by CeeCee James
Deadly Reservation
CeeCee James
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Copyright © 2017 by CeeCee James
*All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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For my Family— love you bunches!
Chapter 1
It’s not every day one sees a dead body. Specifically, one wearing a gown, with flowing blonde hair entwined with white flowers, and a bouquet held between two pale clasped hands.
I stood before her prone shape, my mouth hanging open, as I fumbled for my cell phone to call for help—the elusive phone slipping through my fingers in the abyss I call my purse.
Maybe she’s faking it? My internal voice tried to convince me that there might be a hidden camera around somewhere.
Maisie. Shut up and get your phone. Finally, I got a grip on it and dialed 911.
“911. How can I assist you?”
“I found a body, a woman,” I whispered. “She’s not moving.”
“Where are you located?”
“I’m at the abandoned Holy King Church. Behind it, at the creek. She’s … uh … she’s out in the water, on a slab of rock.”
The operator’s voice was impersonal. “We’re sending help now.”
My day had started much differently. It had begun with Momma cooking eggs in the suite we share at the Oceanside Hotel. I am the manager of the establishment—and I love my job. There is nothing more satisfying than seeing my hotel consistently listed on the most recommended places to stay and knowing I had something to do with it.
The job is demanding that’s for sure. Being a five-star hotel, we cater explicitly to the guests’ wishes. Most are fairly mundane, wanting us to hunt down tickets to special events, find an expensive wine, or obtain catered room service from one of the most elite restaurants.
Occasionally we get a doozy of a request—a helicopter wedding, or enough snow to make a snowman—real fun in the blistering heat of Florida. But I’ve always found a way to make it happen. I have prided myself on that. Once, I even helped a woman give birth—little Samuel at six pounds eight ounces arrived in her room before the ambulance—but, generally, the day-to-day life is busy but repetitive.
Busy enough that when I get a rare day off, I enjoy every minute of it. Today was my first one off in six days. After my morning eggs, and a quick jaunt to the hotel’s dog park for our basset hound, Bingo, I hid away in my bedroom and dove into writing.
That is my other secret love. I am a mystery writer.
Today, I’d planned a little reconnaissance trip. I’d recently heard of an archaic church through a tour guide who plotted out a trip for one of the hotel’s guests.
The abandoned church was the focus of a lot of folklore and history I was excited to explore. Even though I’d been working at the hotel for several months, I was still new to the area. The church was on the outskirts of town, but apparently hidden away enough that one had to look for it.
After finishing my chapter, I grabbed a pad, pen, bottled water, kissed Momma goodbye, and I was off. A full day out of high heels and in tennis shoes with no one calling my name. Sounded like heaven.
As I headed out, I told my front desk clerk, Clarissa, where I was going.
Her face turned white. “You be careful, Ms. Swenson. No one goes out there.”
“I’ll be careful,” I assured her.
Clarissa looked at me as though I were crazy. “Why would you want to go to that place, anyway? It’s not safe.”
“Why isn’t it safe? I sent some of our guests out there just last month.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You did not!”
“Yeah! A tourist guide recommended it.”
“Well, that guide must be new because everyone around here knows you stay far away from that church. Not to mention, I heard some rowdy people camp out there, sometimes.”
I studied her, trying to decide if I was being punked. Clarissa was in her early twenties, and just as sweet as could be. She was blonde and so short she could barely see over the computer monitor. She’d never given me any trouble before; in fact, she was one of my favorite employees.
“You’re serious?” I asked her.
Clarissa nodded, her eyes rounding like eggs. “It’s haunted,” she whispered. Her cheeks pinked up after those words, and a smile flickered across her face as if she knew that sounded foolish. Then her serious expression reappeared. “I know it sounds crazy, but it really is.”
Shaking my head, I waved goodbye and headed out, with high expectations of some good inspiration. The directions on my cell phone took me through downtown, past the industrial buildings, and out where the vegetation started to grow wild again. I got turned around a few times. But, finally, I found the church. I glanced one last time at the directions and drove down the shaded, overgrown driveway.
Ferns swept along my car’s sides in their attempt to take back the land. Spanish moss dripped from the trees, whose canopies choked out much of the sunlight. Rolling my windows down, I felt that the temperature was slightly cooler.
The driveway turned, and now the main road was out of sight behind me. I glanced at the Greenbrier vines that only grew in marshy swamps. Sheesh. How close is the water? There might be ‘gators back here.
The driveway ended unceremoniously at the church’s crumbling stone steps. I ducked to be able to see the spire through the top of the windshield and shivered with excited anticipation. The church was every bit as spooky and delightful as I’d expected.
The building was small, nothing like a modern church building. Just a single story and made from clay tile and stone, and it brought forth images of mystery and romance.
