Mystery

"Claudia!" A woman's voice called as I stepped out of the gate.

I looked around and could see no one I recognized.

"Over here!" she called again.

Still, I could see no one.

"Right here, Claudia!"

I stopped walking and looked in every direction. Finally, I spotted Lila and her three children running through the terminal.

"Lila? Kids! What are you doing here?" I couldn't believe my eyes. There stood my beautiful best friend and her amazing children as if they were waiting for me. I hugged Lila tightly and the kids grabbed me and hugged me even tighter. "We missed you, Aunt Claudia!"

"Aw, I missed you guys, too! Now, what are you doing here?"

Lila paused, and then told the kids to go sit on a bench and wait for us. Begrudgingly, they obeyed. I started to worry that something was wrong. Lila usually spoke freely in front of the kids about most subjects.

"Claudia, are you all right?" she finally asked.

"What? Oh my God! He didn't!" I should have known the minute I boarded the plane, Henry would call and make sure Lila was there to pick me up.

"Well, yeah," she said. "He did. But listen, I've got to tell you--"

"I can't believe this! He is so arrogant sometimes! He just knew I would be all upset and heartbroken and need rescuing somehow, didn't he?"

"Claudia! Will you shut up and listen to me a minute? You get so carried away sometimes. Now, Henry did call me, but you have to know that he did not want me to come down here. In fact, he almost insisted that I didn't, so of course, you know me--I do exactly what people don't want me to do. Anyhow, that's not my point."

Lila was talking fast, for which she had a great talent for doing, but now her sentences were running together without even a pause for me to chuckle at her sarcasm.

"My point is that you need to let down whatever wall you're holding up between you and Henry and let yourself enjoy this."

"Enjoy this?" I couldn't believe my ears. "Lila, I was fired. He doesn't trust my love for him. He has to control everything that happens. Yes, all right, I love him. I love him more than I ever imagined. And his family is great. But, Lila, I want it to be on my terms. I know that may sound crazy, but I have to feel like I walked in willingly, not by force."

"Come on, kids!" Lila hollered. She turned again to me. "Let's get you back to our place. I've got to get home to get dinner started." She gathered the children and headed for the door.

I sighed deeply and followed. My belief that coming home would somehow allow me to escape Henry's reach was certainly shattered. I wasn't sure that I wanted to truly be out of his reach, but I did need enough distance from those waters to catch my breath. Then I could decide if I wanted to dive in again.

We loaded up the kids in Lila's van and as she drove us to their house, I told her all the details that I hadn't had time to cover in our phone conversation the day before.

"Claudia, if you ask me, it sounds like the man is truly tying to take care of you. I think he's trying to make amends for all the heartache you went through. I mean, think about it. What other man would take the time to make sure you were so well taken care of in the midst of his father's funeral?"

"Yeah, Lila, I get that. I understand that he is really good at taking care of me. I just wonder if it's for his sake or mine."

It's mid-October and now that her divorce is final, Erica Parkhurst is free to return to Spirit Lake and Joe Lakota, the man she left behind. Yet she is riddled with doubts and fears. Can they rekindle their romance of the summer? And can she put aside memories of her terrifying experience at the hands of a coldblooded killer and go back to the small town in Western Pennsylvania?

An urgent call for help from Evelyn Black, proprietor of the Spirit Lake Inn where Erica stayed during her last visit, decides the issue. Accompanied by her best friend, Paula Bascilla, Erica leaves New York City again for the Allegheny Mountains and an uncertain future. But once more, trouble comes Erica's way when she learns that Joe has another dark secret hidden in his past, one that makes him a prime suspect in a new murder case.

Paula Bascilla, a woman with psychic abilities, can feel the spirits surrounding her the minute she steps into the inn. Excited at the prospect of contact with some of the wayward ghosts, she is looking forward to her stay. What she isn't counting on however, is being blindsided by tall, unassuming Cal Motega, co-owner of The Eagle Hill Cafe. 

As Erica and Paula contend with the inn's unpredictable guests, arson fire and at the same time try to clear Joe's name, they discover a valuable link to Erica's past that could tie her to Spirit Lake forever. But there are still many unanswered questions. Will Erica's love for Joe survive this latest test? Who are the ghosts haunting the inn and why can't they rest? Is Paula willing to give love a chance with the mysterious Cal Motega?

Return to Spirit Lake and find out.

EXCERPT:

She moved on to the next painting, which was totally bereft of people. Then she recognized the landscape. It was the hill where the inn now sat and below it the lake, only the dock wasn’t there, just the woods surrounding it.

“I see you recognize it,” Cal observed.

“Was it a burial mound?” Paula asked.

Cal’s hands now rested lightly on her shoulders. When had he put them there? She wasn’t sure, but it felt good. No, it was more than that, it felt natural. Like they belonged there.

“That story has circulated since I can remember, but there’s no proof.”

“Surely there are records somewhere.”

“The Hartsburg Historical Society has volumes of records going back to the 1700s, but I’ve never bothered to go looking. Most of what I know about my own ancestors comes from stories handed down through the generations, and they don’t mention it.”

“There’s no local historical society?”

Cal shook his head. “Combined them years ago. Financial reasons. Hartsburg had more funds available and the one here was dying.”

Paula smelled the aroma emanating from the kitchen. “Hazelnut coffee?”

“Thought you might like it,” he told her.

He withdrew his hands and she suddenly missed his touch. “My favorite. How did you know?”

“Psychic,” he quipped.

They drank their coffee at the small drop-leaf table by the kitchen window and talked some more. She loved the sound of his voice, deep, resonant, masculine.

She’d chosen her outfit carefully for this evening. The skirt was of a rich deep tan chamois, and hit her just below the knees. She had shapely calves, or at least she’d been told that, so she wanted to make sure he saw them. No hose. She had a good tan. Her shirt was emerald green, with three- quarter length sleeves and a scoop neck that showed just enough cleavage to be enticing, but not slutty. At least that’s what Erica had told her before Cal picked her up. Of course there was an abundance of jewelry, including a pair of gold double loop earrings with the smaller loops hanging inside the larger ones.

Cal offered her cookies, she declined. “Got to keep my girlish figure, you know. At least what’s left of it.”

“Your figure looks just fine to me, at least what I can see of it,” he countered, eyeing her with a little more intensity than his tone indicated.

Paula knew, this moment would set the tone for the rest of the evening. Casual and friendly or very friendly, it was up to her. Cal had effectively put the ball in her court to make that decision. “I like you, Cal. A lot. It would be very easy right now to—”

He got up, came around the table, pulled her to her feet, into his arms and kissed her soundly. The minute she felt his body against hers, his tongue probing her mouth, she forgot her little let’s-start-out-slowly-and-see-what-happens speech.

Then, he surprised the hell out of her when he pulled back and led her to the sofa. “I want to hear about you, Paula. How about some more coffee?”

Erica was crossing the foyer headed for the parlor when a tall, dark haired man wearing blue Dockers and an open neck yellow shirt stepped inside. He was tan and muscular. He removed a pair of expensive looking sunglasses and scanned the room. His eyes were the most amazing shade of turquoise she'd ever seen. To say he was good looking didn't begin to cover it. He was hot!

