by Liz Schulte
Book Two of The Ella Reynolds Series
AMAZON EDITION
* * * *
Dark Passing
Copyright © 2012 by Liz Schulte
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
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
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
“If I can make it through living in a haunted house with a deranged psychopath, I can make through a date,” I muttered, staring at my computer screen.
I was out of excuses. The tan I picked up on my vacation had all but faded, the reconstruction of the house was done, and the book, thanks to being a hot news story, had been fast-tracked to release. Gabriel had the patience of Job. He accepted all of my excuses about why I couldn’t go out with him, but never stopped trying. Finally, his persistence wore me down, despite my fear—not of him, exactly, but of how easy he made it for me to depend on him—and despite the fact it meant leaving the house. We’d arrived at an understanding, it and I.
A knock on the front door made my stomach drop. Yes, the ghostly noises had been on hiatus since the fire, but I still expected them—old habits and all that jazz. I took a deep breath and flipped the four heavy deadbolts, then tugged the door open to find a woman standing on the porch in jeans and a parka. Her wool hat was pulled down over her ears, and dark blonde hair peeked out from underneath.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Are you Ella Reynolds, the author?”
I froze for a second, scenes from Misery flashing in my head. Good God, please don’t let her be my biggest fan. I frowned and nodded, prepared to slam the door if need be. I fingered the phone in my pocket, ready to speed-dial Gabriel.
“I need your help,” she said, her voice so low I thought maybe I misheard.
My head shook, but curiosity and her crestfallen face got the better of me. Obviously it wasn’t a flat tire. “With what?”
Her dull eyes didn’t manage to reach mine. Every word she spoke seemed like an effort. “I want you to write her story.”
I bit my lip and considered how to respond. She’d clearly lost someone, but why would she think I’d want to write about it? Damn my curiosity. “Whose story?”
“My daughter’s.”
Family drama—I wanted nothing to do with it. I began to shut the door. “Sorry, I write fiction.”
“Dark Corners wasn’t fiction.” Desperation thickened the air between us and stayed my hand.
“That was different—”
“Please, just hear me out before you say no.” She pleaded. “It’s your kind of story, I promise.”
My kind of story? Had to be murder, poor woman. I sighed and invited her in. Her sallow, sagging skin, puffy, dark-ringed eyes, and beaten down tone of voice were all too familiar. Just a short while ago I was her.
I opened the screen door and she stepped through, unzipping her coat and tugging off her gloves. “Thank you.”
I ignored the voice in my head that said this was a bad idea. I already knew I shouldn’t get involved, but anticipation made my heart quicken and life spark inside of me. Even the house seemed to come alive, the air crackling with energy. Maybe it fed on misery. “You want coffee?”
“Do you have anything stronger?”
I gave her a sympathetic smile. “No, not anymore. The coffee is strong and warm, though. It’ll help.” I beckoned her to follow me into the kitchen.
She took a seat at the table, slipping her coat over the back of the chair. I went around the island and pulled two mugs from the cabinet. While pouring the coffee, my eyes drifted to that infamous spot on the wall. Hot liquid scalded my hand and startled me back to what I was doing. I hissed out a breath, cleaned up the mess I made, and brought two steaming cups to the table.
“So what happened to your daughter?” I asked, sitting down across from her.
She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “It was in the news a lot in the spring…” I waited for her to explain, but she didn’t begin speaking again.
Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I eyed her cautiously, not wanting a hysterical person in my kitchen, but worried if I didn’t prompt her we’d never get to the point. “I wasn’t watching a lot television in the spring. Hell, I wasn’t doing a lot of anything in the spring besides sulking and drinking.”
She nodded and continued with a cracked voice. “She was killed. The police never caught who did it. She was driving home from her boyfriend Bryan’s house, and I was speaking with her on the phone. We lost connection, but that wasn’t unusual. There are a lot of dead zones on the way to my house—I live on a farm.”
I cringed at the phrase “dead zone” and took a big mouthful of coffee, trying to ignore the bad feeling growing in my stomach
“After twenty minutes, I began to worry. She should’ve been home. I waited ten more minutes and tried to call her, but when the phone went directly to voicemail, I got in my car and went looking for her. I didn’t see her or her car anywhere between my house and Bryan’s. He confirmed the time she left, so I called the police. She was nineteen. They wouldn’t let me file a missing person’s report for twenty-four hours. Four days later, a farmer found her car on fire in his field ten miles away. Her body was stuffed into the trunk—mutilated so badly she had to be identified by dental records.”
