by Liliana Hart
Their obsession with each other and the love of two people in history had led to their death. And she hadn’t seen her brother in close to ten years, though he sent letters like clockwork. All she knew was that kind of love and obsession had left her without her parents and a cynicism she worked hard to keep out of her books.
Miller had a good life, and normalcy was very important to her—at least as normal as one could be when making stuff up was how she made her living. To say she was a control freak was probably an understatement, but she liked knowing she was responsible for her own happiness and achievements. Her work fulfilled her. And the occasional relationship satisfied her.
It wasn’t often she found a man she was intrigued enough by to invite to her bed. She was damned picky actually. She wrote romance novels for crying out loud. So what if she wanted great conversation, a smoking hot body, and great sex? She’d never seen the point in settling. And since she didn’t believe in the happily-ever-afters she wrote about, she figured her chances with a man like Elias Cole were a done deal. He hadn’t seemed like the kind of man who was interested in happily-ever-afters either. He’d all but ravished her on her front porch and then calmly walked away, leaving her more sexually frustrated than she’d ever been in her life. But the past was the past. It was time to let it go.
She shivered as she walked into her bedroom and she turned up the thermostat on her way to the bathroom. Her bedroom was tidy—the king-size bed neatly made and all her clothes folded and put away. She hadn’t felt the mattress beneath her in days. She’d been taking catnaps, crashing on the couch in her office when she needed to recharge.
Miller loved color, and the bedroom reflected that. The bed was like a white cloud, but pillows in cobalt, teal, and turquoise added vibrancy, along with a crocheted throw using all the colors at the foot of the bed. The large canvas on the wall was an abstract ocean scene using thick layers of paint, her bedside lamps were blown glass in the same bright blue, and the cozy chair in the corner was yellow with thick blue stripes.
It was her favorite room in the house, and that was saying something because she loved all of her house. But this was her room, and she’d never invited another man to share it with her. Except that night when Elias had taken her home and made her lose her mind with his kisses. He would’ve been the first to see her private sanctum. And she didn’t want to analyze too closely why she’d chosen him, when she’d never had any desire for another man to step foot there.
Most people in the small town of Last Stop, Texas, considered her eccentric, and many of them had much more creative names for her. She hated to not live up to people’s expectations, so when the Gothic home on the corner of Elm Street and Devil’s Hill went on the market, she snapped it up in a heartbeat. And she got it for a steal too because no one wanted to touch it.
It was the house that had scared the bejesus out of every kid in Last Stop for the last century. It was the house that sat dark and looming, so people made it a point to always walk on the other side of the street instead of passing directly in front of it. It was the house with the creaking gate and the overgrown rosebushes, and it looked spectacular at Halloween. She never passed up the opportunity to help solidify her reputation by adding a little graveyard in front or sticking a voice box in the bushes that let out horrible moans. The house was rumored to have been haunted by Captain Bartholomew T. Payne and his wife, Annabelle, after old Bart had decided he’d rather see his wife dead than leave him for another man.
Miller had always been fascinated by the story, even though she’d yet to feel the presence of the original owners of the house. She rarely had visitors other than her friend Tess or her cleaning lady, so the outside was rather deceiving. Even with fresh paint and repairs done to the sagging porch and leaking roof, it still gave off a menacing presence.
She loved every square inch of it, and she would never move. The house fit her personality like a glove, and she cackled every time she peeked out her office window to see kids scurrying across the street and staring at the house in wide-eyed horror. It was the little things in life that brought joy.
She sighed as she passed the bed. The soft sheets were looking a little too enticing. She couldn’t afford a comfortable sleep. Not until the book was done. If she got in that bed it might be a week before she woke up. It was important she keep her energy high, so she’d shower and dress, and then she’d go find some company—and if she was lucky, a sexual pick-me-up—before sitting back down at her desk and getting back to work.
She stripped out of her clothes and considered throwing them in the trash instead of subjecting Julia to laundering them. Julia was a single mom to five boys. She not only cleaned Miller’s house, but a few other houses as well. Then she cleaned the schools on Saturday, and the church on Sunday evening. Miller could only hope that the laundry of five boys was worse than that of a writer, though she wouldn’t have bet money on it.
The pipes creaked as she turned on the water in the claw-foot tub, and while she waited for it to heat up she found an extra box of hair color under the sink so she could tackle her roots. By the time she’d gotten the color on and her head wrapped in plastic, the water was hot. She lit the candles on the windowsill and dimmed the lights, and then she tossed a bath bomb in the water and hoped the smell of roses was strong enough to overpower the smell of deadline.
An hour later, her skin was pruny, her roots were dyed, and she smelled a whole lot better. She blow-dried her hair, moisturized her face, and put on double the concealer she normally would because she could’ve slept in the bags under her eyes.
By the time she got out of the tub, she was exhausted. And the sexual pick-me-up she’d considered didn’t have any appeal at all. Her mind was still stuck on Elias Cole.
“Ridiculous man,” she muttered.
Instead of a night out on the town, she decided to drop by and visit Tess to convince her to have a girl’s night. Those didn’t happen that often anymore since Tess’s marriage to Deacon Tucker. They were still in that honeymoon phase of their marriage where if they weren’t working, they were rolling around naked on whatever surface was available.