"I'm obviously in the right place. I recognize this foyer from the publicity shots on the website. I'm Andrew Harrington."

"Erica Parkhurst. Welcome to the Spirit Lake Inn. Thank you for agreeing to cancel your other reservation and stay with us on such short notice." She couldn't help but enjoy the view.

"Christine will be along. She's gone around back to take a look at that wonderful lake of yours."

Erica hoped poor Christine wasn't being treated to a view of the Richters making love, or worse yet, renewing their argument. Andrew Harrington seemed to be looking for something as he glanced around and even peeked into the parlor.

"I can give you the guided tour," Erica offered.

"No need. I'm sure we'll see it all in good time. I'll go get the bags, unless you have someone who takes care of that."

"Raymond is out overseeing the work being done in the garden, I'm afraid."

"That tall older man, yes I saw him. He has a dog with him. Don't bother him, I can manage."

Erica smiled. It would seem Mingo and Raymond were bonding after all. "I'm afraid you'll have to move the car, also."

"I figured as much. Just let me get the bags first. Where should I park it?"

Erica stepped around Andrew and went out onto the porch. In passing, she caught a whiff of his after shave--tangy, spicy, and sexy. The Harringtons were driving a sleek, black Corvette.

"You can park on the access road at the bottom of the hill, next to the driveway," she told him. "The workmen should be gone in a couple of hours. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. The rain threw things off schedule."

He smiled, exposing the most perfect teeth she'd ever seen. "You don't have to tell me. We drove through torrential downpours yesterday. Christine hates to fly."

Erica recalled that the Harringtons were from New York City. "Well, it's not that much of a drive. I lived in the Big Apple for many years."

Andrew Harrington's smile faded. "Do tell." His tone showed disinterest. "Oh, there's Christine, now."

The woman who came around the corner of the house was of medium height with short, stylishly cut auburn hair and deep brown eyes. A pair of oversize sunglasses rested on top of her head. She was wearing yellow slacks and a matching blouse. She looked crisp and cool in spite of the humidity.

"That lake is beautiful, Andy, you should look at it. Do you allow swimming?" Her gaze was now focused on Erica.

"No…there's an undertow," Erica said quickly. She never went into the real reason with guests.

"Pity," the woman said. "I'm Christine Harrington, by the way. And you are?" She joined her husband who was now taking two pieces of expensive looking luggage out of the trunk of the Corvette.

Erica introduced herself but didn't offer to shake the woman's hand. Somehow she could sense that Christine Harrington wasn't the type to welcome such an overture. Now that the Harringtons were standing side by side she could fully appreciate what a striking looking couple they were.

"It just feels good to stretch my legs. Why Andy insisted on bringing the two-seater on this trip, I'll never know," Christine said.

"Stop complaining, Chris. It has plenty of legroom and trunk space to boot. That why I like this model. Plus it is a convertible. What more could you want?"

Christine looked around. "Where's your bellman?"

"It's not the Hilton, Chris. We tote our own here," Andrew Harrington told her.

Erica noted that Christine Harrington's nose went up in the air just a little but that the space between her brows didn't move even though the rest of her face played at making a frown.

Botox. No doubt about it.

Just then the Richters rounded the corner of the house from the parking area. Erica was glad to see that things had settled down between them for the moment. At the same time, the cement workers headed down toward the dock, carrying their lunch pails.

Raymond joined Erica and her guests. Mingo was nowhere to be found.

When the Harringtons introduced themselves to the Richters, Erica was surprised to see that Pamela hung back, acting almost shy. Andrew Harrington, however, seemed to take a special interest in her. He was standing very close and even brushed a stray strand of her long black hair off her face when another sudden breeze ruffled it.

Christine Harrington, seemed to be cool with the attention her husband was lavishing on Pamela, but Erica could see that she was seething inside. Her soft brown eyes now had golden flecks dancing in them.

Erica decided it was time to move things along. Laying a hand on Andrew Harrington's arm she said, "Why don't I show you to your room? We have snacks available, nothing fancy, just sandwich makings and a veggie tray," She led the Harringtons inside. Raymond followed, carrying one of their bags.

Christine examined the foyer with a critical eye and insisted on taking the elevator. The men took the stairs.

When Erica opened the door to their room, Christine stood for a moment, surveying things. "It's certainly cozy. Isn't it, Andy?"

Andrew Harrington put his bag on the bed and indicated that Raymond should do the same with the one he carried. He then reached into his pocket and took out a ten dollar bill, thrusting it at Raymond, who backed up and flinched as though he'd been struck in the face. He then left the room without uttering a word.

Erica felt embarrassment color her cheeks. "He's also a guest. He's just helping out with the garden restoration. I'm sorry I didn't make that clear."

Christine Harrington raised an eyebrow. "So you put your guests to work? Maybe we should have checked in at the Hilton after all, Andy."

"It's a Hampton Inn, Chris," Andrew Harrington said idly, then asked Erica, "Tell, me, where's your co-owner?"

Erica turned around and faced him. "She's been ill. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. The website mentions you both," He favored her with that perfect smile again.

Christine flung open the closet door and peered inside. "Where's the bathroom?"

"There are two, at the other end of the hall," Erica told the woman. She was beginning to like her even less than she liked Pamela Richter.

Christine sniffed with obvious disdain. "We have to share a bathroom with the other guests?"

"Is this your first visit to a bed and breakfast?" Erica shot back before she could stop herself.

Andrew laughed out loud. "Is it that obvious? This was my idea, I'm afraid."

Christine sniffed haughtily. "I'd never heard of this place. I didn't even know we were on the cancellation list until Andy informed me we'd be staying here instead of a real hotel." She opened a suitcase and began hanging things up in the closet.

Andrew sidled up to Erica, keeping his voice low. "Christine is more of a luxury hotel person, but I thought that it might be fun to do something different. Don't worry; she'll live right through it."

He kept moving, forcing Erica into the hallway. Before she could reply, the door was closed firmly in her face.

* * * *

After her unceremonious ouster from the Harrington's room, Erica returned to the first floor. Somewhat miffed by Andrew's abruptness, she decided to leave the food in the refrigerator. If they wanted something to eat, they could ask. She wandered out the back door in search of Mingo, only to find him digging in the freshly turned earth where the gazebo would sit. The workmen were gathered around the area, pointing and chattering like excited school children. Raymond was kneeling by the hole, using one hand to brush at the dirt. As she drew closer she could see that he'd uncovered something.

"What's going on?" she called, joining the group. Then she saw what the furor was about.

"It is a gun," one of the men said in a heavily accented voice.

Raymond pulled the object out of the dirt and held it up for all to see. "Indeed it is."

It was a revolver with a barrel Erica surmised was at least six inches long. The handgrip, although caked with mud, looked like wood.

Raymond stood up and examined his find. "I say, this is quite an antique. He brushed it off as best he could. "It's an old forty-five caliber Colt Peacekeeper. Six shot cylinder."