I stared at the kitchen wall again. All too easily, I recalled the smell of Danny’s blood and the horror of finding him. I hadn’t thought about this stuff in months. I shook my head, refusing to let it weigh on me. “Who did the police suspect?”
“I don’t know if they ever had a suspect. They talked to me and to Bryan, but neither of us did it. We loved Mary.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wrapped her hands around her mug, but didn’t take a sip.
“I don’t know what you think I can do. It’s a very intriguing story, but I don’t write true crime. I wouldn’t even know where to start. My husband’s murder was an exceptio
n—it was my life.” I knew if anyone could grasp what I meant it would be her. People who had never experienced a life-altering tragedy couldn’t grasp how one single event could define everything else, but it could.
“Please. She read all of your books. She was majoring in English and wanted to be a writer like you. I know you can help. If you don’t, her death will be brushed under the rug and her killer will get away. Please, Ms. Reynolds.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t let her be forgotten. Even if you just write about her and never investigate, it will drum up interest in the case again. They aren’t even trying anymore. Please.”
I couldn’t say no again, not looking at her and listening to her beg a stranger to help. I nodded slowly, not knowing what else to do. “Let me think about it. What’s your daughter’s last name? What’s your name? Is there a number where I can reach you?”
She introduced herself as Jennifer Nelson and wrote down her phone number, thanking me and crying profusely. I got her a tissue and walked her to the door. “I’m not making any promises. I’m only thinking about it, you understand?”
“Yes.” She nodded, but from the hopeful tilt of her lips I had my doubts.
I locked the door behind her. Could I handle immersing myself in another murder investigation? I wasn’t sure. I’d worked through most of my issues and was better now, but that didn’t mean I wanted to test myself. Lost in thought, I went back to the kitchen. The coffee cups were in sink rather than on the table where I left them.
“Grant?” I asked the still, static-charged air around me.
The room hummed with promise and cooled significantly, but nothing happened. I hoped whatever had awakened in my house with Jennifer’s visit was Grant and not something darker.
“Should I take the case?” I asked.
A tingling sensation like ice brushing against my arm froze me in place, but a moment later everything was gone and back to normal. I went to my office, shaking my head. One mention of murder and I was already acting like a crazy person again.
A few hours and many outfit changes later, there was another knock on my door. This one I expected. My mouth went dry and my palms got clammy. It wasn’t like I’d never seen the guy. I may not have agreed to officially go out with Gabriel since I got back, but we’d had dinner together nearly every night when he showed up with takeout. This was different, though. This had expectations, implied romance. I opened the door, trying not to cringe. Gabriel entered, brushing snow off his shoulders.
“It’s really coming down,” he said. His short dark hair looked freshly trimmed, and his lean face was shaven. His aftershave tickled my nose with its familiar scent. A half smile lifted the edge of his mouth. “You look beautiful.”
I tried to find something to do with my hands. “So it’s snowing? Maybe we should stay in.”
Gabriel laughed. “You’re not getting out of this that easily. Just breathe, El. There’s no reason to be nervous.” He ran his hands down the sleeves of my charcoal-gray dress and looked me straight in the eyes. “If you go out more, they’ll get used to seeing you.”
Leave it to Gabriel to go right to the heart of the matter. Perhaps I wasn’t as nervous about going out with him as I was about just going out in general. The town of Montgomery was a lot nicer to me now the truth was out, but they still gawked, whispered behind my back. I considered selling and leaving several times a day, but something always held me back. I always convinced myself to wait just one more week. “I know you’re right—but that’s not the only thing I’m nervous about, smarty pants.”
He continued rubbing his hands up and down my arms in a soothing manner. Surprisingly, I didn’t want to pull away. “What else makes you nervous? The weather? I’m an excellent driver.”
I laughed, breaking some of the tension surrounding me. “This is our first date.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, our first real date since—” My hands fluttered around, indicating the whole house and all the trouble we’d gone through.
He gave me a wry look. “True, but that wasn’t from lack of trying.”
“Everything’s finally good again. I’m happy, you’re happy, the house is happy. I don’t want to do anything to upset the balance. I don’t want things to change.”
Gabriel leaned his head back in understanding. “Well, we’ll have to work on that because I do want things to change,” he said slowly, holding my gaze.
“See! One date and you already have expectations.”
Gabriel brushed his lips across my forehead. “I’ve had expectations for a lot longer than this, and you know that.” He took a step back and glanced at his watch. “Now stop overthinking and get your coat.”
