Uncharted Territory (An Angela Panther Mystery Book 3)
Page 1
Praise for
Unfinished Business
An Angela Panther Novel
"I laughed and I cried…and laughed…and cried… throughout the entire book! This book was so real (yes even with the heroine seeing her mother's ghost) and the emotion in it will stay with me for a long, long time!"
—Joe Cool Review
"It definitely touched a chord with anyone who has ever lost a loved one. The writing was strong and the dialogue—which many people simply cannot write—was terrific."
—Christie Giraud, editor, Editingpro.com
"What a fantastic read! I couldn't put it down! I had to keep reading just to see what twist life was going throw out at Angela next!"
—Chicklit Plus
"The author has a great sense of humor, even about death, but when the story called for it, she was reverent and empathetic in the way her characters handled each other."
—Caroline Fardig, Bestselling Autho
of It's Just a Little Crush
Praise for
Unbreakable Bonds
An Angela Panther Novel
"This story is absolutely rammed with fun, happiness, anger, stupid decisions and a fair amount of rocks!! I think this diversity is actually part of the magic that Carolyn Ridder Aspenson brings to her books. I find it hard to get my hands on books that can pull on every single heartstring and laughter muscle you have like hers."
—Noemie Verlan, BestChickLit.com
"Unbreakable Bonds is wonderfully written, witty and laugh out loud funny."
—Lynn Shaw, Two Girls and a Book
"Angela is a character that all women can relate to, and all of us want to have a friend like Mel. You will not go wrong in choosing these books to read, but you will find yourself haunting Amazon until the next one comes out!"
—Tamara Hatch via Amazon.com
"Unbreakable Bonds was one of those books I couldn’t put down. The dialogue was snappy, the characters were real, and the plot was perfectly crafted. This was a great follow-up to Unfinished Business, and Carolyn Ridder Aspenson’s writing just keeps getting better and better."
—Caroline Fardig, Bestselling Author
of It's Just a Little Crush
UNCHARTED TERRITORY
AN ANGELA PANTHER NOVEL
CAROLYN RIDDER ASPENSON
Booktrope Editions
Seattle, WA 2015
COPYRIGHT 2015 CAROLYN RIDDER ASPENSON
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Inquiries about additional permissions
should be directed to: info@booktrope.com
Cover Design by Tatiana Vila
Uncharted Territory is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental, except for the ones that aren't, and those people, they know who they are.
PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-694-0
EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-705-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015900936
Table of Contents
COVER
PRAISE FOR UNFINISHED BUSINESS
PRAISE FOR UNBREAKABLE BONDS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR
PREVIEW OF THE INN AT LAUREL CREEK
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MORE FROM CAROLYN RIDDER ASPENSON AND BOOKTROPE
For my mother,
Rita D. (Palanca) Ridder
And my father,
Richard L. Ridder
Always in my heart
CHAPTER ONE
PSYCHIC MEDIUMS DON'T LIKE HOSPITALS. For us, hospitals are like shopping malls on Black Friday—overcrowded with people on a mission. Only in the hospital the people are dead. Since I'd grown to appreciate and accept my psychic gift I'd learned to despise hospitals. Forget the white, sterile walls, the incessant beeping of machines, or even the bland colored scrubs too big or too small on everyone who wore them, and a total fashion mistake if you asked me. None of that mattered to me because I was too focused on dodging the dead. It wasn't that I didn't want to help them. There were just so many one psychic medium could handle.
In recent months word about my gift made its rounds in the in-between—the place between our world and the afterlife, and I'd become a popular gal on the hospital circuit. The dead needed my help and flooded the hospital halls, vying for my attention by hovering near, and asking me questions.
"Are you her?"
"Is this Heaven?"
"The dog ate my life insurance policy two months before I died."
"The money for my funeral is in my sock drawer, inside the brown socks with the blue whales on them. I hate those socks, tell Marge to burn them but only after she gets the money."
"I need to get a message to my husband."
"Tell them not to bury me in the pink dress. I always hated that damn pink dress."
Frankly, it could be a real pain in the butt, but mostly it was just overwhelming and depressing. Yep, I hated hospitals. So when Detective Aaron Banner asked me to meet him at the front entrance to Powers Ferry Medical Center I hesitated, but since I'm a glutton for punishment and had unofficially signed on to help him when he needed me, I did it anyway.
I stood outside the front entrance, slowly pulling air in through my nose and blowing it out through my mouth. It's what I did after a good, hard run to slow my heart rate, and it was good for calming my nerves, too. And I needed to be calm for when the sudden onslaught of spirits begging for help bombarded me on the other side of the hospital doors.
Aaron kept a watchful, detective's eye on me as I went through the motions of my calming routine. He stayed back knowing not to interfere for fear of messing up my juju. He'd become familiar with my quirks and me over the few months we'd worked together and knew the drill well. Plus, I think it creeped him out a little, watching me imitate a woman in labor. When I finished I nodded, my signal to him that I was as calm and prepared as I could get. I wasn't actually calm, but I wasn't going to have an anxiety attack, either.