Erica took a good look at the weapon. "How can you tell? It's filthy."

Raymond turned the revolver over and over in his hands. "Guns have been a hobby of mine for a good many years. This baby was manufactured by Colt around 1873. Some call it the single action Army revolver."

Erica didn't like this one bit. What was a gun doing buried in the garden, especially under a cement slab? "Who do you suppose put it there, Raymond?"

By now the workmen had all closed in, wanting a better look at the weapon. Raymond held it away from them and turned to Erica. "I don't know, but we need to get it inside and clean it up. It looks like it's in good shape, in spite of some rust. The handgrip has held up well. I'd say it's been in the ground for a long, long time though."

"Should we report it to the authorities?" She looked nervously over her shoulder and was relieved to see that the Richters were no longer in the driveway. She assumed they'd gone back inside the inn.

"Look….the dog…" one of the workmen yelled, pointing to where Mingo now dug furiously a few feet away.

Erica rushed at the animal then took a sudden step back when she looked down and saw what he'd uncovered. Memories of July when he dragged a skeletal hand into Joe's cabin, and of December when she'd found him just sitting near this spot staring at the place where the gazebo once stood, came flooding back. "Oh God, Raymond, is that a--"

He finished the sentence for her. "Skull?" He knelt next to Mingo and brushed the rest of the dirt off the object. "Yes, it's a human skull."

Talia settled into the hot bath water and sighed. Lucas, standing at the bathroom sink was trimming his goatee. "I'm starting to resemble a sailor who's been at sea too long," he said.

"I sort of like the shaggy look, gives you an aura of mystery," she said, with a smile. She sighed and laid her head back against the cool porcelain.

"What are you doing under those bubbles anyway? You're doing an awful lot of cooing," he asked.

"You're a pervert. Besides, if you're so curious, why don't you join me and find out?"

He turned and looked at her. "I think I just might take you up on that," he said, stripping off his under-shorts and walking toward the antique claw-foot tub.

Once he was settled opposite her, his feet wrapped around her hips, he said, "Bliss. Pure bliss."

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," Talia promised, feeling a sense of contentment she hadn't experienced in a long time. She'd been a real bitch at the shop earlier, she realized that. Rachel Lewis was just a young woman trying to earn a living and had been fortunate enough to come across Lucas's ad. Of course she was enthused and felt good about herself--she had a job she liked and was good at. Jealousy was an evil monster and Talia had made a vow tonight to never let it get the better of her again. "I'm thinking we should have Rachel over for dinner soon. She's probably not rich by any means, having just gotten the job at the shop and could probably use a free meal now and then."

"What changed your mind about her?"

She met his gaze. "I didn't have any particular mindset about Rachel, Lucas. I just was surprised by her, that's all. Now I want to get to know her better."

Lucas shrugged. "Sure. Let me know when and I'll ask her. But right now, I have other things on my mind."

Talia smiled. "Oh, like what?"

"Guess."

She bent her knees and scooted toward him. "Meet me halfway?"

She ran through the darkness, her breath coming in short rasps, her heart hammering painfully against her ribcage. The lake was behind her and she could hear the water slapping against the dock pilings. She didn't dare stop to look back, although every fiber in her being wanted to do so. She had to get away from him, had to hide somewhere.

Her dress was in tatters, her hair a tangled mess around her face. It was becoming harder and harder to run, her legs didn't want to work, they felt weak and shaky. She could still feel the slap of his hand against her swollen cheek.

Get away…never look back…run…run.

"No! Leave me alone!" Erica Parkhurst shouted. She sat up in bed and frantically looked around her, still half asleep and unable to fully recognize her surroundings.

Next to her, Joe Lakota stirred and mumbled, "Hmm…what's that?" Then he sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, casting a soft, amber glow over the cozy bedroom. From the floor, Mingo whined and yawned, stretching as he stood. His coat was multicolored and thick. The eyes were amber, set in a face that looked like it wore a mask of gray. Part wolf, part dog, he'd been raised by Joe from a pup.

Slowly, Erica took in the sturdy furniture and the thick comforter that was now in disarray around her. She was safe, with the man she loved, in the cabin he'd built with his own two hands.

Mingo laid his head on her leg and searched her face with big soulful eyes. She absently rubbed the canine's head. "I'm sorry, Joe. I had a nightmare. But it was so real."

He scooted closer to her and put a muscular arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his bare chest.

Erica had met Joe when she first happened upon Spirit Lake in July. She'd been running from a broken marriage, looking for a place of refuge and solitude. One night's stay at the local bed and breakfast had turned into something much more, when she found herself embroiled in not only a murder investigation, but a ghost hunt as well. Months later, the inn's owner, Evelyn Black, had asked her to return and run the business while she recuperated from surgery. Erica had done so, bringing along Paula Bascilla, her best friend. Actually, Erica would have come without Paula if it had meant seeing Joe again.

"Want to talk about it?" Joe asked, kissing the side of her head.

She looked at him and smiled. His dark eyes studied her with concern. His Iroquois heritage gave his skin a coppery glow, especially in this lighting. She felt her heart flutter a little as he stroked her cheek with a fingertip.

She shook her head and felt some of her thick, coppery hair tumble over her face. He made no move to push it back. She knew why, he liked the way she looked when she was "bed tumbled" as he called it.

"It was just a dream." She smiled again.

"Maybe I need to hang another dream catcher," Joe whispered, nodding backwards toward the feathered charm dangling above the headboard.

"To catch and destroy my bad dreams?" Erica asked.

Mingo snorted as though in disdain and resumed his previous position on the floor.

"I don't think Mingo appreciates my interrupting his sleep," Erica chuckled.

"Why don't you tell me what's really going on, Erica?" Joe asked, his expression somber.

Erica stroked his chest lightly. "Well, let's see…Christmas is only three weeks away and tomorrow our guests arrive for the inn's very first--"

He interrupted, "I'm not talking about that. You know what I mean." He put a little distance between them and propped himself up on one elbow. He looked at her, waiting for an answer.

Erica sighed. "I've been having this recurring dream. I'm back in time I think, because my clothing is old fashioned. I'm being chased up the hill from the lake. I'm desperate and frightened. It gets all muddled after that." She thought for a moment. "Forget it. It's no big deal. It's probably just the stress of the upcoming events. That and all the research we've been doing on the inn's past."

"You don't think what happened in October has something to do with it?" He eyed her closely, worry creasing his brow.

She had to admit, he had a point. "We had some damage control to do after the murder of a guest, that's for sure. And that is why this Christmas event is so important. I just don't want anything to go wrong."

Joe looked at the window and pointed. "It's snowing again. Should be the perfect atmosphere for your guests tomorrow."

Erica got up, put on one of Joe's flannel shirts, which hit her slender frame mid- thigh, and went to the window. She sat down on the window seat that, just months ago, had held one of Joe's best kept secrets. The snow was falling in large, lacy flakes, covering the two inches that had settled over the landscape yesterday.

"Looks like the stage is set," Joe said, joining her. He'd brought the comforter which he now wrapped around them both.

They sat there for the next hour, snuggled together, watching the snow fall.

