When a Lover Calls: A Romantic Suspense Novella (A TURQUOISE BEACH MYSTERY Book 1)

by Jane Preston

  A few seconds of tense silence ticked by. Maureen bit her lip and anxiously scanned the therapy room while she pondered the situation. Then the reticent client sat up straight. “My needs," she said with uncharacteristic directness, "are to get to the bottom of this problem as soon as possible, Dr. Brice. I’m working on the first draft of my new novel based in Hawaii and I have to submit to my editor at Channing Publishing in less than a month. The sooner we get my trust issues cleared up, the better.”

  Encouraged, but still cautious, Dr. Brice responded. “Very well, Maureen. But we need to be realistic. Therapy is not a quick-fix. It’s a process and it may go at a slower pace than you expect. With that in mind, does the same time next Wednesday afternoon work for you?”

  ***

  Sterling Matthews felt like crap. Refilling his scotch on the rocks after a tasteless, solitary breakfast, he’d contemplated every possible avenue to try to win back Maureen. All of them sounded absurd, even to him.

  Maureen Beckley was simply not going to allow him back in her life.

  He had to learn to adjust to that. And move on.

  As if on cue, the front door bell rang out its castle-like chime. His heart leapt at the ridiculous notion that maybe, just maybe, Maureen was on the other side of the door having second thoughts about hanging up on him and wanting to talk to him in person about their “misunderstanding.”

  That sort of thing had happened before with other women he had dated.

  But not with Maureen.

  And it would never, ever happen with lovely Maureen. Intuitively, he knew that.

  Crestfallen, his steps uninspired, Sterling waved off his domestic staff, passed the large, ornate urns in the great hall and answered the door himself.

  It was Lucy Troppe.

  Why doesn’t this surprise me? he asked himself, as, producing a tight-lipped smile, Sterling instantly took in her perfectly made-up face with its eager expression, a face that could have been a lot prettier with less extreme black eye liner. He sighed inwardly, but, being the consummate gentleman, he invited her in with no questions asked.

  He expected these kinds of unannounced visits would persist for a while longer before he’d put a halt to them. After all, Lucy was candy in the hand, readily available to him.

  And, right now, that felt pretty good, considering that the delectable treat he really wanted, Maureen Beckley, had so far managed to elude him.

  How dare she, he privately sneered, as he forced himself to put a deceptively welcoming arm around Lucy.

  ***

  As Lucy Troppe left the mansion later that night, let out by the household staff just before 11 p.m., he realized that he liked the way she walked. In fact, she strutted. Careful to stay quiet and well-hidden, he leaned deeper into the heavy cover of the hedges lining the circular driveway.

  She was striding to her car now, her red stiletto heels clicking sassily on the custom-made cobblestones.

  Suddenly he knew that Lucy Troppe had to die. Just like he knew that the others had to die.

  It was because of that swaggering, conceited walk of hers, so exciting to him, and, at the same time a major turn-off.

  Women like that, he thought, shaking his head.

  Well, we know that happens to women like that, don’t we, Buster. He grinned. As Lucy Troppe drove down the driveway to exit the private premises, he was delighted to discover that he just couldn’t stop grinning.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Maureen was pleased that decent progress was being made in her counseling with Dr. Brice. She found that she was fairly easily opening up about her personal history, including her strong, understandable feelings of abandonment since she was the last surviving member of her family. The psychologist was compassionate, while also gently encouraging Maureen to “find your voice.”

  Something I’ve never done, she thought, as chewing on her lip, she reluctantly confessed to having been afraid of her father. She suddenly felt like a little girl, not a fully-grown woman who was a successful novelist.

  “Afraid? In what way, Maureen?” As usual, the therapist was solicitous of information while also being respectful and unobtrusive.

  “Well,” she started slowly, “He could be very intimidating, you know, the kind of man who always gets his way. I guess that’s one reason I’ve been so incredibly attracted to Sterling Matthews. He likes to get his way, too.”

  The therapist was quietly understanding. “I see. And from what you said earlier in today’s session, I understand that you have talked to Leslie and shared with her that you broke things off with Sterling.”

  “Yes. She was relieved but felt sad for me that this whole thing happened. Leslie’s a very sweet person.” The entire incident was a sorry affair, Maureen thought. The words, why me? reverberated in her head as she tried to be present for Dr. Brice’s next question.

  “And have you given any consideration to the option of being hypnotized? Do you have questions about the information I sent you home with after our last session?” Dr. Brice had particularly keen, but gentle, green-hazel eyes behind her gold, thinly-framed glasses. She was attractive in a highly intelligent, sensible way, at times slightly inclining her head to the side as she attentively listened her client.

  Maureen shifted in her seat, slightly uncomfortable. “Well, Doctor,” she said hesitantly, “It sounds like it may help to get to the bottom of my apparently deep-seated trust issues with men. But, even after reading through the brochure, I suppose I still need some reassurances. Like, will I be vulnerable to doing anything I don’t want to do?”

