Death Invites In Gold

---

Death Invites In Gold - book excerpt

Chapter 1

The Big Apple 2019,

A smalltime newspaper company:

Tyler, grown, buff, and charmingly handsome, sits behind a desk with an old Mac keyboard below his fingers and wiggles them above the designated typing starter keys. “C’mon, man, think of something to write.” He sighs, staring at his fingers above the keys. “Damn it.” He puts his hands over his face, turning in his desk chair, and grunts into his palms.

A knock comes from the open door.

Tyler lowers his hands enough to cut his eyes towards the door.

A petite young blonde pokes her head inside with an over-exaggerated grin that turns into a cringe. “I’m sorry! I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but they’re hounding me.” She clenches her teeth, wobbling her head, and glances at the ceiling, speaking through her teeth. “Uuugh…” Her gaze returns to him. “Do you have anything for me to give them?” She shifts around, pressing herself against the frame, and braces herself with a hand inside the room.

Tyler huffs, turning back to his desk, and crosses his arms over the edge. “No.” He shakes his head, tousling his short black curls, and lets his hand swipe over his beard as it falls back to the desk. “The movie was crap, but I can’t say that because apparently I’m ‘too negative.’” He puts air quotes around the last two words. “I need this job. I need it to get to the one I want.” He lays his head on his arm, rolling it a few times, and speaks towards the floor. “How should I bullshit this?” He keeps his head down and groans.

The blonde tiptoes her way into the closet of an office, glancing over her shoulder, and closes the door, talking low. “Well, was there anything you liked about it at all?” She inches her way closer to his desk, sitting on the corner, and adjusts her blouse.

Tyler speaks without raising his head. “No, everything about it was contrived and trite. The best part was the dog, and he dies.” He looks up, opening his mouth to speak, and stops short, glaring at the pair of black-lace-covered breasts so close to his face.

The blonde pushes out her breasts, moving them from side to side as she speaks. “Maybe I can give you some… inspiration.” She bites her bottom lip, letting it slide slowly from between her teeth.

Tyler sits straight, sliding his hands over his spread thighs, and licks his lips. “Yea, maybe you can.” He smirks as she turns towards him with a smile.

The blonde undoes the rest of the buttons on her blouse, pulling the pair of chopsticks from her bun, and shakes her hair free. With a foot, she tucks her toes below the seat of his chair and pulls him towards her.

The wheels squeak and squeal as his weight moves over the floor.

Giggling, she spreads her legs, tugging at the hem of her black pencil skirt, and slides her foot between his legs all the way to his crotch.

Tyler breathes deep, looking her over, and then closes his eyes as her foot slips and moves over his hardening dick. “Come ‘ere.” Lurching forward, he picks her up from her perch, setting her in his lap.

The blonde lets out a quick squeal, settling her legs on either side of him, and leans her chest into his face.

• • •

Newport, RI

In a four-story mansion that has a rock circle driveway around a three-tier fountain and a tennis court and pool out back behind the courtyard:

A tall, daunting woman tromps across the grey marble flooring of the foyer, running her Swiffer duster over the Chinese vases amassed on each self.

Merrien saunters through, pink silk robe fluttering and billowing behind her. “Oh, Brunhilda! Do be a dear and clean out Fifi’s doggy box. I can’t stand the smell it gives off.” She flicks the maid a smile, tapping and gently pushing at the overly large rollers in her designer-dyed hair.

Brunhilda mutters to herself in German as she continues to dust around highly delicate décor.

Merrien giggles, stopping short of the kitchen door. “Nehmen Sie diesen Ton nicht mit. Ich werde dich sofort feuern.” She giggles again at Brunhilda’s glare. “Now, off you go to the doggy box.” She waves a hand towards the set of double stairs that curve towards each other as they ascend and descend.

Brunhilda rolls her eyes, speaking in a thick Germain accent. “Yes, Mrs. Grüber, I’ll clean your precious puppy’s shit box.” She offers an overly sarcastic grin and then moves to the stairs.

Merrien smiles, nodding once, and turns to the kitchen. “Bet your sweet ass you will.” She clicks on the kitchen TV, opening the fridge.

The lady on the news speaks enthusiastically to the camera. “And in other news, the latest attraction to hit the nation is that of Sykes Manor, a haunted house of horror sure to scare the socks off anyone who enters. In the last three years it has amassed hundreds of thousands of dollars from it being open year round for horror and fear-factor fans alike.” She laughs, turning to her cohost. “I sure don’t like being scared, but I may just have to for this next part.” They laugh together as she turns back to the camera. “The mysterious owner is offering to send twelve people inside for a private party where one of them could go home with onehundred thousand dollars if they ‘survive the night.’” She shudders. “Oooh, sounds spooky, doesn’t it, Tom?” She turns to her cohost.

