by Cindy Stark
HIJACKED HONEYMOON
Teas & Temptations Mysteries
Book Ten
By Cindy Stark
www.cindystark.com
Hijacked Honeymoon © 2020 C. Nielsen
Cover Design by Kelli Ann Morgan
Inspire Creative Services
All rights reserved
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Welcome to Stonebridge, Massachusetts
Welcome to Stonebridge, a small town in Massachusetts where the label “witch” is just as dangerous now as it was in 1692. From a distance, most would say the folks in Stonebridge are about the friendliest around. But a dark and disturbing history is the backbone that continues to haunt citizens of this quaint town where many have secrets they never intend to reveal.
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DISCLAIMER:
All spells in this book are purely fictional and for fun.
Prologue
The light from Olive Beauregard’s lamp burned bright at six-thirty that morning in Sandpiper Bay’s small newspaper office. Olive tapped away on her laptop, her fingers moving in rapid succession. Clicking sounds echoed throughout the otherwise unoccupied space and filled her soul.
Olive paused, reread the most recent lines, and shook her head. Letter by letter, she deleted the entire last paragraph. “That won’t do,” she muttered.
She’d worked for the town’s paper for the past twenty-five years, and now finally, finally, she’d struck gold. Folks would be shocked when they read her article. Shocked. They’d be talking about it for days. Talking to her about it for days.
This could be the pinnacle of her career.
Or, perhaps it would catapult her into a better job. A syndicated columnist, maybe. After all, the target of her story was a former semi-famous figure who was hiding out in their small Southern Maine town, going by a completely different name.
And she’d discovered why.
She had to get her story just right.
Another streak of excitement whipped through her. She took a breath and forced herself to concentrate. If she didn’t, she’d never finish and be able to reap her most-deserved rewards.
The office door creaked. Olive startled and looked up.
Immediately, her hackles rose. Madeline Martin, her biggest rival in every way, stood in the doorway holding a fancy travel mug.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Olive asked with a hefty dose of annoyance. “I’m in the middle of a remarkable piece and don’t have time for your nonsense.”
Madeline was quite a few years older than she was, but she had the money to pay others to make her look younger. In her younger years, she’d also done a short stint at the newspaper until her wealthy late husband stole her away. In Olive’s opinion, the woman should act her age, retire to her big old house, and mind her business.
But Madeline had a sweetness that everyone loved, something Olive would never understand, and Madeline always seemed to be in the middle of everything important or interesting. The last person to write an article about her contributions to Sandpiper Bay had quoted Alfred Lord Tennyson and said the woman saw the vision of the world and all the wonder that could be.
Olive really hated her for that.
For Olive, there was no time for kindness and understanding when the truth was at hand. A sacrifice she was willing to make, and someday soon, others would respect her work.
Madeline lifted an interested brow. “Remarkable, you say?”
Olive gave her a smug smile. If the woman had to interrupt her, then Olive might as well enjoy it. “Yes, actually. I have unflattering, you might say even criminal details on someone important in town. You’re not going to believe it when you read it.”
Madeline strode closer. “Who? What have you learned?”
Olive chuckled and closed her laptop so that Madeline couldn’t see a word. “Sorry, but you’ll have to wait like the rest of the town.”
She knew that would bug Madeline, and sure enough, the older woman’s features twisted with irritation. Olive had honed her button-pushing skills to a fine art. It often came in handy in her line of work.
Madeline huffed in disgust. “Whatever. I’m sure it will be subpar like the rest of your stories.”
Olive only grinned. Madeline would be singing a different tune when the frontline piece came out.
Madeline strode forward and set the sparkly blue travel mug on her desk. “This is for you.”
Olive responded with raised brows. “You brought me a mug?”
Madeline rolled her eyes. “There’s coffee in it, too. But I’m only the delivery person. A favor for Spencer. He and I were sitting at breakfast this morning. Your sister came in and paused to say hello. In passing conversation, she let us know that it was your birthday.”
Olive recognized the barb and narrowed her eyes. She knew very well that Spencer and Madeline weren’t having breakfast together. Sandpiper Bay was a small village with a limited number of restaurants. They’d just happened to be there at the same time. She was sure. “How sweet. Spencer is taking me to dinner in Wells tonight.”
It was a lie, but Olive was sure he would if she asked. He doted on her. She only hoped he didn’t try to propose again.
“Isn’t that nice?” Madeline responded with enough sugar to choke a person.
Olive smiled. “It is.”