So high, she cared only for the music, the excitement and the fun, euphoric feeling inhabiting her otherwise dull, boring life.

They danced to three songs before heading back to the table. Getting late, a few of their friends left for home.

"Where is everyone?" A cocktail napkin in her hand, Tilley waved it in front of her perspiring face, and appeared concerned.

Maggie, who again gave everyone shots of tequila, smiled.

"They took off and left us. They mumbled something boring about husbands, children and responsibility. So that means we get to do their shots."

Tilley didn't see any problem and drank two in a row.

"Yeah, we're leaving, too," Michelle said.

Maggie spent the evening gaping at a cocky, shaved head cowboy and he finally came over.

"Not yet." Maggie crooked her head his way. "I want to go two-step with John Wayne here." Her hand out, he grasped it and they headed to the dance floor.

Annoyed, Michelle glanced at her watch and shook her head. "All right, a couple more songs and then we're leaving." Ensconced in her chair, she sipped water.

A slow song played and Steve led Tilley to the dance floor.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she slurred.

"You aren't allowed to dance with a friend?" Steve smiled at her sweetly. "Think of me as a friend."

Rhythms from the song melted her body into his and she pulled Steve close, her head on his shoulder, her face turned away. His hands on her hips, he moved them down to the round of her bottom and she felt he'd grown as he rubbed against her.

Facing him again, her lips caressed the stubble on his neck, just below his jaw line. His scent, intoxicating, she put a delicate kiss on his beating pulse.

Michelle witnessed the entire tawdry scene and showed signs of disgust. After they finished and sat down, she glared at Tilley.

"If you want a ride, you have to take it now," she said. She let Tilley know she didn't appreciate her behavior. "I'm leaving."

"I'll take you home later if you want," Steve interrupted.

"Really! Great, yeah," Tilley said. "Thanks."

Michelle gave Steve a deadly stare. "She's coming home with me."

"Tilley's a big girl, I think that's her decision to make," he said.

"Tilley's had too much to drink," Michelle said sarcastically and yet firmly. "So, I think as her friend, I should do what's best for her."

"I'll be fine," Tilley said. "Steve's a friend. We know--each other from w-work. Don't worry. Besides, I'll be with Maggie. Go home."

"You've had a lot to drink, Tilley," Michelle said. "I'm worried. I think you should come home with me."

"God, I'm not friggin four-years-old," she said. "I'll make up my own mind, hiccup, when to go home, thank you very much. I'll thank you to keep your nose out of my, hiccup, business. Steve is a friend. He'll drive me and Maggie home."

Michelle, upset, left reluctantly. Tired of arguing with Tilley, she hoped for the best and depended on the fact Tilley knew Steve from work, although she'd never mentioned him before.

As if bounced out of a time machine, allowing her to replay her days as an unattached college girl, Tilley lived in the moment.

They did more shots and Steve pulled Tilley tight as the night wore on. Her inhibitions completely gone, she let him wrap his arms around her and press himself close. Michelle and her other friends gone, taking their judgmental attitudes with them, she felt free to have some fun.

The crowd thinned to a couple dozen people as the lights came on. Ready to go, the room did a spin and Tilley grabbed a table to steady herself. Darting a worried gaze around, she didn't see Maggie anywhere.

"Where did Maggie go?" Tilley asked Steve woozily.

"She skipped town with the urban cowboy." He took her arm. "Come on, I'll take you home."

Hesitant for a moment, she held onto him and they left the club together. His car, parked in the empty lot, appeared expensive and she attempted to open the door. Coming to her aid, he helped and then gently guided her in.

In the driver's seat, he told her he was lonely, never having found the right woman to spend his life with. Feeling sorry for him, she enjoyed the kiss he placed on her lips, felt honored someone so good looking considered her worthy of such adoration, but her mind raced with worry at the mess she found herself in.

He reached over, cupped her face in his strong hands and kissed her again. His lips, soft and inviting, welcomed her kiss in return. The first man, other than her husband, she'd kissed in twenty-five years. Warm in his car, Tilley pushed a button to lower the window, but it didn't move. Sick, hot and claustrophobic, she only wanted out. "I'm so attracted to you," he said.

Stellar tossed and turned in her bed, afraid to close her eyes. When she finally fell asleep, she was quickly interrupted by a familiar hologram floating above her bed. "Oh Lord, what are you doing here?"

"I'm the Christmas present dude."

"Okay first, you're not a dude, you're Lila's Mom. Second, why are you dressed like a chicken with a Santa hat on your head? Third, shouldn't you be in the kitchen cooking a chicken and not imitating one?"

"That's exactly what I said. However, this guy came to our house and said I have to go be a Christmas present chicken and I had no choice. So I put my dinner in the slow cooker, threw these feathers on over my apron and came right over."

"So, you're supposed to do, what may I ask?" Stellar asked hesitantly.

"Supposedly, I'm the guide here."

"Guiding me where?"

"To good stuff or something. From what I gathered, I'm supposed to show you what's happening right now and then you have to see someone else for the future. I don't know. It all sounds so familiar, yet so weird. I have no idea why he dragged me into this in the middle of preparing Vore's dinner. Plus Lila's father probably still hasn't taken the laundry out of the dryer, and by the time I get home, it will all be wrinkled. And I'll tell you, I'm not ironing it, he will have to put every piece in the ironing machine until they're perfect. That man--"

"Stop, I know all about the wrinkled laundry. Can we just get on with this please so I can go back to sleep. This whole thing is freaking me out here. What scares me most is you actually look pretty okay as a chicken."

"Fine, Ms. Impatient. Don't shoot the messenger here because this wasn't my idea. Remember that. I have better things to do with my time than schlep you through the universe on some intergalactic life lesson thing. By the way, do these feathers make me look fat? "

Stellar rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Now I see where Lila gets her craziness and, Ms. Chicken Lady, this century please."

"Fine, cool your hydrogen burners there, missy. We're going. Sheesh. Like I have nothing better to do--"

 "What's that?"

"What where," Lila's Mom responded.

"That there. Testy, what's he doing?"

"Just a minute I can't see over these damn feathers. Wait, he's shopping I think," she answered.

"Ask him what he's buying," Stellar said.

"No, he can't see or hear us. That's the deal remember? Don't you watch old holoflicks?"

"Oh shoot."

"What's the matter?"

"I hate blue grabnab fur. It clashes with my coloring and makes me look as pale as the moons of Sirious."

"He's just looking at it," Lila's Mom defended. "Maybe you can send some sort of psychic message or something."

"Yuk yuk yucky."

"That's the message?"

"Well you said to send a message," Stellar said.

"Yes, but be more creative. No wonder you and Lila are still single. What color do you like?"

"Pink."

"Okay, watch and learn. Pink fur, pink fur, ordering pink fur here."

"Uh huh? And that's any different than saying yuk?"

"You need to be more positive."

"I am positive. Positive that blue fur is yucky."

"This isn't going the way I planned," Lila's mom mused.

"So what's your plan? I just want to get this over with."