Tom nods. “It sure does, Janet. It sure does.” He chuckles, glancing at her, and taps his papers on their desk. “I may just have to enter myself.” He grins, turning back to the camera. “You have a chance to get your golden invitation in the mail, and all you have to do is send in your information through the website www.sykesmanor.com, which is also linked to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram…” He pauses, squinting, and speaks slower. “Stumble Upon, Delicious, and Buzznet.” He chuckles, turning to Janet. “Wow, seems I’m behind the times.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t heard of the last few.” He and Janet laugh, both turning to the prompters, and he nods once to the camera. “When we come back, pandemonium at the Brenton Mall.” He points to the camera. “Now for the break.” The TV switches to an Arby’s commercial.

Merrien mulls over the information delivered. “Onehundred thousand dollars wouldn’t be a bad steal. Maybe once the old stiff is gone, I can mooch off that sad bastard.” She grins to herself, leaning her elbows on the large purple marble island, and taps her pink lips with her perfect French tips. “How hard could it be to make it through a cheap haunted house?” Shrugging, she pushes off the island and opens her Fiji water, puts a straw in the bottle, and sips.

• • •

Back in the smalltime news office:

The blonde sits on the corner of the desk again and buttons her blouse, grinning to herself, and cuts her eyes at Tyler.

Tyler leans back in his seat, swiveling it from side to side with a wide grin of his own. He runs a hand through his sweaty curls, letting out a long sigh, and swings his head towards her.

The blonde giggles. “Good enough inspiration?” She smooths out her hair, twisting it up into a bun again, and stabs the chopsticks through it in an X shape.

Tyler chuckles. “Overdue and underrated with an exceptional cast.” He leans forward, resting his laced fingers on the edge of the desk, and smiles up at her.

The blonde smirks, leaning forward, and rests her fingertips under his chin. “Glad I could be of service.” She slides from her perch, knocking off a stack of newspapers. “Oh, shit. Sorry!” She bends down to pick them up and stops, staring at the one on top. “Oh! I’ve heard of this!” She looks up at him, swiping her bangs from her face. “Yea, it’s that haunted house thing that’s giving away one hundred thousand dollars to whoever can make it for the night.” She hands the paper to him.

Tyler opens the page all the way, reading it over. “It’s a contest for just twelve people, and I have to give them my address.” He folds the paper. “Oh hell no. This is probably some way for a serial killer to get into people’s homes and kill them. I’ve never even heard of this place. And no wonder, it’s in bumfuck Mississippi.” He slaps the paper on the desk.

The blonde shrugs, cutting her eyes at the paper. “It’s been all over the news stations. Supposed to be some overnight sensation.” Sighing, she leans her butt against the desk, resting her hands in front of her. “Seems to me it’s an easy cash grab.” She arches an eyebrow, resting her chin on her shoulder, and glares at him.

Tyler swipes a hand over his face, leaving it over his mouth. “That money would be a good start.” He chuckles, letting his hand drop.

The blonde leans towards him, resting her fingers under his chin. “If you win, come find me.” With one last quick kiss, she sexy walks out of the room.

Tyler leans back, putting his hands behind his head, and stares at the picture of Sykes Manor on the front page of his research resource and competitor, the New York Times. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to at least see if I’m drawn.” Leaning forward, he snatches the paper, skimming for ways to enter, and moves to the website on his Mac.

Chapter Two

Miami, FL

Miami-Dade County Courthouse:

Miku stands behind a small table along with a chubby man with a mustard stain on his tie from his overdressed hot dog lunch. She pulls at the hem of her black blazer, letting her fingers brush along her matching pencil skirt. Walking from behind the table, she addresses the jury with a smile.

The prosecutor and mousy accuser dressed in a nineties dark plaid jumper dress and large clogsstand as well andturn to the jury in irritation.

The judge raises a hand to the jury. “Do you have your final verdict?” Lowering his hand, he rests his fingers along his jaw and cheek and waits.

The foreman stands. A squat man with a military haircut and round wire glasses. He holds a sheet of paper in his shaking hands and refuses to look at anyone or anything but the sheet.

Clearing his throat, the foreman begins to read from the page in a quivering voice. “We, the jury, find Mr. Attleman on the count of sexual assault… not guilty.” He pauses as the courtroom erupts into jeers and heckling. “On the count of criminal sexual contact, we find Mr. Attleman… not guilty.” He hands the sheet to the bailiff, who hands it to the judge.