I found my black wool coat in the closet and let Gabriel help me put it on, then wrapped a scarf around my neck and slipped on my gloves.
“Careful on the stairs,” he said, as he took my hand to help me down. “Remind me to salt them later.”
Without Gabriel, I wouldn’t be alive right now, and that fact scared me more than any ghost ever could. I wanted us to stay in stasis so he would always be there when I needed him, and he’d never let me down. But there were also times I wanted to grab him and kiss him to see where all of this could go, to see if we could make a life together.
Halfway to the car, I tugged on his hand. He turned to me. I tried to blink the snow out of my eyelashes as I looked up at him for a second. Then I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his. His nose was cold against my cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked, pulling away ever so slightly, his arms around my waist.
“Thank you for never giving up on me and for wanting to do things like salt my porch steps.”
An easy smile spread across his handsome face. “Is that all it takes to get you to kiss me? Hell, you have a leaky faucet? I can fix that too. And in the spring I’ll clean the gutters. And—“ He continued to list off household chores he’d happily do, until I laughed and kissed him again, warmth spreading through my body despite the icy wind.
“You can trust me, you know? I won’t hurt you,” he said softly in my ear.
The implied “like he did” deflated me. I worked hard to move past Danny, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t scarred from the experience. Danny would’ve said he’d never hurt me too, and look how that turned out. I was left to pick up the pieces of my life, alone. I couldn’t go through that again.
“We’re going to freeze to death.” I gave an exaggerated shiver for effect, hoping for an easy escape from an uncomfortable conversation. Gabriel didn’t look fooled, but he led me the rest of the way to his car.
At the restaurant, our dimly lit table was next to a large window where I could see the snow drifting down from the sky in swirling patterns. We were nearly the only people out in this weather, but the view was lovely. Mesmerized by the white flakes, I was startled when the waitress asked if we were ready to order. I glanced down quickly at the menu, but Gabriel told her we needed another minute.
“You’re awfully quiet.” He took a casual sip of his water and studied me. “Did I completely freak you out?”
“No—and yes. I was watching the snow, not really thinking about anything, believe it or not.”
He looked out the window and watched winter dance through the air. “It’s peaceful, isn’t it?”
I nodded and finally perused the menu.
“Have you thought any more about selling the house?”
I decided on the chicken with balsamic glaze and root vegetables before answering. “Every day.”
“But you haven’t listed it.”
“Not yet.” Nor was I going to. For better or worse, that house had become home.
“Do you want to stay? Even with all the memories and everything that happened?”
“It’s been quiet, nothing too weird since I got back.” I didn’t feel the need to mention this afternoon, not yet. “I still get nervous any time someone’s at t
he door or the phone rings, but stuff like that I can deal with.”
“Ella, honestly, just get out of that house and move on with your life. What’s keeping you there?”
“Men.” I smiled at him sweetly, and the waitress came over to take our order. When she left, he cocked an eyebrow and waited for an explanation. “Danny loved that stupid house, Grant is still in that stupid house, and there’s you.”
“Setting aside the fact that you believe Grant is haunting you. How am I keeping you in the house?” The poor guy looked genuinely confused.
“If I sell, where would I go?” I shrugged. “Back to the city.”
A smile eased across his face. “You’re staying to give us a chance.”
“If you were normal, you wouldn’t want me, and my decision would be a lot less complicated.”
“I like a challenging woman.”
I shook my head. “So how was work?”
“Boring.”
“They still have you strapped to a desk?”
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yes.”
“How’s the arm?”
“It’s getting there.” He unconsciously flexed his fingers on the arm. It had taken multiple surgeries to get mobile again. “How was your day?”
“Fine. I had a visitor.”
He’d been about to take another drink; the glass paused halfway to his lips. “The living, breathing kind?”
Gabriel still had issues accepting that ghosts and Grant were real, but at least he didn’t tease me about it endlessly like Danny had. “Uh-huh.”
“Who was it? Is Mr. Sexton bothering you again?”
“No. He’s staying away. It was a woman who wants me to write a book about her daughter’s murder.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows knitted together. “She just showed up at your door.” His voice was flat, but the glint in his eyes made my stomach jump. “Jesus Christ, Ella. This is why you have to leave that damn house. I’m not saying leave Montgomery—I don’t want that—just get a place that’s not so identifiable as yours. You could have fans camping out in your yard or trying to break inside.”
I struggled not to roll my eyes. “You have greatly overestimated my fame.” I took a sip of water. “She said her daughter was a fan of mine, but I think she chose me because I’d understand.”