"You're supposed to look at some cosmic overview of your life and realize how you're not enjoying all the good things, yudda, yudda, yudda and stop acting like such a pain in the ass buzz kill and--"

"And what?"

"I don't remember any more. I'm not twenty, I forget shit."

 "But this crazy trip through the universe thing you needed to remember?"

"I'd leave now if I could, but we have one more stop."

"Then will you go back to cooking chickens instead of impersonating one please," Stellar pleaded.

"Deal."

Lila had never seen Buster in such a foul mood. She wondered what could have transpired to create this funk, but she was having a difficult time finding the courage to ask.

"I know you're wondering why I'm in such a mood. Thanks for not asking," Buster said softly.

"I'm impressed."

"With what?"

"With you. That's so evolved to notice my mood and communicate yours."

"Thanks for the compliment, I think," Buster said.

"You're welcome and, yes, it is a compliment," Lila whispered.

"I guess since I'm acting so evolved, I should tell you the rest."

"If you want to."

"I want to. This case is making me crazy. There are weird things going on like I've never seen before. I can't seem to make sense of anything. It's like floating through some crazy world where I can't speak the language."

"That's a good thing. Would you really want to understand all this insanity?"

"I'm a policeman. It's my job to understand insanity."

"Okay, let's be clear. I have no desire to be with someone who relates to the whole hot-dog-up-the-ass thing."

"Okay, okay, you're right. But I should know enough about the criminal mind to figure out what's going on here. Even if I don't understand or totally get it."

"But you do understand what's going on here. Some nuts with a vendetta are running around the galaxy shoving food up their victim's butt. Either they are pissed because they once got a bad meal, or the service sucked. Sometimes a five percent tip just isn't statement enough."

Buster laughed. "I hope murder isn't your remedy for bad service in a restaurant. Otherwise, we'll have to start ordering take out."

"Actually, it had never entered my mind, but there is a certain symmetry to the process. You have to admit, there have been times a small tip didn't fit the crime."

Buster laughed. "Maybe you're right. That waitress at The Blue Coffee shop on the moon was the rudest I've ever seen. Maybe a few hits of a Starbucks Latte Tall up her tush would send a message."

Hell of an enema, Lila thought. "But, Buster, there really is a method to this madness. The fact they were all in the restaurant business together, still haunts me. I keep thinking they didn't part as friends. Have you talked to Borgana again?"

"Yes, she was a silent partner. It was a small investment and she let her business manager handle everything. I can't help thinking there's something more here. A disgruntled customer wouldn't be enough to create such anger, this is a real vendetta. What makes people kill? Sex, love, money or relatives?"

"Relatives?"

"Sure family arguments heat up into murder all the time," Buster explained.

"Are any of the partners related?"

"Not as far as I've been able to discern. But that's a valid point. Maybe it's a family member once removed. I'll check it out."

Lila had a feeling, the one she got when she was onto something; her left boob started to tingle and itch. "My boob is tingling."

"I'm driving Lila, there's nothing I can do right now. Unless you want me to turn on autopilot and…"

Lila interrupted, "No, Buster, although hey, why not. No, my boob is tingling because I'm onto something. Whenever I have a hunch, my boob tingles and itches. And it's never wrong."

"You never told me this before."

 "I haven't had a hunch around you before."

"And your boob is always right?"

"Always, my boob is never wrong."

"Lila, do me a favor and never say that in public."

"What?"

"My boob is never wrong."

"Why not?"

"People will think you mean me." He switched on autopilot.

There were five thousand Qooyo words for pain, three thousand for death in darkness, five hundred for being buried alive. Eventually, many miners became addicted to drugs, including Ente. But most of their stories were hard to translate.

I put away my tablet and ate. A woman in a turquoise jumpsuit entered the room. Without warning, she jumped onto the opposite end of the table and twirled and faced the door. Suddenly, the female in turquoise pulled out a knife and crouched.

The door opened. A stout Qooyo miner entered and headed toward the woman in turquoise. At the same time, she lunged at him. Both fell on the floor. Halfway down the table, the chrome woman stood, blocking my view. I got up.

The woman in turquoise swung at the stout miner—her knife missed his arm and she stumbled onto the floor. The dark tan lady moved in front of me. I leaned to the right as her adversary punched the woman in turquoise, striking her face and she crashed to the floor. After reaching down, he dragged her limp body into the passenger compartment.

Why did he punch her?

Someone else in the room might know. I aimed my tablet at the three Qooyo miners and my blank screen appeared. Their firewalls were on, the tablet couldn’t decipher what they were saying. I aimed the tablet at the bearded miner, hoping to find out why the other miner had punched the woman.

Text read. Srn, Kep, rin, meaningless phrases caused by jamming scrolled and faded.

More text enlarged. Dansra, sa, nex... Nonsense. Suddenly, it vanished.

I aimed the tablet at the tall miner. The screen remained blank.

I pointed the tablet at the female with a tiny nose.

Text scrolled. Diin knew, rin, kah. A translation popped up. You don’t have any money either.

I aimed it at the three women and ... white noise, encrypted conversations enlarged.

Then I pointed it at the woman in metallic blue. The screen remained black, blank. Text appeared. It, cah, min, yes, cah min. A translation enlarged. Why didn’t you tell me before? You’re a fool. Then this meaningless conversation dissipated.

A pop up alert slid across the screen. Mode 15, Mode 16, Mode 17. The woman in blue kept switching modes, blocking my attempts to find out why the miner had punched the woman. I put the tablet away and ate.

"This is the kitchen…and the living room." The living area looked manlier with dark wood paneling and beige carpet. David pulled me to the couch and put his arm around me. Wasting no time, he moved his lips over mine, explored the interior of my mouth with his tongue.

He was a wonderful kisser. I instinctively pressed my body against his, felt the heat of his chest against me.

That reaction triggered his hands to slowly move up my thighs to the edges of my sweater. I could've stopped him, but I didn't want to. It felt so good to be touched again.

His eager wandering fingers crawled under my sweater, and rubbed my stomach through the fabric of my t-shirt underneath.

I moaned my approval, which gave him the cue to try more.

His hands wandered up to my bra and he gave me a gentle squeeze. Part of me wanted to stop him, but the other part of me knew I didn't want to.

The conflict was easily won. I ran my hand under his sweatshirt through the hair on his chest in response. He smelled so good. My tongue explored his mouth more eagerly than before.

David slid his hand to my bare skin, quickly made his way to the center clasp of my bra and released it in one motion. He tweaked my nipples in his fingers while I leaned back and uttered a deep groan of approval.

Both his hands aggressively brushed over my hips. David powerfully removed my sweater and t-shirt. My bra tumbled to the floor.

I glanced around, realized I was bare-chested in his living room and recognized he was one up on me. I needed to get to work and get him undressed. I pulled off his sweatshirt and we pressed our skin to each other, kissed, groped, moaned out in pleasure while we rolled around on his ex-wife's coral carpet.

Fortunately I was way too aroused to really think about that.

David stood and pulled me to my feet, wrapped his strong arms around me and carried me to the back of the house into the far bedroom. A king sized bed sat against the far left hand wall.

