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Dead Mix Copyright © 2012 by Marilyn Baron

All rights reserved. No part of this story (eBook) may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or book reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidences are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by TWB Press

Edited by Terry Wright

Cover Art by Terry Wright

ISBN: 978-1-936991-46-4

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Dedication To my first readers—Marissa Baron, Amanda Baron and Adam Kallin.

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By

Marilyn Baron

Daniel entered The Lion’s Den.

The buzzer tolled his presence. A sign in the old-fashioned record

store window on Canton Street read: No Exchanges. No Returns. He was

there on a mission to find his cousin Adam, dead or alive, and hopefully

the latter. His last-known steps led to this music store in the

Godforsaken Southern town of Roswell, Georgia.

Adam had said the music sold here was heavenly. His exact words

were: “Music to die for.” But to hear the music and follow Adam’s final

path, Daniel would have to deliver the right code words. He hoped the

store clerk wouldn’t take him literally.

He approached the man behind the counter, a walking skeleton

with a pale face and bloodless lips, who extended a bony hand. “Glad to

see you, young man.”

Daniel glanced around and noticed there were no records displayed

~4~

at The Lion’s Den. “Am I in the right place?”

“Depends on what you want.”

He braced himself to speak the code and fought to keep a straight

face. “I want to die.”

“Well then, seems you’ve come to the right place.”

Daniel shook the man’s hand, a cold and clammy handshake that

sent goose bumps racing up his arm.

“My name is Devlin Burns. I’m the manager of The Lion’s Den.

And you must be Daniel Craig, or should I say Bond, James Bond?”

Daniel rolled his eyes. He didn’t look anything like James Bond,

unless 007 wore a denim jacket and jeans and dog tags on a chain

around his neck. “How did you know my name?”

“It is written.”

What did he expect? Hocus pocus? Voodoo magic?

“Nothing magical,” Burns said. “Actually, it is written on this

telephone slip my assistant left for me when you called for an

appointment.”

“Right.”

“How did you hear about us?”

“Is that important?”

“It is to us. This is an exclusive establishment. We don’t let just

anyone walk through our back room doors—not without the proper

introduction.”

~5~

“My cousin Adam Spencer recommended you.”

“Oh.” Burns seemed to shrivel at the name but recovered quickly.

“Mr. Spencer, yes, I remember him, a man at the end of his proverbial

rope, I’d say. I haven’t seen him in over a week now.”

Daniel squeezed his knuckles. The last time he’d spoken to his

cousin, he’d raved about a record store in Roswell. He needed to check it

out—something about a Dead Mix collection—and he actually sounded

upbeat for the first time in months.

And that was totally not like his cousin.

Adam’s life had been a mess. His wife had filed for divorce and

run off with their attorney. He’d constantly talked about ending his life.

He’d even resorted to online dating.

In Daniel’s opinion, MatchesMadeinHeaven.com was enough to

drive anyone to suicide. The online dating service might have been a

godsend for Adam, but Daniel was not a believer in true love and soul

mates. When last they spoke, Adam’s slurred speech sounded like he

might have been high on drugs or alcohol. Maybe Adam was partying

hardy, just drunk, not depressed, but Daniel had a bad feeling about

Adam’s future, imagined his cousin’s lifeless eyes staring back at him

from a velvet-lined coffin.

In Daniel’s experience, all this talk about suicide, a Dead Mix, and

Adam’s disappearance added up to one thing—a mystery. He could be

dead, but there was no body. No trace. No logical reason for him not to

~6~

have called home or texted.

Daniel was going to get to the bottom of the mystery if it was the

last thing he did. And if Adam’s fate was murder, solving this case by

posing as a suicidal customer might end the same way for him, dead. For

now, he’d ask questions in order to find out all he could about what

might have happened to Adam. He owed his cousin that much.

When they were kids playing in the neighborhood tree house,

Daniel had sworn an oath to Adam, a blood oath that took precedence

over life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. They were like brothers,

and brothers would die for each other.

“Are you all right?” Burns asked, breaking Daniel’s reverie.

He put on his saddest face. “I don’t know where he is,” he pleaded,

convincingly he hoped, dabbing his dry eyes. Oscar material he wasn’t.

“I’m at the end of my wits. I’ve got to find him. What’s a guy got to do

to die around here?”

“It’s simple really,” Burns said. “First, you come to the back room

to choose your Dead Mix.”

“Adam mentioned Dead Mix. What is it?”

“Your life’s favorite songs. Follow me.” Bag o’ Bones led Daniel

to a room with thick-padded walls, soundproofing, he assumed, and

packed with floor-to-ceiling electronics and black and white

photographs of rock stars through the decades. Very high-tech for a

backwoods town, his first clue that this was no ordinary record store.

~7~

“Nice setup,” Daniel observed, noticing all the equipment, like

something out of Star Wars, comfy seats with headphones, and

melodious sounds emanating from hidden speakers.

“Thank you,” said the String Bean, checking his iPhone.

“According to our records, your cousin selected birds chirping. That

worked out well for him.”

“A little too hokey for me,” Daniel said, thinking that chirping

birds didn’t sound like Adam at all. Must have been a mood swing. A

drug overdose. Or coercion. Something wasn’t right about Burns’ story.

“We have an endless selection—from The Grateful Dead to The

Zombies Greatest Hits. We can start with the chirping birds and segue

into something classic or perhaps more macabre to fit your mood.

Maybe a little U2 or Pink Floyd? Phil Collins? And then we can change

it up to some Dave Matthews. Would that be more to your liking?”

How the devil did Devlin Burns know his taste in music?

“Maybe you’re interested in something more romantic?”

“Romantic?”

