Ghost in the Spell, page 16
“Get your hands off me,” she says, pain evident in her shaking voice.
“I’ll never let you go.” His menacing tone chills me to the bone. “Never.”
“Hello.” Gilly snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Nora.”
“What?” I said, blinking at my friend.
Her brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“You’re going to get grooves between your eyes if you don’t stop worrying about me.” Although, at this point, I had enough worry for the both of us.” “How is it going with the new guy you’re dating? Lloyd Briscoll, right?”
Gilly went pale and the wine glass in her hand trembled. I took it from her, then placed both of our glasses on the coffee table. “Gilly?”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice pitched to an unbelievably cheery tone. “Didn’t you promise me a date with Mr. Darcy?”
I’d wanted to tell her about my scent-stimulated hallucinations, and maybe now was the time. This was the first…er, vision I’d had about my best friend. Still…what if I was wrong? If I really did have a brain tumor, and these experiences were a symptom of being sick, then it would be stupid to worry Gilly. Besides, if she thought I was nuts, she might decide to tie me up, throw me in the car, and take me to the nearest emergency room.
But her avoidance of my question, in addition to the vision, stirred a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I said softly.
Gilly took a sudden interest in a loose stitch at the bottom of her sweater, tugging on it to avoid my gaze. “We broke up.” She paused. “Correction. I broke up with him.” Gilly pushed up the cuff of her sleeve and revealed finger-sized bruises on her wrist.
“He did this?” I asked. My stomach clenched. What I’d glimpsed of Gilly and Lloyd’s interaction had been real. Holy crap. Without thinking, I asked, “Was it something to do with Ari?”
Gilly gave me a sharp look. “How did you…” She shook her head then nodded. “I overheard him laughing with some of his buddies in the security office.” Her hands were shaking now, and there was anger in her voice. “They were talking about Ari.” Her eyes narrowed as her ire surfaced. “He called Ari a freak, and some other unsavory slurs that I won’t repeat, because she happens to wear her hair short and the way she dresses.”
I took her hand and gave it a pat. “He’s an asshole.”
“I marched right into that room gave him the it’s-not-me-it’s-definitely-you speech. He grabbed me and told me we were done when he said we were done.”
“Is that after he told you he’d never let you go?”
Gilly paled. “Yes. How did you know that?”
Alarm kicked my adrenaline in. I skipped her question and went right to the important part. “That’s a threat, Gilly. You need to call the police.”
“And tell them what? Who’s going to believe Silly Gilly over the head of security for the Rose Palace? Lloyd is an ex-cop, and he still has a lot of friends on the force.”
“Yeah? Well, so do I.”
“You mean your ex-husband chief of police who you haven’t spoken to in ten years? That guy?” Gilly scoffed. “Shawn Rafferty didn’t like me when you two were married.”
Shawn and I had divorced for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because he’d changed his mind about wanting kids. I had not. When we divorced, we split everything down the middle, and since we didn’t have children and we were both just starting our lives, I didn’t sue for alimony. I didn’t want anything tying us together anymore. Not even a last name, so I took back my maiden name. And then poof, like magic, it had been as if the five years we were married and the four years we dated never existed.
But say what you want about my ex-husband, he’s a good cop. And, yeah, a good person. He and his wife had sent a lovely spray of lilies for my mom’s funeral, and Shawn had even stopped in at the visitation. Our conversation, the first one we’d had since my dad had died a decade ago, had been short but not unpleasant.
“Shawn will believe you.” I clasped both of her hands and looked her in the eye. “Promise me you’ll call the police if that son-of-a-bitch comes within fifty feet of you again.”
“We both work at the Rose Palace. Our paths are bound to cross.” Gilly blew out a breath. “But I’ll do my best to avoid him.”
I stared at her hard, my mouth set in a grim line.
She raised her hand as if taking an oath. “And I’ll call the police if he attempts to even talk to me.” She pushed my shoulder lightly. “Now, come on. I didn’t come over here to lament my tragic taste in men. You promised me a night of binge-watching Jane Austen movies, good wine, and all the popcorn I can eat.”