On the bed and on my back, I looked up at David who immediately reached down and unbuttoned my jeans. He unzipped me and pulled them by the ankles to the floor, opened my legs with his hands, pressed his hot body against mine. For the first time in the two years I'd known him, I saw and felt the benefits of his workout.

Strong biceps pinned me down, his mid-section thrust against me through his clothes. He leaned in for a kiss and my hands escaped to his jeans where I immediately unbuttoned him and pulled his pants down as far as I could before he helped. A split second later, we were bare, except for our underwear.

His teeth found their way to my panties and pulled them down to my knees. I kicked them to the floor, reached for his briefs with my right foot.

My palms ran over his smooth back and rested on his ass. I enjoyed the roundness of his buttocks, the weight of his torso against me.

He shined the light across the long hallway just off the entrance. To the right, a stairway led up to the second floor. Sage cautiously made his way into the musky smelling hallway and could feel how cold the inside of the house felt. It was almost a chilling feeling ten degrees cooler than outside. A shiver of apprehension raced down his spine. His instincts never failed him and tonight they were on high alert.

He could sense the body heat of the others following him and saw Jason light the flashlight he'd given him. Once everyone was inside, the door slammed shut without warning and a loud click reverberated throughout the room.

"What was that?" Sage knew the sound was the door locking and he also knew the door couldn't lock on its own. He turned his head just in time to see a strange white apparition floating past him. No, he decided his imagination must have been playing tricks on him. He didn't believe in ghosts. Just at the point of asking one of the others if they'd seen anything, Sage heard Summer scream.

"Let's get out of here, Sage!" Her blood curdling scream sent another wave of apprehension racing through Sage. She grabbed his arm and dug her nails into his skin.

Not owning much in the way of play or work clothes, Jaylyn wore one of Eli’s old t-shirts, cut off just under her breasts. The stretched neck slid over her now tan shoulder and her hair, pulled back in a ponytail at the neck, came loose, strands of her blonde hair sticking to her neck and cheeks. Her cut off jean shorts showed off the bottoms of her firm cheeks and she wore no panties or bra in the heat. He sported only a pair of frayed, cutoff jeans himself and she couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand, he looked so good.

“Damn!” Pulling her hand away from the newly boiled jars, she sucked on her finger. “These puppies are hot.” His non-response confused her, so she turned to see why he didn’t answer. When she did, the look of the hungry tiger radiated from his eyes once again. His bare chest and arms glinting with sweat, rugged, masculine her gaze traveled to his hair, strewn about wildly in the heat. His legs, his bare feet, every inch of him oozed sensuousness, manly perfection.

A cool breeze, out of nowhere, came by and her breasts, flat in the heat, rose, showing through the fabric of the thin t-shirt she wore. Mental telepathy played a part in her removing her shirt and after she did, her bare breasts, small, but firm showed off her perfect pink nipples. He licked his lips and she unbuttoned her shorts, pulling the zipper down slowly. They fell to the floor and she removed one leg and then the other. Another breeze, this one stronger, came through the window and whipped her hair around her shoulders and the once light kitchen darkened and she glanced outside.

“I think a storm’s heading in,” she said softly.

“In more ways than one!” He crossed the kitchen as a flash of lightning struck off in the distance and the boom of thunder it produced banked off the walls. He lifted her into his arms and kicking open the back door with his foot, he brought her into the yard and walked far back into a clearing, laying her down roughly.

The traffic was light at such an early hour and jokes and laughter floated around the interior of the car. Somehow, Lacy felt safe now that Ryan sat only an arm length from her in the front seat.

“Lacy, grab one of the CD’s out of the glove box and put it in the stereo,” Ryan told her. “I can’t get anything on the radio but this country music. I’ve never been too fond of country, but that’s all they’re offering.”

“I know what you mean. Carol and I ran into the same problem on our last trip. Talk about boring.” While she talked, she placed the CD in and cranked the sound up filling the car with a current hit song.

Amid joking, laughing and singing the entire trip, the ride seemed shorter than Lacy remembered. It wasn’t long before she saw a sign along the highway with Salem printed on it.

Just on the outskirts of the small town, Lacy glanced at a car headed in the opposite direction. She thought for an instant her eyes were playing tricks on her, believing she saw Steve and Jason riding along in a hot rod at a fast rate of speed heading out of town. No, I have to be wrong. Surely, I’m imagining things. Steve and Jason were supposed to be in jail waiting for the court date that morning. But again, they could be out on bail waiting for the trial to begin.

Suddenly, there was a metal sound filling the air around them. Lacy glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the hot rod deliberately swerving toward a pickup truck. The truck tried to get out of the way of the car, but the driver wasn’t having any success. The truck spun out and flipped over a number of times before coming to rest on its top in the ditch.

Brie stepped into a miasma of pulsing house music and screaming women. Her eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the intensity of the stage lights that highlighted her man. He had just finished his performance. A swollen audience cheered in ecstasy at his incredible sweat soaked body while he stopped to pose for his admirers. The thought of touching him sent a sensual wave of anticipatory pleasure through her like a trade wind.

An unbelievable amount of money landed onstage. Shade did not touch it. He allowed the bouncers to retrieve it, then handed both men substantial tips. After the initial yet erotic shock of learning her physical therapist lover worked part time as a stripper, Brie learned the money was not why Shade worked there. He earned a good wage working at City General and didn't need the extra cash. Shade performed for the sheer joy of the dance and the sensuality of the movement.   

Brie, mesmerized by his grace, allowed the crowd a moment to bask in his glory. He smiled at the patrons who sought his attention. There was no ego involved in his acceptance of their desire. She realized Shade knew he was attractive. She also knew, as she grew to understand him over the last few months, he did not take his good looks seriously because he understood the transitory nature of the physical body. Nothing lasted forever therefore he accepted the form given to him as a part of who he was as a human being, but did not allow it to define him. Always gracious though he crouched down and shook some of the more adamant women's hands. This was the only time he allowed the patrons to touch him. Another fact that impressed Brie was she learned Shade donated all cash earned at Paradise to Father Donovan Kenny at St. Jude's Parish. The tiny priest was Shade's friend and mentor, a man for whom he carried deep respect.

"You're so beautiful," Brie whispered. Her heart opened to him and she inhaled. She could swear she detected his scent and the erotic thought pulled her from her position toward the stage.

Shade's head turned, lifted. His gaze landed in her direction, seemed to find her in the over-stimulated crowd. Brie startled. It was as if he knew she arrived. Her heart pounded in syncopated rhythm to the background music. It was so crowded toward the stage area she needed an escort and she searched for Moana, the giant Samoan bouncer who was head of security for the club. Within seconds, Moana found her and wrapped a beefy hand around her arm. He pushed through the throng of women as they clapped to the beat of another song to introduce the next dancer and within seconds, they approached a side entrance door.

"Thanks," Brie smiled. He grimaced in return, which she realized was his idea of a grin.

Once through the door, she paused for a moment to allow her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness of the interior. It didn't take her long to find him. Shade seemed in deep conversation with one of the female dancers, a petite Asian woman dressed in a short red sequined sheath dress and matching red platform stilettos. She stroked Shade's arm. He stopped her, removed her hand in gentle rejection.