Miller was only a teensy bit jealous.
She put on black leggings, a sports bra, and an oversized gray shirt that warned people if they annoyed her they might end up in one of her novels. People always laughed, but she’d been known to kill off the occasional annoyance in one of her books. Comfort was the name of the game for the evening’s activities. She’d give her brain a quick break, and then get back to business.
Miller hopped on the bed and struck a quick pose propped against a mound of pillows, and then she held up the latest release of one of her good friends. She took a selfie with the book and then uploaded it to Facebook, pimping her friend. The great thing about social media was no one would know she’d worked ninety-plus hours in the last few days, eaten nothing but carbs and chocolate, and drunk an unhealthy amount of coffee. She wouldn’t change things for the world, though she needed to hit the gym very soon so her behind wasn’t as wide as her chair. When it came to her readers, she’d continue to put on double layers of concealer so they’d see the fun and glamorous life they wanted her to live.
She stuck her head into the massive master closet and dug out a pair of black ballet slippers. Organizing her closet was on her to-do list, but she hadn’t had time to get around to it. Along with the thousand other things on the list. She grabbed up her dirty clothes and robe, embarrassed to leave them for Julia to find.
Her stomach rumbled again and she bounded down the stairs, making a stop at the laundry room and dumping the clothes in the washer. She hummed as she measured the soap and turned on the hot water, and then she added a little extra soap just to be safe.
The pile of mail on the entryway table caught her attention and she scooped it up, taking it with her to the kitchen. Unlike her friend Tess, Miller used her kitchen for actual cooking, so everything about it was functional, from the hidden cabinets where sh
e kept her small appliances, to the wine refrigerator in the big butcher-block island, and the pot filler over the stove.
She dumped the mail on the island and then opened the refrigerator. A bottle of ketchup and a cold pack she sometimes used on her eyes were the only things on the shelves. It’d been a while since she’d had a real meal, and even longer since she’d been to the grocery store.
She closed the refrigerator door and saw the note beneath the magnet in Julia’s handwriting.
You need everything. This is no way for a grown woman to live. You’ll get scurvy. Make me a list and I’ll get what you need when I come on Tuesday.
“I could be dead of starvation by Tuesday,” she said.
At least she didn’t have to go to the grocery store. The only things worse than going to the grocery store were visiting the gynecologist or getting bad book reviews.
She went through the mail quickly, discarding most of it as junk. Then she turned to the package. It was a plain brown box, no bigger than the length of her hand, from her wrist to the tip of her fingers, and just as wide. There were several layers of brown tape around the box, so she grabbed a knife from the block on the counter.
Her name was written in neat block letters and a PO box was given as the return address, but there was no name at the top. She slid the knife under the layers of tape and lifted the flaps. A small envelope lay on top, and she recognized her brother’s handwriting immediately. He’d been sending her letters just like this one from the time he’d left home. He’d never trusted email. But he’d also never sent her a package before. Her days of collecting the trinkets of Solomon and Sheba had ended when her parents had died.
She pulled out the envelope and set it on the counter, and then emptied out the rest of the contents of the box. Something weighty and wrapped in tissue paper fell into her hand, but it was the clank of metal hitting the counter that grabbed her attention.
She picked up the heavy ring with the large purple stone. Within the stone was the carved insignia of the king she’d been told stories about her whole life. King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba had been her family’s obsession.
And despite her resentment of the tales and adventures that had broken her small family, the obsession had become hers. Because now she was writing their story, hoping that putting it on the page once and for all would finally give her freedom.
It was her brother’s ring, given to him by her father, as it had been given to him by his father. There was nothing in this world that would’ve made Justin send her his ring. It had been passed down from father to son for more generations than she could count. And if Justin never had a son it would go to her son, though she had no plans of having children. The ring was priceless. And it was always to be worn by the living male heir. Which meant for Justin to not be wearing it was more awful than she could imagine.
Cold fear clutched at her belly and her hands shook as she took the tissue paper in her hand and slowly unwrapped it. When she got to the contents inside, her mind couldn’t process what she was looking at.
She dropped the package and took a step back, her hands clammy and bile rising in the back of her throat. In the middle of the tissue paper was a human finger. She had a sinking feeling she knew why her brother no longer wore his ring.
In the world of the Gravediggers, sometimes the dead do rise . . . Get your hands on this seriestoday!
She's a romance novelist. He's supposed to be dead. They can't stay away from each other. This could be the best 'research' she's ever done . . .
Gone to Dust
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They’re standing on opposite sides of the law. . .and only one of them can walk away with the prize.
Say No More
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BY FAIRYTALE PHOTOGRAPHY
LILIANA HART is a New York Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly bestselling author of more than forty titles, including the Addison Holmes Whiskey and J. J. Graves Mystery series. Since self-publishing in June 2011, Liliana has sold more than four million ebooks. She’s hit the #1 spot on lists all over the world, and all three of her series have appeared on the New York Times bestseller list. Liliana is a sought-after speaker who’s given keynote speeches and self-publishing workshops to standing-room-only crowds from California to New York to London.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Liliana Hart
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First Pocket Books paperback edition June 2017
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ISBN 978-1-5011-5003-6
ISBN 978-1-5011-5004-3 (ebook)