Brow furrowed, Aaron stood on the mat, holding the electronic door open for me. "Thanks for coming."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world." I patted him on the shoulder. "Seriously, I hope I can help."
We walked inside together, and in a flash the smell of bleach cleaner engulfed my nasal passages. I rubbed my nose, hoping to stop the scent from sticking. "Yuck."
"I hate the bleach," Aaron said. "It actually burns my eyes. If I could walk around with them
closed, I would."
"Me too, but for a totally different reason."
The dead were everywhere. Hovering beside me, floating above me, and following behind me were spirits in all shapes and sizes, of all races, both genders and a plethora of ages. The hall buzzed with energy, so much so I couldn't tell what was what. I became dizzy and stopped, leaning against the main desk to gather my composure.
"You okay?" Aaron's face showed genuine concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I bent toward his ear. "This place is full of spirits."
His head rotated from one side to the other. "If you say so."
I straightened my arms out in front of me and clasped my hands together, stretching out my shoulder blades. "I'm fine. Let's get this over with."
We continued walking toward the elevators as a spirit hovering to my left jabbered incessantly in my ear.
"She needs the keys. Tell her they're in the basement on my workbench, under the Playboy magazine. The one with the twins in the centerfold. She'll never forgive me if she doesn't find the keys, and boy she'll be mad when she sees the magazine. I've hidden them down there for years because she never goes down there. Please, can you tell her?"
"Where is she?"
Aaron slanted his head to the right, but didn't speak.
The spirit pointed to a gray-haired woman sitting alone on the bench across from the entrance.
I held my index finger up to Aaron. "Gimme a sec, okay?"
He nodded.
The spirit and I walked over to the woman. It seemed like she was staring right through me, her eyes not focused on anything in particular. I crouched down in front of her, my eyes meeting hers. "Hi, my name is Angela. I'm supposed to tell you that…" I glanced at the spirit. "What's your name?"
"Harvey. I'm her husband."
"Got it."
I turned back to the woman. She still had the lost expression on her face. "Harvey wanted me to tell you that you'll find the keys on his workbench in the basement, under the Playboy magazine with the twins in the centerfold."
That got her attention. "My Harvey? What keys?"
I peered up at Harvey, who hovered upright. "What are the keys for?"
"The safe. It's got my life insurance policy and some money in it. Tell her I'm sorry about the Playboy."
"Harvey said the keys are to the safe and there's money and a life insurance policy in there for you."
The woman was dazed, and I didn't know if what I'd said sunk in. "Are you alone? Can I call someone for you?"
"I see him, you know. That's him, right there." She pointed to Harvey.
I glanced at Harvey, who shrugged.
I'd never experienced anyone other than a child see a spirit with me, so I wasn't sure what to say. "Oh, well…"
The woman's eyes widened and her mouth opened, but before she could speak, her head dropped forward.
"Ma'am?"
"Mary," Harvey said. "Is that you?"
Harvey's wife's spirit hovered next to his.
"Well, crap." I flipped around and yelled to Aaron, "I think this woman just died, get a doctor!"
A nurse at the desk heard me and ran over. Three other nurses followed and within seconds I was pushed aside while they worked on Mary.
"It's not gonna work," I told Aaron. "She's already gone."
"Gone?"
I nodded. "She and her husband just shimmered away."
"Jesus. You okay?"
I shook my shoulders. "I'm fine. Let's go."
We headed to the elevator again, followed by spirits and yet another one begged for my attention.
I grabbed Aaron's shoulders. "Gimme a sec, and work with me on this, okay?"
He wrinkled his nose. "Are you going to do that thing you do?"
I nodded. "You ready?"
He tipped his head down. "Ready."
I dropped my hands and focused on Aaron's face. "Okay, here's how this works. I'm here to help this guy." I pointed to Aaron's chest. "You know, the living one. All of you other people are dead, in case you didn't already know that."
Aaron tweaked his head to the left, and groaned. I ignored him.
"If you didn't, well, now you do." I pointed to the ceiling. "See that light up there?"
"What light?" a man in a hospital gown tied in the front, said. He was probably going to need some help, at least with the proper way to wear the gown because he was naked underneath it and I got a shot of something I had no desire to see.
"That's a bright light, ain't it?" another spirit asked. "Where'd that come from?"
A male spirit in a beat-up leather jacket and ripped jeans spoke. "That light's got nothing for me. I'm stayin' here."
That one stared me straight in the eye and then shimmered away. I shuddered, thinking he might be one to stay away from.
"But I didn't get to see the end of my show," a little old lady in a red robe and fuzzy green slippers said. "I don't know who killed the girl. I can't leave until I find out who killed the girl." She was distraught. I felt for her, and that's why I always read the end of a book first. In case I died, at least I'd die knowing how the book ended.