  Dr. Brice was quick to respond. “Maureen, a lot of my clients ask the same thing and the answer is no. Hypnosis only allows me to ask questions of your subconscious mind, which is often dominated by the conscious mind during waking hours. It can bring up repressed memories, which is part of the healing process. However, those past experiences are generally not upsetting once out of the hypnotic state. In fact, a lot of people find they are very relaxed after hypnosis.”

  Maureen shrugged and said, “Sounds okay to me. When can we start, Doctor?”

  “We have some time today. Please remove your shoes and get comfortable on the sofa. Most of my clients prefer to lie down during the process so they can feel completely relaxed. Would you like to have a blanket?”

  Maureen shook her head vigorously, and then wriggled off her tan-colored pumps. This is going to be an adventure, she thought, with a ping of excitement. She intuitively trusted the kindly psychologist and was eager to see what happened.

  ***

  Forty minutes later, Dr. Brice expertly guided Maureen Beckley out of her very first hypnosis session. As the client gently stirred and rubbed her eyes, the therapist silently observed that she’d never seen someone so susceptible to her instructions to make the transition into the theta state. Her subdued new client had gone into a trance within a remarkably short amount of time.

  “Well, Doctor, did you have any surprising revelations?” Maureen, rising to a sitting position, said the words with a playful grin, but her curiosity was apparent. “It felt like I just went to sleep for a while.” She sounded almost disappointed.

  Dr. Brice smiled. “No, Maureen there weren’t any startling results from this first session. But you did very well and I look forward to hypnotizing you when you come in a couple of days from now. Is Friday at this same time workable for you?”

  ***

  After Maureen quietly closed the office door on her way out to her car, a puzzled look immediately came over the psychologist’s brow. Reflecting back on the deep trance of her anxious, new client, Dr. Brice thought: I wonder what Maureen meant when she kept whispering in a lower voice: “Click, click. Here I am.”

  ***

  Arriving home that evening after running several errands, including picking up her favorite hamburger and French fries for take-out, Maureen found the red light on the message machine blinking. Later, she thought, as she unloaded several grocery bags and quickly assem
bled the makings for a small green salad with sliced red tomatoes. The ingredients seemed to fly together and, before she knew it, she was comfortably seated in front of the television in the den, eating a quick and undeniably delicious dinner.

  Now for a bit of that Fetzer white wine that Leslie had brought over, she thought with glee. They had been celebrating their mutual liberation from the intoxicating but two-timing Sterling Matthews, aka Chase Clifford.

  What a chump, she scoffed, as she finished off the last French fry, wiping her greasy hands on a sunny-yellow napkin she’d picked up at the fast food restaurant. It was okay, the trim romance writer told herself, to occasionally indulge in the usually forbidden pleasures of hot, fried food.

  Especially if it helps me to get over Sterling.

  It wasn’t until Maureen was in her orchid-colored pajamas ready to turn off the night light and jump into bed that she was reminded of the waiting message. Shoving her feet into her well-worn house shoes, she heaved a tired sigh and padded softly into the kitchen to push the play button.

  Within seconds, his beautiful, melodious voice filled the darkened interiors of her cozy, small home as if he were God.

  “Maureen, it’s Sterling. I know you don’t want me to call you anymore but I, well, I can’t stop thinking about you. And I feel just awful about my behavior. I wish we could talk. Please call me, Maureen.” He paused, then added softly, “I miss you.”

  The message ended.

  But, for Maureen, it was just the beginning. Why, why can’t I let go, she silently berated herself. He’d already revealed to her – and to Leslie – that he was a consummate jerk.

  Now, she asked herself, how do I convince my heart of that?

  ***

  The world-famous shores of Hawaii, with the brilliant azure-blue surf splashing on to the picture-perfect white sands, were positively and unbelievably beautiful. Photographs only capture a fraction of this breathtaking scenery, she noted in silent awe, stunned by the unreal splendor.

  It was way beyond local flavor.

  Palm trees swayed timelessly, far overhead in the heavens, as she dug her tanned, bare feet deeper into the granules of sand that were regularly sifted by the persistent waves. To her great dismay, Maureen noticed movement out of the corner of her eye; she wanted the glory of this beach all to herself.

  Turning her head to look down the shore, she saw that Jared Holt was walking towards her, gradually becoming Sterling Matthews as he neared her in his camel knee-length chinos. His face was shadowed by the strong slant of the tropical sun.

  Instead of feeling alarmed, she was further irritated. He’s always unreadable, she groaned. That’s the hardest part of getting over him. I can never quite know him.

  She looked back out to sea and saw that the waves on the beach were getting bigger and stronger, as if they were building to an intense crescendo.

  That’s what I’m doing, she reassured herself. I’m becoming bigger and stronger so I can finally walk away from Sterling Matthews. Forever.

