Donn's Hill
Page 25
Ugh. The more I learned about Tom Bishop, the more I hated how involved I’d gotten with his ghost. I almost regretted helping him resolve his unfinished business so his soul could move on to the next life. He’d caused so much heartache. I could only hope some justice waited for him on the other side.
“Gabrielle says Brian stumbled backward, and a piece of debris in the cabin drove upwards into his skull, which is consistent with our medical examiner’s report.”
A shrill jangling sound came through the phone.
“That’s my other line,” Wallace said. “Listen, thanks again. You’ve been a big help. I look forward to working with you on future cases.”
She disconnected, and I slid my phone back into my bag, struck by how much my life had changed in so short a time. A month ago, I’d handed in my resignation at a dead-end job that I’d hated. Now, sitting in the sunny town square, I stroked Striker’s back and envisioned a much more exciting resume: psychic, ghost hunter, detective.
Penelope sat down in the chair across from me, interrupting my career plans. Her grungy outfit from the day before was gone, replaced by something more in her usual chic style: a pair of yoga pants and a fitted white track jacket. The clothes looked casual, yet expensive.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, handing me a Styrofoam coffee cup from the cart behind us.
“No problem.” I accepted the cup and lifted the lid. It was a foamy latte and smelled delicious. “Deputy Wallace called me and explained that you were at the station.”
We sat in awkward silence for a few moments, and I watched the crowd around us. Shoppers filled the square, whiling away the afternoon by finding mementos to take home. Many of the tourists had left already. I wasn’t sure if they’d always planned to leave at the end of the weekend or if they’d been chased out by the news of an attempted murder right across the street from the main square, but Graham assured me they’d soon be replaced by a fresh batch of paranormal enthusiasts for the second weekend of the festival.
Penelope cleared her throat. “Well, I might as well say what I came to say. I wanted to apologize to you, Ms. Clair. I treated you harshly without taking the time to get to you know you.” She paused. “I misjudged you.”
I stared at her. Her gray eyes were bright and sincere. “Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate that. And I’m sorry for trying to punch you the other day.”
She cracked a smile. “I think I deserved it. I wouldn’t have stood for anyone saying things like that about my mother, either.”
I sank back into the wooden folding chair, and Penelope’s posture relaxed. Apologizing to her had been easier than I ever would’ve imagined.
“So what are you going to do now?” I asked. “Will you be keeping the diner and the motel open?”
Penelope sipped her latte. Her gaze was thoughtful. “They were never my passions. I think I’ll sell them to someone who will give them the attention they need. I want to focus on increasing tourism to Donn’s Hill. We have a great town here. I want to make sure we’re known for the good things, and not just what my husband was involved in.”
She said it in a straightforward way that took me aback. It was as though she was talking about a mosquito problem, not her dead husband’s criminal enterprises and his eventual murder.
“How about you?” she asked. “Will you be staying in Donn’s Hill?”
The question was in stark contrast to the demand she’d issued in the basement of City Hall that I “get out of town.” And it wasn’t something I’d asked myself, other than the night I’d fought with Kit on the way home from the cabin and started packing in a rage. To me, it wasn’t a question at all. I was already building a life here. I had Kit, Graham, and most of all, Striker. I hugged her to my chest and breathed in her fur. As always, it smelled faintly of floral perfume.
“Of course,” I told Penelope. “This is home.”
Thank you for reading Donn’s Hill! I sincerely hope you enjoyed getting to know Mac and Striker. If you did, I would deeply appreciate a short review on Amazon, Goodreads, or your favorite book website. Reviews are crucial for any author, and even a line or two can help another reader discover this story.
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost, to my husband Kelly: thank you. I couldn’t have written this without your love, support, and eagerness to listen to each chapter as I got it down. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to my parents for believing in my writing since my first short story, for reading an unfinished first draft Donn’s Hill and encouraging me to get to the end, and for helping me pay for my very first editor.
To my beta readers Brandy, Carrie, Rachel, Robyn, Sarah, and Shannon: thank you for your willingness to read this story and give me such constructive feedback. You helped me believe in myself. And thank you to Angela and Kelley for your early edits. You made me brave enough to query, which is no small feat.
Thank you, Mom, for helping me navigate the road to making sure the futures of this book and this series are secure. And I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Jerry McPhee for his guidance and counsel during that process (and for sharing some excellent Hennessey; I didn’t know I was a high-class gal until I tasted good cognac for the first time).
Last but certainly not least, to all my family, friends, and fellow League of Utah Writers members who sent me love and encouragement during the long query and publication process, and who celebrated with me when this book finally became a reality: thank you. I can never fully express how much your support means to me.
About the Author
Caryn Larrinaga is an award-winning mystery, horror, and urban fantasy writer. Her debut novel, Donn’s Hill, was awarded the League of Utah Writers 2017 Silver Quill in the adult novel category and was a 2017 Dragon Award finalist.
Watching scary movies through split fingers terrified Caryn as a child, and those nightmares inspire her to write now. Her 90-year-old house has a colorful history, and the creaking walls and narrow hallways send her running (never walking) up the stairs. Exploring her fears through writing makes Caryn feel a little less foolish for wanting a buddy to accompany her into the tool shed.
Caryn lives near Salt Lake City, Utah, with her husband and their clowder of cats. Visit www.carynlarrinaga.com for free short fiction and true tales of haunted places.
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