Madeline flicked dismissive fingers. “Anyway, the mug is from your sister, and the coffee inside is from Spencer. He told Vera he would deliver the mug for her, but then at the last minute, he received a call. So, of course, being the generous person that I am, I offered to help him out.”
Or, Madeline had jumped at the chance to rub it in Olive’s face that she’d had coffee with her man. “Thank you, Madeline. What a lovely birthday surprise. I’m so spoiled by the people who love me.”
Olive lifted the cup and took a sip. “Mmm. Spencer knows just how I like it.”
Madeline stiffened, proof that Olive had achieved her goal. “Well, happy birthday, Olive. I hope you enjoy it. I need to be on my way. You’re not the only one with important things to do.”
She offered her a huge smile. “Of course. Now, off you go.”
Madeline released an exasperated breath, turned, and strode from the office.
Olive lifted her cup for another drink of the divine coffee and reread what she’d written so far. This might very well
be her best birthday ever.
A short time later, her chest tightened, and she struggled to inhale enough air. Terror consumed her with each fruitless breath. She clutched at her throat, and dizziness sent the room spinning.
Her head fell onto the keys of the laptop, and strings of letters filled the line. And then another. And another. By the time her office mates arrived and discovered her, she might well have written a novel.
One
Distant, dark clouds rode low in the sky, and a shiver of apprehension skittered through Hazel Parrish like mice at midnight in her great grandmother’s long-ago kitchen. Peter and she were on the road, driving to his great aunt’s house in lower Maine for a honeymoon retreat. It should have been a lovely Sunday drive, but something didn’t feel right.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t place her finger on what exactly was off.
She glanced toward her handsome husband, the police chief of their small town in Massachusetts, and took comfort from his presence. “Think it will storm while we’re there?”
He smiled but didn’t look at her. “They’ve had their third winter. If anything, it’ll be rain.”
His interesting reference to Maine’s late-spring storms briefly interrupted the tension brewing inside her, but not for long. She wished she could will her fears away, but that wasn’t happening.
When Peter had relayed the invitation to visit his grandmother’s sister at her seaside estate, Hazel had been apprehensive. Who wouldn’t be after the way Peter’s mother had reacted when she’d learned of the ancient witch’s blood running through Hazel’s veins?
But Peter had insisted his mom and his great aunt had a falling out years ago and didn’t speak to each other any longer. Aunt Madeline couldn’t know Hazel was a witch, wouldn’t care anyway, he’d said. His aunt only knew what Peter had told her about his love and her teashop, and she was crazy excited to meet Hazel.
With that reassurance, Hazel had agreed to go. After all, it had sounded like a wonderful break after the wintertime madness that had ensued in Stonebridge since she’d been outed as a witch. Most citizens in town seemed to have accepted her heritage, but there were those troublesome few.
Now, though, Hazel worried the brewing storm might be an omen for the next few days of their lives. Or perhaps even longer. She wound a loose auburn curl around her finger and pondered a multitude of unpleasant scenarios, not caring if her actions frizzed her hair.
If she concentrated hard enough, she might discover the source of her unease.
The car thumped as it hit a rough spot in the road, jarring Hazel’s head against her seat, and it stoked the flames of her fears. “Son of a crunchy biscuit.”
She shot an unhappy look in her husband’s direction. “What was that?”
Peter sent her a brief look of apology. “Sorry.”
She frowned. Her anxiety left her unsatisfied with his one-word response. “You need to be more careful. We can’t afford to replace my car anytime soon.”
He thumbed over his shoulder. “That stupid pothole came out of nowhere.”
He’d told her several times over that Maine was notorious for large potholes, but if it was as big as it had sounded, he should have seen it long before he’d plunged her car into it. “Were you watching the road?”
He slid an annoyed look in her direction. “Yes. I was. The clouds are playing tricks with the road’s surface. The hole looked like a mirage until I was right on top of it.”
Hazel shifted her gaze to the white clouds dancing directly above them and was reminded of a time when her magic had punched a hole in an angry metal-gray sky to let the sun through. It had literally saved her life.
She shuddered and willed the thought away.
“Hey,” Peter said, catching her attention. “Stop worrying. This trip is going to be fine. You’ll fall in love with Sandpiper Bay and Aunt Madeline. I promise.”
Hazel ignored his comment about worrying, not wanting to own up to the fact that she was, indeed, fretting.
Instead, she did her best to give him a relaxed smile. “Just so you know, this trip doesn’t cancel out the Barbados honeymoon that you promised me.”
Peter flashed devastating green eyes in her direction, and a smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. “Never said it did.”
“Just wanted to make sure, because your aunt offered this trip as a honeymoon,” she countered.