After shoving my stuff into my suitcase of a purse, I climbed from the car and looked around. The ocean was close. I could hear the waves making a comforting swoosh in the background. The cyprus and palmettos created a varicolored green buffer. Slinging the strap over my shoulder, I walked toward the stairs.
Chunks of brick and debris poked out of the grass, reminding me that the church was over two hundred years old. I took a deep breath. You ready for this? The stone steps listed to one side. I walked up them carefully and grabbed my purse tighter as a pebble rolled under my foot.
The front door was enough to make me smile, or cry, I couldn’t decide which. Crafted from wood with blackened iron hinges, the door held a magic like it had been removed from a fairy tale castle. The handle was a smooth, forged piece of curved metal. I wondered how many people had tugged on it. My imagination saw ladies in corsets and pirates in rags.
The pirate image wasn’t as crazy as it sounded. The story that Clarissa had hinted at earlier had such a pairing. The tour guide had told me there was a legend about a woman of wealth and a man of the salt and sea that had secretly met in the bell tower to whisper vows.
Very ro
mantic. I pulled the door, surprised at how heavy it felt. After I had slipped inside, it shut behind me with a solid thunk. I jumped, and my footfalls immediately became lighter as the tiniest sound echoed in the building. I could see why there were local ghost stories about this place.
The sanctuary was empty, except for a stone altar near the back wall. A cross, carved from the same material, was mounted on the wall. The ocean waves could be heard clearly inside here.
There was no glass in the windows. They had long ago been knocked out by thieves or hurricanes.
An empty doorway at the back of the room beckoned. I remembered the guide saying there was a creek behind the building. From overhead came a soft flurry of noise, maybe birds being disturbed by my presence. At least, that’s what I was telling myself. Feeling a little too spooked, I hurried through.
Behind the building was more overgrown vegetation. I wouldn’t have gone any farther—alligators came to mind—except I saw a brick path. Curiosity filled me, and I followed it down an embankment to where it ended at the spring.
Here, there was more sunlight because the creek had cut a swath through the flora in its own watery battle to reclaim land. The water flowed from a pool at the entrance of a cave.
I slid down the bank and grabbed at a small bush to keep me from tumbling into the water. Slipping a little on the muddy edge, I peered in to examine the cave.
Cold air rushed from the cave’s entrance. The water was crystal clear, but I couldn’t see the bottom. I knew from the story that the pool was a good thirty feet deep.
The walls of the cave reminded me of the story of the forty thieves. And, if the local tales were true, then there was pirate treasure sunken in those depths, too, somewhere. But, diving was not on my agenda today.
The sun was hot on my head, causing little bursts of light to glint off the water’s surface. Stones, worn from centuries of rain and wind, lined the edge of the creek. I recognized them. The same stone, speckled with metallic glints and tiny crushed shells, had been used in the construction of the old church.
I crouched and glided my hand over the icy water. A tickle of delight rose in my chest at how cold and crisp it felt, especially knowing how close the beach was.
How interesting that this was the place used by the forbidden lovers.
I settled down on a warm, flat-topped rock and pulled out my pen and paper. The quiet hush of the leaves shifting together, and the many insects buzzing about kept me company.
As I soaked in the atmosphere of the place, my protagonist came to life. I could almost see her, my main character, walking down that path over there. A lovely young woman in her early twenties, her dress lightly pushing back the ferns and reeds.
I smiled and started writing. I filled page after page as fast as I could, not bothering with misspelled words or perfect handwriting. I just needed to get the story out of my head and alive on the paper.
I don’t know how long it was until I finally took a breather. I grabbed my water bottle and took a long drink, looking out into the creek.
The ripples seemed to sing to me in their own burbles and sighs. I followed the water with my eyes for as long as I could see, until it disappeared in the green light around the bend.
It felt like magic. Maybe being in this place just now, writing, extracted something from my childhood fancies; suddenly, I felt like anything was possible. I stood and gathered my things back into my purse and then carefully headed to the left along the creek.
The muddy bank made walking treacherous. It was the first time I had seen evidence of humans because there were footprints in the mud. I added my own trail of smeary steps to the mix. Several times, I had to grab at some poor bush or another to keep my balance.
The creek widened as I approached the bend, and it became shallower, but greener, as it reflected the thick canopy that swelled overhead. Slowly, I rounded the corner.
I froze.
Out in the center of the creek was a flat boulder. And lying upon it was a woman dressed in white.
I looked around, wondering if I’d unwittingly stumbled onto a photo shoot. Who else is here? What’s happening? I glanced all around and then back at the girl. She seemed to have not heard me approach and hadn’t moved.
I started to turn around and go back, not wanting to disturb her, when something prickled my sense of fear. She was white, awfully white. And not just the dress.