My smile felt tight. Gilly was an adult, and she’d been living her life just fine for many years without me telling her what to do. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s fill up these wine glasses, and I’ll start the popcorn. You break out the goodies.” Like a weirdo, I loved mixing chocolate-covered raisins in with my salty popcorn. Yum.
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting on my comfy couch with throw blankets over our legs, a large popcorn bowl between us and honey buns on the coffee table. Our wine glasses were full of Cabernet Sauvignon, and our undivided attention was on Mr. Darcy.
“Why can’t real men be like him?” Gilly bemoaned after Darcy gave Elizabeth moon eyes.
“No, thank you,” I told her. “I like the fantasy of Darcy, but he’s judgy and bossy and arrogant. Give me a guy who is genuinely interested in my happiness, and not what he thinks will make me happy. That’s the guy I’ll spend the rest of my life with.” Not that I thought such a man existed. I wasn’t content exactly, but I was resigned to living out my life as a single woman. I glanced at Gilly. At least, I knew I’d never be alone. Not with friends like her in my life. I nudged her and smiled. “Even so, I’ll happily root for Elizabeth Bennet to get her man.”
“So, you are looking for a man,” Gilly said triumphantly.
“You’re the worst,” I said.
Gilly made a kissy face in my direction. “Best Bitches Forever.”
High-beam headlights glared through my living room window. I shielded my eyes and waited for them to go off. They didn’t.
“Who is that?” Gilly asked. “Were you expecting anyone?”
“No. Just you.” I got up and looked outside with Gilly right behind me.
“Oh. Oh, no,” she hissed. “It’s Lloyd.”
“Go lock the front door,” I said. When she didn’t move, I said with more force, “Now!”
Gilly took off toward the front door, and I moved quickly up the stairs to my bedroom, ignoring my creaky knees as I retrieved my gun case from my bedside table. My hands were trembling as I opened the case and grabbed my compact 9mm and a full clip of bullets. I loaded the gun while I returned to the front of the house.
It was dark outside. “Is he still out there?” I asked.
“Gilly!” I heard a man shout. “Gilly, come talk to me. I just want to talk. I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean it. I swear. I promise it won’t happen again.”
Gilly had her body pressed against the wall and out of sight. “I think he turned off the light so he could see inside,” she said. “He won’t stop calling for me.”
“How did he know you were here?” An awful thought occurred to me. “The kids?”
“No,” she said. “They’re staying the night with friends.” She shook her head. “I told him a couple of days ago that I was coming over here to celebrate your recovery.” Her pitch went up a notch as tears flooded her eyes. “I’m so stupid.”
“He’s stupid. Not you.”
“Gilly!” he bellowed. “Come out and talk to me. Don’t make me come in there after you.”
“That is just about enough.” I loaded a round into the chamber of my pistol and stalked to the door. “Call the police,” I said.
“I already did,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get that jerk off my property.”
I unlocked and opened the front door, walking out with my weapon extended in front of me. The wind whipped my hair across my face, and I pushed it back with my free hand. I hadn’t bothered to put on shoes, and the rough concrete from my walk bit into my socked feet. I ignored the discomfort as I took aim at the drunk in my driveway.
Lloyd, a tall man, handsome, even with a receding hairline, gave me a look of sheer incredulity. He wore a dark nylon jacket with a tear in the pocket, his cheek was red and swollen, and his lip was bleeding. I guessed this wasn’t the first fight he’d started tonight.
“Get back in your car and leave, Lloyd. And stay away from Gilly,” I said. “The police are on their way, and if you’re gone before they get here, I won’t file a complaint.”
“You can’t shoot me.” He laughed. “Castle law means I have to be in the place you live. Otherwise, you’ll go to jail for assault or attempted murder.”
“The way I see it, I can shoot you, then Gilly and I can drag you into the house.”
He walked up to me and pressed his chest against the barrel of my gun. “Go ahead, tough girl. Shoot me.”
