Drawstring Chapter 1

written by Shan R.K

Carl Curtis

Carl Curtis had known since he was five years old, he was going to be a detective. Thirty years later he’s a detective’s nightmare – Appointed District Attorney. Sent to a small town called Liston Hills, he’s all but happy to be in the billionaire’s domain. He’s barely unpacked when a local bartender is found with a knife in her hand at a crime scene. Now it’s up to him to find out if she’s in fact a murderer or a victim. But with Detective Barnes leading the case, solving a case is the least of his problems. The woman is crazy, and what’s with her cat?This is a small town mystery and I dedicate this story to ‘them’ hard working detectives.

For a small town just outside Texas, where the Billionaires raised their kids, Carl Curtis found himself stuck in a place where few knew existed. To many, it was a whispered truth. To others, a fake place made up. But to people like Carl Curtis, this town would only ever be a punishment. And we call the town Liston Hill’s. As the sign passed, Carl Curtis drove unaware that his first murder would be like finding a needle in a haystack or, in his case, a cat in a dumpster, as Liston Hills was known for its vast amount of secrets. From the founding members to the locals, everyone in Liston Hills had something to hide. But let’s hope for Carl Curtis, separating the victims from the criminals would be something as easy as separating a dog from a cat.

It was September 16th, 2025, almost ten at night. Carl had just found his apartment building after his three-hour drive.It was a temporary apartment given to him by the Bureau until his townhouse was ready. He put his bag down on the floor when the call came. Staring at the number for a good four rings, he contemplated letting the call go to voicemail, but the blue-collar part of him couldn’t.

“Hello,” he said as he walked to his tiny kitchen.

“Hello, Attorney Curtis. My name is Holly…” the speaker paused, “Detective Barnes said I should give you a call.”

“Detective Barnes?” Carl frowned, dragging his hand over his face. He hadn’t even sat down yet. His bag, still leaning against the wall, zipper half open, tie hanging loose like a noose he’d escaped.

“Yes, sir. She asked me to call you. There’s been a-uh-situation at Reuben’s Pub and Grill.” The woman’s voice cracked, nervous, like she’d rather be anywhere else than on the line with him.

“Situation,” Carl repeated flatly. He reached for the notepad sticking out of his bag and clicked his black ballpoint pen.

“Define situation.” He didn’t like using digital devices when it came to cases. Carl was convinced his evidence could be tampered with if not particularly careful.

“A body.” Carl closed his eyes. He hadn’t even unpacked a toothbrush. “And what’s your role in all this, Miss Holly?”

“I’m the bartender.”

“Of course you are,” he muttered. There was a pause, then a shaky breath.

“They said I should call you because I’m the one who found him. And because—” Carl’s pen hovered over the page.

“Because?”

“Because I was holding the knife when they walked in.” Carl sat back on his heels and stared at the artsy ceiling like maybe the Bureau was playing a sick joke. His ‘temporary’ residence alone cost more than he made in a month. When he arrived in this place it was like setting foot in another state. The tall rise buildings, the immense amount of mansions, even the air smelled different, if that was even possible. But a murder on the first day on the job? Yeah, he was definitely in Texas.

“Let me guess. Detective Barnes was one of the first on scene.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fantastic.” He blew out a long, tired breath.

“Don’t go anywhere. Send me your address, I’ll leave now.” He hung up before she could protest, stuffed the notepad back in his bag, and headed for the door just as the message pinged on his phone. Liston Hills hadn’t wasted a second proving its reputation for no murders was bullshit. The drive through the narrow streets didn’t improve his mood.

The place had that picture-perfect postcard charm.Perfectly built brick houses, shaped hedges, tall palm trees that were imported, string lights hanging over sidewalks. Street lights that actually all worked. Italian brand cars parked on the side walks. But Carl knew better. Pretty towns rotted from the inside out.

Money here didn’t mean honest. It meant power. It meant cover-ups. No one got rich by wiping other people asses without compensation. And billionaires knew exactly how to do that. Never mind who they had to knock out along the way.By the time Carl pulled up to Reuben’s Pub & Grill, the scene was already buzzing. Blue and red lights splashed across brick walls.

Locals lingered on the sidewalk with their arms folded, whispering like they were watching a show they’d never seen. The women were either in flashy outfits, gym clothes, or boyfriend jeans he knew cost extra if it were ripped. Detective Barnes was impossible to miss.

She stood at the entrance in her leather jacket, auburn hair tied back, tablet in hand, barking at an officer who looked like he wanted to be in bed watching a cop show instead of playing one.Carl stepped out of the car, straightened his tie, and approached the area. He didn’t mind the eyes settling on him or the burly man in a suit whispering to his wife and son.

“District Attorney Curtis.” Barnes’s voice was sharp, like she’d been waiting for him to start an argument.