More jeers, boos, heckling, and yelling swallow the room.

The bailiffs stand ready with their hands on their guns.

The judge bangs his gavel to no end, yelling over the crowd. “Order! I will have order in my courtroom! Quiet!” He keeps banging it until silence slinks its way through the room as those with sense quiet down and those without are escorted through the doors, and once silence is found, he addresses the jury. “The jury is thanked for their verdict and excused.” He turns to the room, grasping the handle of his gavel, and raises it. “Court is adjourned.” Banging the gavel, he hangs his head.

Miku shakes hands with the defendant, who grins from ear to ear as he glares at the crying accuser.

The prosecutor meanders over to Miku. “Well, congratulations on being a world-class cunt… as always.” He adjusts his coat over his arm, flexing his grip on his briefcase handle.

Miku grins, standing tall, and grips her briefcase’s handle in front of her with both hands. “And as always, you’re going straight to the insult without wining and dining me first.” She clicks her tongue, tilting her head. “You know I like to be full and drunk before a flaccid fuck so at least I have the numbed-over illusion it was satisfying.” With a light giggle, she shrugs, standing straighter and taller.“Why don’t you try making sure your case is well put together and believable instead? I did my job… as always.” Cocking her head again, she smiles and winks at him.

The prosecutor rolls his eyes, standing as tall as he can, and pushes past her through the little flap gate and out of the room.

Miku smirks to herself, shaking her head a couple times, and then saunters from the room with her head held high.

• • •

Miami, FL

Le Petit Champignon:

Paulina stands behind a girl stirring a pot of soup. The girl’s hand shakes as she raises the tasting spoon to her lips and slurps.

Paulina shrugs (shrugs is correct, means to raise them and lower them quickly like shoulders) her lips. “Well, how do you think it tastes?” She leans forward, looking the dish over, and takes in a deep breath. “Because it smells like a homeless woman’s vagina.” Glaring at the girl, she raises her eyebrows. “Does it taste like a homeless woman’s vagina?” She holds her glare.

The girl sniffles, fighting back tears, and sets the spoon down.

Paulina shakes her head, putting her palms out at her sides. “Well?!” Her voice gets louder, tone rising three octaves.

The girl bursts out crying, and her voice shakes. “It tastes like a homeless woman’s vagina.” She sobs into her hands.

Paulina huffs, pointing to the door of the kitchen. “Go shit your pants, clean up, and start over.” She shakes her pointed finger and bobs her head, making her red curls bounce.

The girl runs from the kitchen, letting out squeals through her sobs.

Paulina huffs, turning to the soup, and brings the spoon to her lips. “Now, is it really that bad?” Slurping up the remaining soup, she shrugsher lips and lays the spoon down. “Needs some salt… and more garlic, but it’s not bad.”Setting the spoon down, she turns on the TV while waiting for the girl to come back, flipping through the channels.

Channel nine news catches her attention with a picture of Sykes Manor, and she stops.

The brunette lady on the news speaks skeptically to the camera as she reads the prompter. “The most talked about attraction lately is a place called Sykes Manor. Said to be the most exciting haunted house of horror in America. Three years here and it’s had hundreds of thousands of dollars made from its year-round open door for those who like to have heart attacks.” She laughs, turning to her cohost. “Would you risk dying for this next part?” They laugh together.

Paulina loses interest, turning back to the soup, and adds a hefty amount of salt, stirring, and lifts the spoon back to her lips. “Eh…” She quirks her lips. “It’s better, but still needs garlic.” She turns away from the soup and TV, reaching for fresh garlic cloves.

Watching her co-anchor’s wide eyes glare back at her, the brunette anchor turns back to the camera. “This unknown owner is offering twelve people a free inside look and a private party. If they stay the whole night, they could win one hundred thousand dollars.” She shudders. “Sounds a bit suspicious, don’t you think, Gerry?” She turns to her cohost.

Paulina quits chopping, glancing over her shoulder at the TV, letting it hold her attention at the mention of money. “That would be perfect to start expanding.” She turns around all the way, listening closer.

Gerry looks down at their desk, shaking his head a few times. “I don’t know, Carol, that amount sounds worth it to me.” He chuckles, glancing at her, and taps his papers on their desk, letting them flop over his hands. “I sort of want to enter myself.” He grins, turning back to the camera. “If you’re interested, you can get your golden invitation in the mail. There are several ways to enter your information as well.”