The sour scent of beer mixed with whiskey made my stomach roil.
I recognize his out-of-focus form before the reek of booze confirms it. “Bitch!” Lloyd yells. He grabs a red-haired woman, his hands encircling her throat. Like Lloyd, I can’t make out her face, and with her knees buckled, I can’t tell how tall or short she might be, but I can feel her desperation. She struggles to escape but he is too strong.
“Please,” she whispers, barely audible. “You’re…choking…me.”
He throws her to the ground and straddles her, his thick hands squeezing her throat. But who’s his victim? I’m helpless. She’s dying. He’s killing her.
I snapped out of it, full of rage. I lifted the 9mm higher and aimed at Lloyd’s head. Something in my eyes must have frightened him because he took several steps back.
Sirens sang out in the distance.
“Tick-tock,” I said to Lloyd. “A smart man would already be in his car.”
He scowled at me. “Crazy bitch.” On that note, he jumped into his vehicle, started it up, and squealed his tires as he reversed out of the driveway.
Gilly came running outside clasping a butcher knife. “Oh my gosh, Nora. You’re a freaking superhero.”
“When the police arrive, I’m filing a report,” I said, trying not to pass out.
She whipped the knife around in the air. “But you told Lloyd—”
“Gilly, stop waving that thing before you hurt yourself.”
She blushed as she dropped her arm to her side. “I forgot I was holding it. What are we going to say to the police?”
“The truth. Lloyd Briscoll is a bad guy, Gilly. Like, really bad.” I shivered as pieces of the vision played in my head. “He needs to be reported. And you need to show them your bruises. I have a feeling this man isn’t going to leave you alone without encouragement.”
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YOU’VE GOT TAIL
PECULIAR MYSTERIES & ROMANCES BOOK 1
Chapter One
SOME PEOPLE JUMP into the deep end of the pool feet first, some head first, but I’ve always been a traditional belly-flopper. Splashy, messy, and usually painful. Which still didn’t explain why I was sitting on the floor of a closed diner, nursing my bruised butt, not to mention my pride, and staring woefully at a naked unconscious man in the middle of Peculiar, Missouri.
My parents are crazy from way back. Maybe that’s where I get it from. Seriously, who names a child Ambrosia Sunshine? Two hippies, that’s who. They told me when I was old enough to resent the flower child name that they’d thought it was cool at the time, but I personally believe it was the result of one too many ’shrooms. As it is, I’ve been forced to sit through many painful renditions of “You Are My Sunshine.” If I had a dead body for every time I was teased, well, let’s just say I’d get an express pass to the electric chair. Although, if I got a sympathetic judge, he’d probably consider my lifetime served.
Maybe my parents’ experimentation with drugs is what had made me psychic. (No, I didn’t say psychotic. I said psychic.) On the other hand, it could also explain why I’m so bad at it.
My ability allows me glimpses, more like screenshots, of the past, present, and future. But, clearly, the visions have not been helpful over the years. And the side effects, sheesh. Most of the time I feel a little dizzy when they hit, but every once in a while, it’s as if someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of my skull. Usually, I can feel one coming on; otherwise driving might be an issue. If only they made medic-alert bracelets for my type of ailment. It certainly hasn’t been a gift.
That’s why my friendship with Chavvah Trimmel is so important. We’d met at the community college in San Diego. She thought my name was weird and awesome all rolled up into a spring roll. After finding out her family’s propensity for strange biblical names, I thought it was a bit of the pot calling the kettle rusty. Chavvah, or Chav, as she likes to be called, was my first best friend. And when she’s around me, my psychic mojo kicks up twenty notches. It’s as if I can tap into some kind of mystic hotline whenever she’s near.
As a matter of fact, the last time I’d gotten a clear vision had been in my dining room back in California. Chav, who’d been renting my spare bedroom at the time, had just turned down the heat on the spaghetti sauce, and I was setting the table. We were having an “I finally dumped the cheating bastard” celebratory dinner. Did I mention I’m a bad psychic? So I hadn’t a clue what I was walking in on when I caught my boyfriend of three years having sex with the skank waitress from the coffee shop. On my couch, no less. Jerk. I took his spare key and kicked his ass (and the couch) to the curb.