“Didn’t think you’d drag yourself down here. Thought lawyers liked their desks and four walls. Carl gave her a cool look.

“And I thought detectives liked their evidence to stick in court. Guess we’re both disappointed.”Her mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. More like a ‘I don’t know you’ but ‘I’m not going to like you either way,’ kind of smile.

“Your star witness is waiting for me?” Carl asked.

“She’s inside,” Barnes said, tilting her head toward the dim interior. “Still clutching a rag like it’s going to wipe her guilt away. You’ll love her. She’s crazy stupid.”

“Crazy stupid and holding a knife at a murder scene.” Carl rubbed his temple. “Hell of a welcome party.”

“Welcome to Liston Hills,” Barnes said dryly. “Try not to trip over the evidence while you inside.”Carl stepped inside. The smell hit him first—beer, old wood, and blood, the smell of iron and trouble. The bar was quiet except for the scribble of pens and the low murmur of officers cataloging every nook and cranny, every chair not in its rightful place, every smear on the counter. Evidence.

But searching for evidence in a place usually full of people was like searching for a salt grain in cup of sugar. At the far end, behind the bar, sat Holly. Early thirties maybe. Black hair scraped into a bun that had lost its fitting hours ago. Her hands shook as she twisted the rag tighter and tighter, like she was trying to wring out her nerves.She looked up when Carl approached, wide-eyed, pupils blown. Her crooked nose and blotched scarred cheeks told Carl one thing—she wasn’t part of the billionaires club. Her skin was like sandpaper, her nose definitely broken when she was in her teens. She was pretty, he’d give her that, but pretty came in many forms and hers didn’t scream the ‘upperclass’ kind. Wonder how much they paid her at this place?

“You’re the new district attorney?” she asked, voice trembling as she looked anywhere else but at him.“That’s what the badge says,” Carl replied, pulling up a stool beside her. He kept his tone steady, calm, the way you spoke to people perched on the edge of panic. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, Holly? Start from the moment you walked in to the bathroom.”Her lips pressed together, then opened slowly.

“I didn’t walk in. I was already here. It was the end of my shift. I was cleaning some glasses waiting for Riley to take over. Then I heard… something. Like a pot falling on the floor. I thought maybe one of the regulars had passed out in the bathroom again.” Carl nodded, jotting it down.

“So you went to check ?”

“Instead, I found Reuben on the floor.” Her voice cracked on the name. “Lying on the floor, blood everywhere. And the knife—it was sticking out of him. I—” She stopped, breathing fast. “I don’t even know why I touched it. I just… I panicked.” Carl studied her, the rag twisted tighter in her fists. The whites of her eyes were stark in the dim light. She looked guilty as hell. But Carl had been in the game long enough to know guilt and fear wore the same face.

“Alright,” he said finally, shutting the notebook. “Here’s the good news, Holly. Touching a knife doesn’t make you a killer. The bad news? Around here, it makes you the perfect scapegoat. So either we find the right killer or you’re going to jail.” She stared at him, lip trembling.

“You believe me? I had no reason to kill my boss. He was a good guy. I’ve worked here for six years now.” Carl exhaled slowly. “I believe Liston Hills has a lot more secrets than the zero’s in the residence bank accounts. The question is, are you one of those secrets or just on their payroll?” Carl didn’t waste time.

He told Holly to stick close, keep her mouth shut, and let him handle Barnes. She nodded like a cornered rabbit. There was something seriously wrong here, he knew it before he spoke to Holly in person. The walk out of the bar was anything but smooth. Barnes was waiting, arms folded, expression carved from stone And a stance that screamed annoyance.“You’re not taking her,” Barnes said flatly. Carl met her stare.

“She’s not under arrest. You don’t have enough evidence. What you have is a panicked bartender who touched a knife as a reflex. If that’s your smoking gun, your case is dead before it even breathes.” Barnes’s jaw worked, but she didn’t argue. Not yet. She handed Holly over like she was tossing Carl a ticking bomb.

“Fine. She’s your headache,” Barnes snapped, then motioned for the uniforms to clear a path.Carl guided Holly out into the cool September air. The crowd had thinned, but a few stragglers still whispered from across the street, their voices carrying on the wind.That was when he noticed him. Tall. Too tall to blend in, even with the crowd. A charcoal suit tailored sharp enough to get any attention. A fedora pulled low, shadowing most of his face. He leaned against a lamppost like he had all the time in the world, one polished shoe tapping slow, steady beats on the pavement.Carl slowed. Instinct prickled. Holly felt it too—her hand clutched his sleeve, and she whispered, “Do you know him?”