“Sure, why not. Everyone needs a little romance in their

music...and in their lives.”

“Romance is a waste of time.” Mandy Wasserman had proven that

point loud and clear when she broke up with him after six years, and

then married his best friend. “Romance is for fools,” Daniel said.

“Happy endings are pure fiction. I’m willing to hear what you have to

~8~

say, but no romantic music.”

“You’ve been unlucky in love?”

“Water under the bridge.”

“A little romantic music can go a long way toward healing a

broken heart,” Burns argued.

“My heart doesn’t need healing.”

“Come on, it’s your final symphony, your swan song, so I don’t

think you want to leave this world on an unhappy note, with a heavy

heart.”

“All right, you can throw a little romantic music into the mix. But

first, I have some questions, because I’m new to this Dead Mix stuff.”

“Fire away,” Burns said.

“What happens when the music stops?”

“Then it’s over.”

Over was a vague word. Did this Burns guy mean what Daniel

thought he meant? Over as in kaput, sayonara with cyanide? If he

understood the man correctly, Burns was talking about killing him or at

the very least, assisted suicide.

“No drugs like lethal injections?”

“We used to use hemlock in the good old days,” Burns joked. “But

I assure you, morphine or laughing gas is not necessary.”

“You mean dying isn’t going to be painful?” If Burns actually

killed Adam, Daniel hoped he hadn’t suffered.

~9~

“Absolutely not. Dead doesn’t hurt.”

“How can you guarantee that?”

“You want guarantees, buy a washing machine.”

“Then how do you know when I’ll die?” All this talk of death was

playing with his mind, making him think about Mandy. And thinking

about Mandy, or overthinking about Mandy, was painful, but not worth

dying over. No woman was.

“That’s a trade secret. If you knew that, it would take all the fun

out of it.”

Daniel swallowed uncomfortably. “Dying is fun? As in Disneyland

fun?”

“Not my idea of a good time, rollercoasters, blah, blah, blah, but

when life ends, let’s leave those decisions to the Big Guy upstairs.”

“The Big Guy?” Daniel looked around the room. No stairway in

sight. No upstairs. “What big guy?”

“You know, the maestro. He starts the death clock ticking when

you start playing your Dead Mix.”

“You mean God?”

“I prefer Big Guy.”

Daniel shrugged. He was playing it cool on the outside, but Burns

was giving him the serious creeps. Daniel thought about decking the guy

and splitting. He looked around the room. The whole death scenario was

moving too quickly. He wondered, for the hundredth time, whether he

~10~

wasn’t making a mistake, whether he still had time to reconsider. Adam

had sung Burns’ praises, and Daniel trusted his cousin, but the air of

finality in this music store was stifling. He was beginning to feel the

heat. But he couldn’t back out now if he was ever going to find Adam.

He’d need to keep stringing Burns along. There was no going back. No

returns. Isn’t that what the window sign said? No regrets, then.

“Do you want to know why?” he asked Burns.

“Why what?”

“Why I want to die?”

“That’s none of my business.” Burns smiled.

“Are you always in such a chipper mood?”

“I love my job. This is the greatest show on earth.”

The door buzzer jangled.

Burns’ smile widened. He rubbed his hands together. Was that

drool dripping from his mouth? “Walk with me. We have another

unhappy customer.”

“I was here first.” Who else was desperate enough to enter The

Lion’s Den? He hoped it was just an unsuspecting rock fan wanting the

latest Linkin Park “Burn It Down” music video so he could get back to

his pseudo death wish and Burns’ interrogation.

From the back room doorway, he saw an angelic vision gliding

into the record shop. His heart rate shot to the stratosphere. She wasn’t

just another customer. No, she was a goddess with long straight ginger

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blond hair styled in a Jessica Simpson cut with Jessica’s kissable pout.

Perfect body.

The woman was heaven made. She wore a tan leather jacket and

jeans that molded to her body like they were painted on, a hint of cami

that didn’t leave much to his very active imagination, and sexy shades

that left him guessing her eye color.

“Anyone here?”

Was that a choir singing?

She removed the sunglasses. Her big blue eyes widened before

they adjusted to the artificial light.

Daniel’s knees turned to jelly. Had she come here to die, too?

To purchase this story, go to www.twbpress.com/deadmix.html where you will find the links to the TWB Press Bookstore, Kindle, Nook, and other online booksellers.

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About the Author

AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH © BY ONE SIX PHOTOGRAPHY

Marilyn Baron is a public relations consultant in Atlanta. She’s a PRO member of Romance Writers of America (RWA) and Georgia Romance Writers (GRW). She’s the recipient of the GRW 2009 Chapter Service Award. A native of Miami, Florida, Marilyn graduated from The University of Florida in Gainesville, Florida, with a B.S. in Journalism and a minor in Creative Writing. She met her husband at UF and both of her daughters graduated from UF. Go Gators! Marilyn now lives in Roswell, Georgia, with her husband.

She blogs at the Petit Fours and Hot Tamales blog at http://www.petitfoursandhottamales.com/marilyn-baron/. Visit her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Marilyn-Baron/286807714666748 and follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/#!/MarilynBaron.

When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, traveling, going to the movies, eating Italian food and hovering over her two daughters. Her favorite places to visit are Bermuda and Italy, where she spent six months studying in Florence during her senior year in college.

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Marilyn writes humorous women’s fiction, romantic suspense and paranormal. Visit http://www.twbpress.com/achoirofangels.html to read her Angel Stories. The Edger is available at Amazon Kindle / Smashwords / Barnes & Noble Nook Books

Coming in spring 2013: Under The Moon Gate, a romantic thriller set in contemporary and WWII Bermuda, from The Wild Rose Press.

~14~

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