At dinner that night, when the vision hit me, I’d hit the ground, along with some clattering dishes. I saw a present moment of Chav’s parents huddled together, debating whether to call her about her missing brother. Talk about being the bearer of bad news. I didn’t blame her for not believing me at first, or the stunned look she gave me when she called her parents, and it turned out to be true. Her brother Judah had dropped off the map.
Chav flew back to Missouri the next day. After a year of searching for him, the local police had pretty much given up on Judah, but by that time, Chav had forgotten about the ocean and fallen in love with the little town of Peculiar. Hell, from her letters and phone calls, I’d kind of fallen in love with the place as well. She’d found a restaurant in the rural town, a real fixer-upper, for the two of us to run. A fifty-fifty partner split.
I wasn’t supposed to leave California for another two weeks, and Chav had said she needed to talk to me “in person” before I made the trip, but the text I’d gotten from her had sent me packing in a hurry.
All it said was: Sunny. I need u.
After that, every call I’d made to Chav went straight to voice mail. Without any real plan, I jumped into my gas-guzzling Toyota 4X4, which I had purchased explicitly for the move. One thousand six hundred and sixty-two point four miles later, as I drove over a swinging bridge (the only way in and out, I soon discovered) into the quaint little town, my whole body heaved a sigh of relief. I felt strangely wonderful. It was as if someone unzipped my off-the-rack skin and fitted me with a tailored Sunny suit.
The town looked very similar to Mayberry from The Andy Griffith Show. Dirt streets, old fashioned shops and houses, white picket fences, and lots of Chevy and Ford pickup trucks. I was a little nervous when my GPS said, “You have arrived,” right outside a two-story yellow building on the corner of Third Street and Main.
My heart pounded as I stood outside our restaurant for the first time. I’d always expected some kind of fanfare. Chav waiting to usher me into our future. She’d even named the restaurant for me. Sunny’s Outlook. I’d blame allergies for my eyes watering at that moment, but I knew it was a mixture of happiness and sadness all rolled into one big bundle. This was our place. Mine and Chav’s. And she’d done it up spectacularly.
I smiled at the brightly colored lettering. All the letters except the big O in Outlook were blue. The O was not an O at all, but a bright orange sun. If it was possible to feel both warm and cold at the same time, I accomplished it.
Where was Chav? I knew in my bones something was wrong. The year we'd spent apart had dulled my psychic ability toward her, so once again I had become inept with crazy flashes that didn’t amount to much of anything.
I jiggled the door handle. It wasn’t locked, so being the smart, city-savvy girl I am, I decided to let myself in. After all, I owned half the joint, so I wasn’t trespassing.
Darkness enclosed the front room except a few areas illuminated by sunlight filtering into the two small windows near the ceiling. They were surrounded by open wooden shutters. Where were the large storefront windows? This place was more dive bar than restaurant. Strange decor choice but my concern for Chav kept me from imagining a complete makeover. I couldn’t find a light switch around the door. I should have just gone back out to the truck for a flashlight, but I thought I saw a panel on the wall across the room, and frankly, it was sheer laziness that moved me forward.
I managed to maneuver around the counter, open the panel, and flicked several of the switches at once. The lights came on and when I stepped back to admire my new home lit up—it didn’t look half bad; hardwood floors, cute little tables with black-and-white gingham cloth, and a couple of booths with the same checkered design on the benches.
And that’s when it happened. My heel caught on something large, and I fell ass-backward to the ground. It didn’t take more than a nanosecond to see that I’d tripped over a naked man passed out cold on the floor.
After a startled yelp, heart palpitations, and worry that he’d wake up at any moment and kill me, I reached over and touched him. Just his arm, mind you. He didn’t move, but his skin felt warm, and his chest raised and lowered, so I didn’t bother to check for a pulse.