Watching my footing so close to the creek’s edge, I moved closer. When I was directly across from her, I stopped again.
The water rushed quickly here, being forced to part in two ways at the giant stone in the center. The woman’s eyes remained closed, with her hair spread out across the granite’s surface like a silky blonde curtain. In her hands was a bouquet of white flowers. The same flowers and vines were entwined throughout her hair.
What should have been a beautiful scene out of a fairy tale was now creepy. Beyond creepy. The young woman’s face appeared almost serene as she lay frozen. I rubbed my hands along my arms, suddenly deciding that I had to call out to her, whether I disturbed her or not.
“Hello?” I yelled, wincing a bit at the jarring sound of my voice.
She didn’t move.
“Hello? Miss? I’m sorry to bother you!” I yelled again.
She lay as though she were also made of stone, carved out of the slab beneath her. I swelled my lungs for one last shout when I saw something that took my breath away.
Flies buzzed about her face.
I covered my mouth with horror and squeezed my eyes shut. Turning, I started to scramble for my phone, tears filling my eyes.
Chapter 2
The ambulance arrived about ten minutes after I made it back to my car. I barely remember the return trip, I was so shaken. I’d paced along the front of the church until I finally heard the sirens and had to resist hugging the first paramedic in relief when he approached. He was young, in his twenties, and carried a medical bag.
“Are you the one that called?” he asked.
I nodded and crossed my arms tightly in front of me, trying to stop the trembling.
He looked me over quickly, I think to assess whether it was me who needed the treatment. Satisfied that I was okay, he continued, “Can you tell us where you found the victim?”
“She’s down through there.” I pointed at the church.
“She’s in the church?” He spun toward the building and then back at me confused.
I shook my head as the sudden realization hit me that I would have to go with them to show them the way. “It’s through the church and down a little ways along a stream.”
The second paramedic joined us carrying a stretcher. My gaze flicked between them. “You may need some rope. I’m not sure. She’s lying out on a rock in the river.”
The two men conferred and just then the sheriff showed up. He got out of his car, a big man with a belt cinched tightly at his waist. I wasn’t sure how he’d manage the path along the creek, but there was no time to think about that. The first paramedic asked me to lead the way.
This second trip along the creek wasn’t nearly so magical. My heart squeezed tightly inside my chest. I didn’t want to see her again.
The girl lay just as still as when I first saw her. Without wasting a second, the three men splashed their way out to the rock with the stretcher. I saw the first paramedic lean over to check her neck for a pulse.
“She’s alive!” he shouted.
Immediately, the energy in the air changed. With a grunt, the three men lifted her onto the stretcher and strapped her securely to it. Then they carried her back across.
The river bank was even more slippery with our repeated trips up and down. The men slipped, and the young woman shifted hard against the straps. They worked to balance her. The sheriff quietly swore as his shoe got stuck in the mud.
I followed, still in shock that the woman was alive. Without saying a word, I watched as they gently loaded her into the back of the ambulance.
The first paramedic and the sheriff came over to me. “We're taking her to Overlake Medical. You didn’t see what happened? Anything at all that might help us?”
I shook my head. I felt so helpless.
“No one around when you got here?” the paramedic continued. “Even if you think it means nothing, it could really help us.”
“No. There was no one here,” I answered.
The paramedic returned to the ambulance as the sheriff pulled out a pad of paper. He took my name and number.
“And, what exactly were you doing here?” The sheriff pointed to the sign on the tree. “It says private property.”
I blushed. I hadn’t seen the sign when I’d pulled up. “Honestly, I’d heard about this place and just wanted to see it for myself. I was just walking along, kind of exploring when I stumbled across her.”
“She definitely was off the beaten path. Awfully lucky that you came along.”
I nodded, not wanting to think about her being out here alone at night. Wild animals and exposure alone could have ended her life. The poor girl was young and pretty. What had happened to her? And what about those flowers and dress? It was like something out of a Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“What was it that happened to her? Drugs?” I asked.
The sheriff glanced down at his mud-covered shoe with a frown. He scraped it against the grass. “I have no idea. They’ll figure it out.” Then, making eye contact with me, “I’ll be in touch, Ms. Swenson.”
As I watched both the ambulance and sheriff leave, I stood next to my car with a feeling of dread. Momma is going to freak out when I tell her.
I glanced at the old stairs. Just a few hours ago, this place held such magical promise. Now, it seemed a true death trap. I shivered and turned to get into my car.
It was then that I saw it. Just a white flash among the tall grass encroaching the old road. It was close to where the ambulance had been parked. I almost dismissed it as a flower—maybe even one that had fallen from the girl’s hair—but something impelled me to walk over. I brushed aside the grass with my shoe.