“No,” Carl said, though the lie burned. Something about the man felt familiar. Not his face—he couldn’t see that—but the air around him. Like stepping into a room where someone had just finished an argument. Tense. Charged.The suited man straightened when Barnes strode past with her clipboard. For the first time, Carl saw movement beneath the hat. A smile.Barnes didn’t even glance at him. She barked at an officer, scribbled something, and headed toward her cruiser. Holly flinched when the man tipped his hat ever so slightly in their direction.Carl pulled her closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t look at him. Eyes forward. Keep walking.”Holly swallowed hard, obeying. But Carl couldn’t help himself. He glanced back once. Just once.The lamppost was empty. The man was gone. Carl’s pen itched for his notebook, but for the first time all night, he didn’t reach for it. Some things, he thought, weren’t worth writing down.

Not yet.

Carl pulled up in front of Holly’s house. A pristine double-story duplex, two tall white pillars stood on either side and a wraparound porch with a coffee table, swing chair and cushions that didn’t come from a salvage store. French windows glowed warm from the inside, framed by plastic shutters painted the kind of sage green you only saw in glossy magazines.

A flowerbed lined the front, clipped within an inch of perfection, the kind of detail that told him Holly’s paycheck wasn’t buying this. Someone else’s money had its fingerprints all over her life.“Stay inside,” Carl told her as he idled at the curb. “Lock the doors. Don’t open for anyone unless you know it’s me.”Her hand lingered on the door handle, knuckles pale. “And if they come back?”Carl looked at the gleaming porch lights, the polished brass knocker. The house was perfect, but the fear in her voice cracked through the polish.

“Then you pray I get here before they do, Holly.”She slipped inside, door shutting with a soft click. No slammed hinges in Liston Hills. Not even fear disturbed the quiet.Carl’s own place, courtesy of the Bureau, was no less polished. The temporary apartment was tucked inside a high-rise of smoked glass and white stone. Valet parking out front. Balconies dressed in iron sculptured work. A lobby dripping with marble and chandeliers that belonged in a hotel, not a residence. Even the elevator hummed like money.He had barely stepped onto his landing when he saw her.Detective Barnes leaned against his door frame, cradling a sleek black cat like it was part of her wardrobe. The thing purred with zero remorse at disturbing him, eyes gleaming gold in the soft hallway light.Carl stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell me that’s not evidence.”Barnes smirked, stroking the cat like a Bond villain.

“Relax, Curtis. Followed me out of the pub. Or maybe it’s yours. You two look alike—same grumpy stare.” He brushed past, sliding his keycard. “What do you want, Barnes?” She moved in close, perfume strong and expensive, cat still lounging like a king in her arms. “I just thought I’d come have a little chat with our newbie. Consider it a welcome gift.”

“Oh, this should be good.” His sarcasm didn’t even make her flinch. He knew of Barnes since he was a junior at the D.A office in Houston. What she was doing here? Only she knew.

“In Liston Hills, there are only three kinds of people. One, the billionaires. Two, the ones who work for them. Three, the ones who made a deal with them.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming.

“Nobody’s innocent. No one else in this town exists.”

“Which category do you fit in Detective?” She smiled as she stroked the cat, “Look at you getting all smart. Nobody is innocent, not even me.”

Carl’s lips curved in something that wasn’t a smile.

“Not even their kids? The town was built for them wasn’t it?” Barnes laughed, throaty, dangerous. The cat meowed right on cue.“Especially not their kids. They could get away with just about anything.”

She tapped his chest with a manicured finger, then turned, heels clicking on polished marble as she headed for the elevator. The cat leapt from her arms, slinking down the hall like it owned the place.Who knew? Maybe it did.Carl should’ve gone inside. Should’ve poured himself a drink and ignored the world. But instinct dragged his gaze across the street.

And there he was again.The man in the suit. Tall, still, hat low. A shadow under the glowing lamps of the overpriced avenue.Carl ran. Across pristine asphalt, shoes echoing loud in a town too quiet. He hit the opposite curb, heart pounding—Empty.

The man was gone.Carl cursed, scanning the flawless hedges, the spotless sidewalks. Nothing. Except—he looked down at his feet, lying on pale stone like it had been placed for him to find, was a navy-blue button. Expensive. Hand-stitched. The kind worn by someone who never bought off the department store rack. He picked it up, pocketed it, and stared into the polished glass of the buildings around him. His reflection looked back, tired and wary.

“Welcome to Liston Hills,” Carl muttered.

In quoting others we cite ourselves… A true statement. So this short story took me a bit longer to draft as I found it hard to tap into my male dominance :-) I did however manage to write it. But my hubby is on a work trip so I couldn’t get his opinion in how accurate I was. But here is your chapter 1, and let me know if it is any good or not (I feel my self consciousness is flaring.

A side note… The short stories will be extended versions on amazon, not the blog version and they would have new covers. I’m busy with my second draft of Killer and Sienna’s story, so once Im done, I will be posting the first three chapters first on my website…. How exciting is that? Anyhow, you all take car until tomorrow.