“Her words, not mine. I see it as a get-away that we both need until we can take our official trip.”
She shifted in her seat and resisted folding her arms as if that might stave off her uncertainty. It didn’t help that she’d overheard a recent phone call between Peter and his mother where she’d warned him not to have children.
Hazel worked to settle her emotions. Maybe meeting his aunt was the cause of her apprehension. “It’s hard not to be a little nervous.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “You’ll like Aunt Madeline, and she’ll like you. Promise. Besides the fact that she and my mother basically hate each other, she married into the family long after all that witch nonsense. She isn’t stuck in a 1690 time-warp like Stonebridge is. And, she’s a very busy lady. Very involved in town activities. I doubt we’ll see much of her, anyway.”
Despite how many times Peter had repeated the same words, the truth of it wouldn’t sink into her bones. Still, she was willing to give things a chance. If circumstances were truly horrible, she was sure Peter would insist that they leave.
Perhaps Peter and she would have exactly what he’d described, an escape from the real world where they had nothing to worry about except a springtime storm crashing along the Eastern Seaboard. Besides, she always did like to witness Mother Earth’s epic displays of energy.
As long as no one was hurt, of course.
Hazel exhaled and did her best to live in the moment. She focused on the road ahead as the black pavement wound through forested areas that soon gave way to white-washed houses and old barns. Cows and the occasional horse dotted bright green fields, but ultimately the road would lead them back into another expanse of thick trees.
She hadn’t traveled to Maine before, and she found the area almost as charming as Stonebridge. Old churches with steeples reaching for the sky looked as though they’d survived a hundred years or more. Generations had come before her and lived during the birth of her country, and more would come after. History here had very deep roots. Some good, some bad, but noteworthy all the same.
Peter slowed as they reached a tight curve, and then another. The trees thinned, and a view of the Atlantic Ocean opened before them.
Hazel focused on the waves that rolled toward craggy shores. The energy from them must be incredible. “Could we stop for a minute and stretch our legs?”
“We’re almost there.”
She didn’t think her nerves would survive much longer. “Just for a bit?” she pressed.
Peter slowed the car and turned on the blinker. A minute later, he stopped.
Hazel was out the door before he had a chance to open it for her. Crisp spring air whipped around her, and she filled her lungs. Her body appreciated the stretch, and the gorgeous landscape gave her something else to think about.
Several quick steps led her off the edge of the pavement to the rocky sand, bushes, and boulders that separated her from the sea. Peter sidled in beside her and took her hand, sending the familiar rush of their connection through her.
Pines dotted the rugged landscape around them. Water crashed against weather-worn rocks and sent waves of potent energy tumbling toward them. “Magnificent,” she whispered.
Peter squeezed her hand tighter. “Isn’t it? Even though we’re not far from my aunt’s now, my parents sometimes stopped here to admire the view before they dumped me at her house for the summer.”
Hazel reluctantly looked away from the gorgeous scenery to her husband. “Is your aunt’s where you learned to make peanut butter and pickle sandwiches?”
He grinned.
&
nbsp; But, really, she wanted to know. “You never talk about your parents much or any of your childhood.”
He shrugged. “Most of the time, it seems like another life. I’ve never had a great relationship with my parents, and we all seem happier the less we see of each other.”
She nodded. “I’d still like to know more.”
A light chuckle rumbled from inside him, and he smiled. “I’m sure my aunt will be more than happy to fill you in while we’re there.”
She frowned. “I thought you said we wouldn’t see much of her.”
He tilted his head from side to side. “She’s a busy woman, but she’ll likely want to have dinner with us one of the nights.”
“You’re sure she doesn’t know I’m a witch?” she asked tentatively.
“Hazel,” he said, capturing her full attention. “Since when did you become such a worrywart?”
Since she’d almost lost her life to a witch hater.
Still, he was right. She was usually a woman of action instead of worrying about things she couldn’t control. She would do her best to charm Aunt Madeline until the older lady couldn’t help but like her. She’d already done that in Stonebridge, after all.
Hazel supposed she could handle that for a short time. She’d become an expert at hiding her heritage and making friends. Still, now that all her friends and neighbors knew, she resented having to go back into hiding.
“I’ll stop worrying. This will be fine.”
Especially if their time together allowed her to learn more about the man she’d fallen deeply in love with.
He agreed with a nod, and they headed back to the car.
Fifteen minutes later, Peter slowed as they neared one of the lanes leading off the main road, and he turned toward the ocean. The narrow road took them through a wooded area that eventually opened to reveal a side view of a large, white colonial home, complete with columns and a wrap-around porch.
