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Weekend Guest
Weekend Guest
Weekend Guest
Ebook46 pages22 minutes

Weekend Guest

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Short story. Sheila and Ryan were lovers until one day Sheila abruptly disappeared, leaving Ryan a cryptic note. 

Six months later, Sheila surprises Ryan by showing up at his apartment and pretending nothing had happened. Over a long weekend, Sheila dazzles Ryan with grandiose stories of her new life, hinting that they can be lovers again.

But something isn't right. Sheila's stories change and she starts acting bizarrely. She has several cell phone calls that she hides from Ryan. 

After a night of tender passion, Sheila makes a strange request -- then departs with no explanation why she is leaving or where she is going. 

Reading the Sunday paper, Ryan is shocked by a front page story that reveal secrets Sheila had been hiding.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJan 9, 2018
ISBN9781386606284
Weekend Guest
Author

Jack Erickson

Jack Erickson writes in multiple genres: international thrillers, mysteries, true crime, short mysteries, and romantic suspense.He is currently writing the Milan Thriller Series featuring the anti-terrorism police, DIGOS, at Milan's Questura (police headquarters). Book I in the series is Thirteen Days in Milan. Book 2, No One Sleeps, was published in December 2016. Book 3, Vesuvius Nights, was published in 2019. Book 4, The Lonely Assassin, was published in 2020.The models for Erickson's Milan thrillers are three popular Italian mystery series: Donna Leon's Commissario Brunetti in Venice, Andrea Camilleri's Inspector Salvo Montalbano in Sicily, and Michael Dibdin's Commissario Aurelio Zen in Rome. All three have been produced as TV series at either BBC, PBS, RAI, or Deutsche WelleErickson travels throughout Italy for research and sampling Italian contemporary life and culture. In earlier careers, he was a U.S. Senate speechwriter, Washington-based editor, and RedBrick Press publisher. He wrote and published several books on emerging craft brewing industry including the award winning Star Spangled Beer: A Guide to America's New Microbreweries and Brewpubs.Before he began writing fiction, he was a wealth manager for a national brokerage in Silicon Valley.

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    Weekend Guest - Jack Erickson

    Weekend Guest

    Jack Erickson

    Copyright © 2012 by Jack Erickson

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

    No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without written permission, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

    This is a work of fiction based upon the imagination of the author. No real people are represented. 

    You can find Erickson’s novels and subscribe to his email newsletter on his personal or publisher’s websites:

    www.jackerickson.com

    RedBrickPress.net

    Weekend Guest

    Jack Erickson

    The moment I unlocked my apartment door, I knew something was wrong; my orange tabby cat, Shazam, was asleep on the sofa, her plump, furry belly rising and falling like a bellows as she dozed, dreaming of prancing through Elysian Fields filled with catnip.

    Shazam is never asleep when I get home from work. She meows behind the door when I turn the key, and she purrs as she snakes between my legs when I walk to the kitchen to feed her.

    A second surprise awaited me in the kitchen. Shazam’s bowl had fresh flakes of cat food around the edge. An empty can of cat food sat in the sink next to a can opener. Who had fed her?

    Alarmed, I bolted back into the living room. I looked around frantically. Was a thief in my apartment? Had he taken any valuables? I made a quick scan of the living room. My laptop, artwork, silver, and rare books were untouched. I clenched my fists in fear and listened for strange sounds.

    My antique clock ticked on the mantle. A whoosh of air blew out of the floor heating vent and startled me, but otherwise my place was as still as a winter evening.

    I tiptoed across the living room and looked down the hall leading to the bedrooms, bathroom, and study. Silent as a graveyard.

    I crept down the hall, my heart thumping, and pushed open the bathroom door. A rumpled, damp towel lay on the floor. Whoever had broken into my apartment had taken a shower! Could he still be in the apartment, hiding in a closet or under the bed? I dashed back into the living room and reached for my cell phone to call 911.

    A key rustled in my door. He’s back! How do I get out of here? As I fumbled to punch 911, the door opened and the intruder entered, his back to me. I held my breath and for an instant considered slamming the door on him.

    Then I froze. The person was diminutive. Long hair tucked under a baseball hat. Navy shirt. Black slacks. Stylish pumps.

    The intruder’s face was hidden behind two grocery sacks. A whiff of Chanel 5 tickled my nostrils.

    911! a harsh female voice answered on my cell phone. Is this a life threatening emergency? I was too terrified to speak.

    Shazam jumped down from the sofa, ran toward the intruder, and glided between the black

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