hugging herself against the cool January air that raised goose bumps on her bare arms and legs.

Julie looked out over Lake
Eola Park from her fourth-floor condo. She could just make out the top of the lake’s signature fountain, lights out and still, sitting in the center of the twenty-three acre Downtown lake. It appeared to be floating on a thick blanket of fog which clung to the surface of the water. Beyond the lake and its walkway, the trees were softly defined mounds of dusky green, foothills at the base of the cityscape. Julie smiled, noting that the fog had retreated from the lantern-studded sidewalk.

She went back inside and flicked on the light. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and gathered her wild hair up into a ponytail. A quick glance in the mirror caused her to do a double-take. Her hairdresser had recently added quite a bit of red to her hair, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that yet.

Sol growled softly and rubbed against her legs, threatening to trip her as she walked into the kitchen. His food and water dishes were empty. Julie filled them and stroked the cat affectionately while he lapped the fresh water.

Bending, she tied her running shoes on, and grabbed her keys and her new cell phone. Julie still marveled at how such a small, flat thing could give her internet access and directions and everything else. She shoved it into a handy watch-pocket in her jeans.

“Back in a jiffy, Handsome,” she said to the cat, whose face was now buried in his dry food dish.

For a second, Julie contemplated taking the stairs to the ground level, but, chiding herself, she opted for the elevator instead. Outside, not a soul was in sight. Her building was mostly asleep, with just the odd apartment, here and there, winking a light. The moon was a faint crescent in the half-dark sky, the stars invisible, awaiting the sunrise.

A lone car passed in front of her as she crossed Central and trotted down the broad steps to the wide walkway that circled the lake.

She started an easy, loping run, but the cool air was wonderful, and soon, exhilarated, she was running flat-out. Three-quarters of the way around the lake, near the dock and the swan boats, she had to stop and catch her breath.

She stood there, head down, hands on her hips, huffing and puffing. At last, her breathing slowed and she straightened up, facing the water.

An odd, irregular tapping sound out on the lake had caught her attention.

The sun was just peeking through the city buildings on the eastern side of the urban park, and the long shadows of the trees still covered the walkway and part of the water like dappled gray gauze. As Julie peered through the dissipating fog, she saw that it was one of the paddleboats that must have come loose and drifted to the center of the lake. She could see the silvery-white swan boat bobbing up and down, bumping into the fountain, the sound carrying on the still air.

There was something in the boat.

Julie squinted, focusing as the sky grew lighter.

There was something trailing in the water…

Dawn broke over Lake Eola and Julie about the same time.

That’s a woman’s ARM.

Stunned, she pulled out her cell phone and called 911.

The police would be there “shortly”. Julie was to “stay at the scene”. That was fine
with her. Suddenly, her busy day had lost all importance. She had no desire to leave the park before the poor woman in the boat.

Two Orlando Park Service employees were pedaling toward her on their city bicycles. She waved both arms at them to stop.

“Hey!” she said, pointing toward the fountain. “There’s a woman in that loose swan boat out there!”

“
What?”

“Look!” she said, pointing again. “I’m sure it’s a woman. I’ve already called the police. They should be here any minute.”

Their bikes fell to the ground as they hurried out on the dock, stepping over the low, partially opened gate.

“Christ, Hal. It
is
a woman!” said the first one.

He pulled out his cell phone.

Julie was standing before the gate at the entrance to the dock listening to the urgent, one-sided conversation. There was some kind of loose cable, like a big bike lock, looped through the two short, swinging sections of the little gate. It was stretched wide, near the ground.

Anyone could just step through here.

They rejoined Julie and asked her when she first noticed the boat. She explained that she couldn’t see that side of the fountain from where she’d started her run, and besides, it was too foggy out on the lake. She told them that she’d just seen the loose swan boat when the sun came up, right before she flagged them down. They asked her if she’d seen anyone else, and she told them she hadn’t seen another soul.

It wasn’t long before the three of them had morphed into a horde: Police, Emergency Techs, a CSI unit, more Park Service people and paparazzi. The same questions were asked of her and answered over and over again.

The police had blocked off the walkway and all the landscaped area near it, isolating the whole northwest corner of the park bordered by Rosalind Avenue and East Robinson up to Eola Parkway. Patrol cars, emergency vehicles and TV trucks lined the curbs. Outside of the police cordon, condo dwellers began to appear on their lakeside balconies, while other curious onlookers gathered in groups on the walkway, abuzz with speculation. Motorists in the vicinity craned their necks and slowed to a crawl, creating a traffic jam that spread like lava.

The crowd on the dock finally parted and Julie could see the Disney Amphitheatre in the background. At last she got a glimpse of the young woman as they carefully lifted her from the swan boat. A light blue sweater stained with blood. Her long neck hung back loosely and her hair was short and dark, ebony against pale skin.

Snow White in a fractured fairytale.

* * * * *  

Chapter
2

T
wo months had passed since that fateful morning when Julie had literally run into death on the other side of Lake Eola. The police had identified the young woman. Her name was Dianna Wieland. She was twenty-eight; a real estate agent from southwest Orlando.

The police had confirmed that she was left-handed. There was a deep slash on her right wrist and a knife was found in the bottom of the swan boat covered with her own left-hand prints. They had traced the blood trail to a large spot on the walkway. In the absence of any other evidence, it was presumed that she cut her wrist on the walkway and climbed into the swan boat to die.

Julie didn’t buy it, and it was bugging her.

She strapped her briefcase to the carrier on the back of her red Honda scooter and headed for her office on Cypress, one of two short streets that dead-ended at the water on the east side of Lake
Eola. The distance was an easy walk, but not lugging the briefcase.