  And Dr. Brice is helping me to do that. Without waking, Maureen smiled in her sleep.

  The nighttime fantasy went on until early morning, when Maureen stirred upon hearing the cheerful birds singing outside the cream-colored French doors of her bedroom.

  She sat up in her bed and stretched, with absolutely no recollection of the dream.

  ***

  Being with Lucy Troppe just doesn’t do the trick, Sterling thought for the umpteenth time as the sun started its ageless, slow rise over the eastern horizon. She might be fun but she’s not a keeper. Not like Maureen.

  Tossing off the navy blue-and-ebony patterned coverlet which his mother had mailed to him recently, he swung his pajama-clad legs over the side of the massive bed and forced himself to get up. I’m concerned about you, honey, she’d said on the phone during their last conversation. Your father and I think you’re depressed about something.

  You might say that, he smirked now. Except I’m depressed about someone, not something.

  For the second time this early morning, as he donned his robe and headed down to the kitchen for coffee, he thought: I must be in love with her.

  Shaking his head to stay awake, he found himself thinking, I don’t remember falling for Maureen, but I must have. He did recall liking her intensely and being over-the-top attracted to her. But, love? He wasn’t at all accustomed to even considering the word as part of his vocabulary.

  Women said that kind of thing to him, not the other way around.

  Deep in his gut, he knew he would never hear those words from Maureen. And what he wouldn’t give to hear them from her.

  Sighing listlessly, Sterling ran a hand through his thick locks. Women were usually mad for him, largely because of his abundant hair. A lot of good that does me now, he thought sarcastically. And he slumped into the kitchen to down all the caffeine he needed to start a day he wasn’t looking forward to.

  Time for another day.

  Another day without Maureen Beckley.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  She was coming out of the local food market in the late morning when Sterling saw her. His heart stopped. He couldn’t help but notice Maureen’s enviably striking red tresses, pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, with straying tendrils breaking free. They framed her lovely, oval-shaped face as an exquisite auburn halo, glowing with golden sunlight, especially with the warm sun at her back.

  Maureen Beckley looked like an angel to him.

  Grabbing his small grocery-filled bag, he leapt behind one of the SUVs in the parking lot to watch her go by. Of course, he told himself, she was usually so caught up in her own world, she barely took notice of the people around her.

  He was quite sure Maureen wouldn’t notice him now, either. Especially not me, he silently groaned. I’m the last person on earth she wants to see.

  Last week while sitting in his car, he’d watched while she slowly walked down a sidewalk. Passersby tried to engage her with a direct, friendly glance, especially the male strollers, but she’d been totally oblivious to their appreciative looks.

  Surreptitiously, he'd managed to click off a series of photos of her on his Smartphone, beautiful pictures he’d stare at when the night was quiet and still. In the private recesses of his mind, those pictures came vividly alive; suddenly, Maureen was dressed enticingly, striking seductive and, sometimes funny, poses, dancing unreservedly, her fantastic hair - of every color: red, blonde, brunette - blowing in the wind, wild and free, beckoning to him to come closer.

  In his fantasies, Maureen Beckley wanted him like no other woman had.

  Now in the parking lot, feeling like a complete fool, he hovered near the four-wheel drive until she’d opened her car door and gotten in after sliding a couple of grocery bags onto the back seat. He wondered what kind of meal she would be preparing with the food.

  And who was going to share it with her. No matter, he reassured himself.

  I’ll see Maureen Beckley at the pool tonight. Only, she won’t see me then either.

  But just the very thought of her in her scarlet bathing suit brought him a much-needed boost and he fairly skipped to his Lexus after she’d driven out of the busy parking lot only moments before.

  ***

  Dr. Brice was looking forward to her appointment this afternoon with Maureen Beckley. Something about the beautiful, but shy, woman was endearing, yet vague, elusive. She couldn’t quite get a handle on Maureen. Today’s session should help us make good headway, she told herself, as she plumped up the pillows on the sofa and brought in a blanket from one of the bedrooms.

  Maureen might need this, she thought.

  By the time the therapist heard the front doorbell, indicating that Maureen had arrived in the foyer, she’d convinced herself to ask the questions which had been weighing on her since the session on Wednesday.

  As expected, it didn’t take much for Maureen to slide into the hypnotic state. Once the client was in a deep trance, the psychologist
gently guided her to revisit a time in her past when she felt comfortable and safe, especially with her father.

  “I’m on a swing in the back yard. Daddy made it for me. All for me.” The quiet voice became girlish and slightly excitable.

  “And how old are you, Maureen?” Dr. Brice’s voice was just as quiet, yet it exuded a reassuring authority.

  A very young giggle escaped from the lips of the hypnotized woman. “I’m seven years old. I just had my birthday three days ago.” It was apparent that the little girl felt a certain pride about her new age. This was confirmed when she said: “Daddy told me I’m a big girl and now I can learn the game.”