A rush of possessiveness slammed Brie in the chest. She strutted forward, hands in her jean pockets. The idea of ripping the woman's hair extensions out of her head occurred to her, but she realized she would have a hard time explaining her actions to fellow police employees when she was booked on battery charges.

"You were awesome tonight, baby, they loved you," crooned Vanessa as she reached to run her hand along Shade's washboard stomach. Brie clenched her jaw in irritation. She cracked her neck in an effort to relax. Her gaze raked the diminutive stripper over burning coals.

Vanessa must have received a clue something was wrong when Shade stepped away from her because she paused, then turned around to follow Shade's gaze. Brie noted the stripper's eyes grew wide at her approach. In a show of what Brie recognized as street bravado, Vanessa crossed her arms in front of her chest, bobbed her head on her slender neck from side to side. Brie thought the dancer looked like a sparrow doused in the dyed red sugar people put on their Christmas cookies.

"Wassup, Brie?" Vanessa's cocky tone rolled from a mouth filled with gold plated teeth.

"Not him, Vanessa." Brie replied. Her voice carried a dangerous finality to it.

Vanessa uncrossed her arms, turned to look at Shade. When no assistance arrived from that quarter, she threw up her hands. "Whatevah, I gotta bounce."

Brie watched the stripper run away as fast as her little feet could carry her. She turned to Shade. His eyes flashed to yellow gold and a thrill of desire blasted through her. Their ability to change on a dime still filled her with amazement, but she had long ago accepted it was a unique trait of her lover.

Stepping forward with jaguar grace, Shade grabbed her by the lapels of her leather jacket. He pulled her into him, plunged his mouth over hers, his need of her evident.

He was the deluge to her thirst. It was as if she had wandered in a desert and found an oasis. She collapsed towards him, returned his fervor with desperate desire. Her knees weakened. Shade lifted Brie into his arms, carried her to his dressing room.

He locked the door behind him and placed her on a sheepskin rug. He straddled her hips and removed her jacket, tossed it on a sofa across from his dressing table. Shade moved his hands in a smooth caress over her arms, trailed his fingers down to her belt buckle.

Brie shook her head. "Now," she demanded. She was in no mood for foreplay, wanted him inside her before she burst into flames. Tonight was about need, about demand, about pure primitive mating.

“What the hell are they doing here?” Talia asked, her voice full of disdain.

The detectives conferred with two of the firemen who were now walking around in the charred remains of the cottage. The rest of the fire crew members were coiling up hoses and putting away other equipment.

Lucas decided to join them. “Stay here,” he told Talia.

“Forget it, Lucas.” She followed him across the yard to the blackened ruins.

The man who came to greet them had the words Fire Chief emblazoned across the front of the hard hat he wore. “You’re the owners?” he asked.

Lucas nodded. “What happened?”

“Looks like an explosion,” the man said. “I’m Chief Hennesy, by the way. Sorry for your loss.” He took off one of his heavy, soot-coated gloves.

Lucas shook the man’s hand. “Was it the gas line?”

Chief Hennesy suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. As if on cue, Muncie and Reed joined them.

“Someone blew up your house, Ms. Coe,” Muncie said, his gaze fixed on Talia.

Chief Hennesy quickly said, “There are remnants of an explosive device, a timer to be exact. We’ll know more when we get the items to the lab in Kinnard. They’ll be sending an arson investigator to inspect the premises.”

Talia looked as though she couldn’t quite take it all in. “Someone did this on purpose?”

Lucas found it hard to swallow around the lump of fury in his throat. Then it hit him. I was supposed to be staying here tonight, just like I’ve been doing. This was meant for me.

The same thought must have occurred to Talia because when she turned to him, he could see the terror in her eyes. “My God, Lucas, you—”

He silenced her with a shake of his head. “So you’re on the arson squad now?” He was addressing Muncie and Reed.

Reed answered, “We just heard about the fire. We’ve been tied up on an assault out on Carver Road. A man was almost killed. In fact, he’s not expected to make it.”

Muncie took over. “We were on our way to tell you, Ms. Coe.”

Talia looked from one detective to the other. “Tell me what? Stop playing games. I’m not in the mood!”

Lucas knew. Deep down, he knew. He put an arm around Talia’s waist, holding tight.

“Your father was attacked on Carver Road, Ms. Coe. He’s at Bradford County Hospital. It doesn’t look good,” Reed said.

As Talia’s body began to sink, Lucas took her in his arms. “Two alphas in one night, that was the plan,” he whispered in her ear.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she said in a whisper.

“Yes, of course.”

She took Anastasia by the hand and explained to Miss Pigeon they were going to the water closet. Through a labyrinth of vestibules and foyers, they went, Rose glancing over her shoulder on occasion lest they be followed.

“What is it?” Anastasia said. Her face flushed. “We should join all others, I’m to get very nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Rose said. “This is an adventure.”

They stopped before entering an immense, dark hallway.

“This is it?”

“What?” Anastasia asked.

“Where the door is.”

“We really will go back now,” Anastasia said, concern dripping from each word.

“We’re not allowed to open it. Actually,” Rose glanced about, “we aren’t even allowed in this wing of the house.” Trancelike, she stared down the long hall until Anastasia grabbed her arm.

“Come, let’s go back. I do not like this…it feels to be wrong.”

Rose continued to stare. “Papa said if we open it, there is death on the other side.” She licked her lips, her gaze intent.

Anastasia pulled Rose away. “You must to stop this silliness.”

“I have to tell someone or I’ll lose my mind,” Rose said. She floated back to reality, but wasn’t quite on solid ground…just yet. “I have a secret.”

“If you promise me we head back after telling to me, I’ll listen patiently,” Anastasia said.

Rose spoke softly. “I used to have another sister.”

“What!”

“Yes, she was a year older than Flora and beautiful. The most beautiful of us all with red hair just like me, and I hear, a very fiery temper.”

Anastasia looked right and then left. “Okay, you told me, now let us to go back to the others.”

“Please, listen,” Rose begged. “No one else will. I saw her. I followed her the day she opened the door. She told me to go back, but I hesitated. I saw her go through but she never came out again. I ran away as fast as I could, down the hall, back to my room. After that, we were forbidden to even mention her name. It’s as if she never existed. My sisters are terrified to talk of her, and Miss Pigeon has punished me if I even look like I’m thinking of her.”

Anastasia grabbed her by the arm. “I no longer will suffer listening to such nonsense as this. If you do not stop such talk, I shall leave to my Russia tomorrow. You are frightening me.”

“Oh, no! Don’t go. I’m so sorry, Anastasia. I needed a friend to hear me. I didn’t mean to upset you so.”

They walked back in silence. Rose, upset about disturbing her friend, she could tell Anastasia was now frightened and anxious, all because of her.

They stepped past several shelves and Daniel turned at the last, moving into a spacious corner. Not all of the books had titles on the spines which made Karen’s heart sink. She wondered exactly how they were supposed to know which texts they were supposed to pull or how they were going to differentiate them.