"Oh, look at that," another white-gowned man said. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
I tilted my head toward the ceiling, and Aaron's face followed mine. I saw nothing but the ceiling and if I had to guess, I'd say that's all Aaron saw, too. "Yeah, that's what I'm told. If you see that light, go to it. You'll find your family and friends there."
The corners of his eyes crinkled and he shimmered away. At least one of them got the message.
"Will Skipper be there?" A little girl's voice peeped out from the crowd.
I flung my body around at the sound of her precious voice. A teeny little girl in a red nightgown with Sesame Street characters on it pushed her way to the front of the group. Her hair was an adorable mess of not red, more like orange curls falling to her shoulders. She had ocean blue eyes so big that small animals could swim in them. She was such a beautiful child, but the sadness on her face and tremor in her voice made my heart hurt. "I'm scared to go there, but if Skipper is there, I could try and be brave."
Oblivious to the living nearby, I bent down to the little girl, and put my face close to hers. She'd been crying, her eyes pools of ocean blue water. Her slightly transparent lip trembled. "Honey, is Skipper your dog? Did your dog go to Heaven?"
She shook her head. "He's my grandpa. He went to Heaven when I was this many." She held up three fingers.
I swallowed back the lump in my throat. "How many are you now?"
One more finger popped up. "This many."
I placed my hand on my heart. The kids were tough. "Yes baby, Skipper will be there. I bet he's waiting for you right now, too." I believed in Heaven, and because I also believed in God, I figured there was a Hell, too. I just didn't think Grandpas and Grandmas went there. Unless they were serial killers, and I was pretty sure this little girl's Skipper wasn't. "I promise you, if you go to that light, you will be happy and safe and nothing will ever hurt you again."
Her lips trembled harder. "You promise?"
I crossed my heart with my finger. "I promise."
"Okay." The little girl lifted her eyes upward and said, "You're nice," and then she shimmered away.
Not one single ghost had a dry transparent eye after that. I swiped the tears from my eyes too, and pushed myself up from my knees and groaned at the effort. "Okay." I clasped my palms together. "The rest of you are gonna have to wait." I pointed to Aaron. "Because I've gotta help this guy."
His mouth dropped open. "Jesus."
"You already said that."
He dropped his head, shook it, and walked.
We took the elevator to the basement, which housed both the pathology department and the morgue. I crossed my arms and latched my palms to my elbows. The morgue was the worst place for a psychic medium. Some ghosts didn't quite get that they were dead and stayed close to their bodies. They wandered the halls, asking hospital staff for he
lp, never quite understanding why no one answered. I knew they saw their bodies, but they couldn't connect the dots. It took some convincing sometimes, but eventually I would cross them over. The last time Aaron and I met at the hospital, I stayed and helped the lost souls, and then exhausted, I went home and slept for twenty-nine hours straight. After the emotional intensity I'd just had with the little girl, I pushed back my shoulders and prepared myself to just pretend they weren't there. I needed to keep my strength and my emotional composure for whatever Aaron needed me to do.
"No biggie." I rubbed my nose. "Whadda ya got?"
We got on the elevator. "Jumper. It's messy and I know how much you hate that, but we don't have any witnesses and he didn't have an ID, so I need you to do your thing and see if you get a hit."
By do your thing, Aaron meant talk to the deceased, and hope they'd give me the scoop. That wasn't as easy as it sounded. If the spirit wasn't there, usually they had a reason, and more often than not, it meant they'd crossed over and we were out of luck. A few were just shy or out doing whatever it is ghosts do and not available for a chat. Those that were there were, like I said, confused or wanted me to get a message to someone they loved. They didn't want to talk about their passing or just didn't know what happened. Sometimes they gave me clues though, and I gave them to Aaron. Well, sometimes being one time out of the three times in the three months we'd worked together.
"I prefer to meet dead bodies that look like they're just sleeping, not broken and damaged. Makes it easier to eat later, you know?"
"Been there, done that. I'll work on it, but I can't make any promises."
"Typical man." Truth be told, Aaron wasn't all that typical, at least when it came to the stereotypical cop. He wasn't jaded, wasn't at the bar every night after work pounding brewskies with his cop buddies, had an impressive sense of humor, and kept his physique in prime condition. Most cops carried a little extra weight in the middle, had a little less hair than the average man—probably from stress, but not Aaron. Aaron was what my best friend Mel called a looker—definitely easy on the eyes. He reminded me a little of Gerard Butler with his brown hair, always just a little on the messy side—like he wore it that way on purpose—sky blue eyes, and the way he talked out of the side of his mouth. I figured women fell at his feet, but luckily for me my husband Jake was more my type, or I'd probably have spent my time working with Aaron drooling instead of communicating with the dead.