“So…” Daniel cleared his throat. “We’re looking for information about the Reilly family. This area has port journals and some ancient captain’s logs. I’m hoping that we’ll come across something from Colin Reilly, preferably something late in his career. It should have clues to what we’re interested in.”

“But how can we find anything in this?” Karen waved her hand over the books. “Do we have to check every single one?”

“No, they do try to organize them somewhat.” Daniel drew one book from the top left of the shelf. Karen presumed that it was the beginning of the section. “These are port records. You can tell because they’re made of this dark red leather and are often grouped up in threes. They spread them out because they’re easy to spot and organized by what port master was in charge at the time.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to do that by year?”

“That depends on what research you’re doing.” Daniel put the book back. “All of those books have been scanned into a computer and put in chronological order. This is more about the people who wrote in the books than what’s in them.”

“And the log books… alphabetical by author? Or ship name?”

“Good question,” Daniel replied, drawing another book out near the top. “This is the log book of Reginald Alponte of the merchant ship Sequester.” He paused a moment and chuckled. “I wonder if he meant to make that play on words.”

Karen snorted, stepping closer to the shelf and carefully drawing out a text to look at it, on the third shelf down about midway through.

“This one is Bartholomew Lamont of the HMS Dragon.” Karen slid it back carefully. “So we should be close. They really need to put letters on the shelf to give a researcher an idea of where to look.”

“I believe they change things out a little too often for that.” Daniel crouched and began to look through books in the section that Karen motioned to. “And it doesn’t take much to figure out where you’re at. Draw a couple out and you’re in the right location.”

Karen took the other side and worked toward him. “Maybe we should have hit the natural history museum first, especially if they have journals.”

“When and if we have to go there, you’ll see that they’ve got a lot of books. If we had to pour through those, we’d be there for a very long time.” Daniel hesitated a moment. “I found a book by Roberts.”

“Like… the pirate?” Karen looked over hopefully.

“No, his name was Timothy Roberts… worked on a fishing schooner.” Daniel smiled at her enthusiasm. “So you’re a pirate girl, are you?”

“Hmm? No, I… well, I’ve got a passing interest. You know, seen all the movies… read some books… watched the movies again.”

“Ah, a fan of the genre.” Daniel moved on with the books. “I believe they have a rather large section of pirate fare here. You should come back sometime and delve in.”

“I might.” Karen flushed. “It’s just… you know, a guilty pleasure.”

“I know all about them.” Daniel paused again. “Desmond Reilly… 1712. That can’t be a coincidence. I think I found the family’s section here.”

Ten minutes later, the girls were on their way home. Natalie’s stomach churned from the moment she and Tracy left the San Felipe Pueblo all the way down I-25 toward Albuquerque. She was worried enough about Lone Eagle, and the flat tire didn’t help any either. Since they were already over an hour late getting home, they were bound to be in big trouble. Tracy’s mom wasn’t very flexible about bending rules. They called her once earlier in the evening to say they’d be delayed. She hoped Mary wouldn’t be too upset. They did call, after all.

“Man we got lucky.” Tracy sighed.

“Yeah no kidding. The officer came along just in time.”

“Yeah, he did, right? He sure knew how to change a tire.”

This made Natalie’s stomach even more upset. “How will we explain the spare tire on the car and the other in your mom’s trunk?”

“We’ll tell the truth – we got a flat and an officer helped us out. No big deal.”

“Yeah but she’s gonna want all the details, you know?”

Tracy sighed again. “I know.”

Natalie and Tracy were both raised to be honest, and this situation was going to push them to the limit. Natalie felt ill. This was all her fault. And she was also anxious about Lone Eagle. He was so upset when they left him. She wanted to talk to him again, but apparently he wasn’t interested and turned off his phone. She tried to push him and his attitude out of her mind, knowing the mess with the car was a far bigger deal, but the situation with Lone Eagle bugged her. While they drove, Natalie tried his number again a couple of times, but there was no answer.
“Still not answering?”

“Nope.”

“Think his phone is off?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s probably asleep or something. Try again tomorrow.”

Natalie knew she was right, but the whole thing bugged her more than she wanted to admit. “What am I gonna do, Trace? He must feel horrible. I don’t want him killing himself or something.”

Tracy laughed. “Native Americans don’t believe in suicide, so I’m sure he’ll be okay. You’ll reach him when you’re supposed to, besides, we just left him. You told him everything.”

She wasn’t comforted. She pressed redial again. “Yes, but did you see the look on his face? I don’t think he believed me. He wouldn’t speak to us. I hope he’s okay, that’s all.”

Tracy kept her hands on the wheel, eyes glued to the road. She weaved in and out of several cars until they broke free. “I wouldn’t know. He’s your friend, not mine. Besides, the one person who might kill someone tonight is my mom when she finds out about the car.”

Natalie was not comforted by the humor. She dialed again. No answer. She needed to stop. She hung up and stared out the window at the lights in the foothills of the Bernalillo Valley. She looked up at the Sandia Mountains and thought about the flights she and Lone Eagle had taken. He taught her how to transform herself into a hummingbird while she slept, and the process helped her heal from the accident. He also showed her the energy from the stones in her rock shop and how they could be used to help her heal. She was grateful for the knowledge but needed to know more. First, though, she wanted to make sure he was okay. She had to get a hold of him, talk to him more about what happened and reiterate things. She dialed again. One more time, then she would stop. This time the phone rang and rang. No voicemail. Figures. Lone Eagle was not like other people she knew. He was timeless, not interested in modern technology. Besides, in the few months she knew him, she discovered words never worked with him. There was one way to reach Lone Eagle and make him understand and not by phone. She would need to reach him in her dreams tonight.

 

The shop had two bedrooms nestled away in the back. He set her up in the small one he never used and did his best to make her comfortable. Will she wake up while I’m gone? I don’t want her to panic because she’s in some strange place. He penned a quick note and left it by the bed. I hope that helps… And I won’t be gone that long.

Daniel left, locking the front door behind him and hopping in Karen’s car. The engine roared to life and he took a deep breath, considering his next course carefully. They had to get to the bottom of what was going on but he couldn’t risk Karen again. At least in the shop she’d be safe.

What if there’s something out there that you can’t handle? He asked himself. What happens to her then?

That concern had to be shelved. There wasn’t any time for extreme caution. There were answers to be found but they required some risk. Daniel felt resolve return to him and he put the car in “Drive”. At least the trip wouldn’t take very long.

He was fairly certain he knew where James McKellan had lived—the description that Andrea gave could only be one of a couple places. Someone owned the house that he was heading to but it was not currently occupied. He was certain that there wasn’t going to be easy access to the lab but he could at least see what obstacles needed to be overcome.

Andrea wasn’t just any spirit. Daniel hadn’t seen her sort of power for ages and even back then, demons were involved. After years of dealing with the supernatural, Daniel was surprised to admit that he had seemingly encountered something new.

And that created more questions. What else could this spirit do? Why was she compelling Karen instead of asking her to do things? What was her real motivation?