Resort to Murder
ResorttoMurder
She knew she’d made a mistake the moment she walked in out of the noise of storm and smelled the delicate aroma of food warming in the oven. Her stomach reeled as she took in the exquisite table setting, the single perfect red rose, the stereo softly playing Liszt’s “Dream of Love.”
Slowly she walked around the cottage, a sense of unreality shadowing her every step. Her home was empty. Her fingers trailed over the smooth bed sheets and her heart thumped as vivid shards of remembered passion flickered through her. Reilly was in her blood, a constant fever.
But her living room was like an out-of-focus photograph. The romantic setting and music bore testimony to someone’s recent presence. Her first guess would have been Brad, but he was sitting at the police station. Jack Goodfellow was in hospital. And Reilly? Well, even if he’d had the time, this kind of gesture wasn’t in his repertoire at all. Too pretentious.
She picked up the telephone and dead air mocked her.
Was it the storm, or human intervention? Her cell phone was in her bag—still out in the car where she’d left it, too weary to drag it and all the files it contained into the house in the heavy rain. Warding off panic by action, she started for the door, intending to make a break for her car and safety. But the front door was already opening, slowly, slowly—and Ellie watched mesmerized, backing away.
“You!” she gasped, shock freezing her.
“Ellie, Ellie, Don’t be afraid - I’ve been waiting. I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered hoarsely, pushing the door shut behind him.
Resort to Murder
by
Glenys O’Connell
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Resort to Murder
COPYRIGHT Ó 2009 by Glenys O’Connell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2009
Print ISBN: 1-60154-652-1
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For Adrian and our family, without whom the words have no meaning.
Praise for Glenys O’Connell
Reviews for Judgement By Fire:
This is a thrilling story, romantic, tender and satisfying. This author has an individual style and the power to please.
~ Morna, Red Roses for Authors
Ms. Grace carefully lays down breadcrumbs for the reader to follow throughout the novel until everything culminates in a big way at the end. The climax has meaning for all of the characters. Not just the protagonists. This is the way the authors of the “mysterious unnamed antagonists” plots intend for their books to read. Ms. Grace is one of those rare writers who can pull it off
~Long and Short of It Reviews
Reviews for Winters & Somers:
The comic tone of the story, and especially the sexy chemistry between the hero and heroine that each tries unsuccessfully to ignore, make for a fun, engrossing read. So, if you like your romance on the light side... you will enjoy Winters and Somers.
~ Hydrangea from Long and Short Reviews
The opportunity to review another story by Ms. Grace is a true pleasure and having it set in Ireland a delight! I love this romance not only for how clean it is but also how humorous the characters are. I laughed a lot and cried a bit as well. The mystery in this book concerns Ciara’s family history and is an endearing romance. Get this story in your hands and enjoy it, one and all! It will not disappoint you and will leave you with a smile on your face!
~Five Coffee Cups! Coffee Time Romance
PROLOGUE
The warm summer evening was thickening into night, and at the newly opened FunLand Pleasure Center crowds of visitors were making their way to the main gates and home. The carnival atmosphere of the new resort had left them tired but exhilarated.
During the day, the resort had been brimming with families and excited young children, but at night there was a different crowd, teenagers with a sprinkling of older folk. Many were coming from the country’n’western concert at the main hall and wore bright costumes, the English interpretation of American cowboy attire.
A striking blonde woman stood out from the rest. Her short red dress and strappy high-heeled sandals emphasized her leggy good looks, and few men in the crowd passed her by without a second glance. Her looks elicited some malicious comments from the women, which made their men folk laugh even as they indulged in brief fantasies of what they imagined this woman could offer.
None more so than the handsome man who lounged against a gatepost, his eyes taking in every line of the woman as she approached him.
“Waiting for someone, honey?” She drawled her practiced pick-up line. She was a working girl, and even though the evening had been a good time in her time off, she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to make a few pounds—especially not with a hunk like this. And he had that needy look she knew only too well…
“I think I’ve been waiting for you, love—probably most of my life,” he replied, his tone matching her lazy drawl.
“Well, then, I guess we’re two lucky people.” She smiled up at him as she slipped her arm through his, and they strolled together through the gates. As they reached the beach down the flower-bordered path of a small park, she slipped out of her spike-heeled shoes so she could walk more easily on the sand. It was a calculatedly sexy move, affording the man a good look at her shapely thighs as she balanced herself against him to slip off first one shoe, then the other. He laughed good-naturedly as he steadied her, and took her elbow to guide her toward the sheltering privacy of some rocks. The only sounds were the muttering rhythm of the North Sea and the intermittent sounds of laughter and car horns from the resort on the cliffs above.
In the shadows, sure they were alone, he dropped tiny kisses on her hair and the tip of her nose, and she responded happily pressing herself against him. The strap of her red dress slipped from her shoulder and he kissed the space it left, his lips moving down her skin until he captured her breast in his mouth.
She groaned softly in her throat, her busy fingers opening the buttons of his soft white shirt so that her lips could graze his chest. So far, she hadn’t mentioned business, but this one was attractive enough to interest her anyway. She figured he was probably experienced enough to know what she was about so she gave herself up to the pleasure of his kisses.
When his hands began to wander over her lush body, she matched him move for move, finally pulling him down onto the cooling sand beside her and whispering in his ear, “Shall I take you high, baby?”
“Oh, I think you’ll take me high, all right, I think the ultimate high…” His voice was thick, his mouth against her neck as she threw back her head and laughed in delight.
But the laughter was short-lived. For the same bright moonbeams that lit her eyes to gold also flashed silver on the terrible blade that arced down toward her throat.
“The ultimate high,” he moaned against her thrashing body.
Resort to Murder
CHAPTER ONE
A cry was st
ifled in her throat as the dead woman began to move. Her empty eyes opened. Her dead mouth widened in a silent scream as the white fingers began to claw at the hem of Ellie’s coat, pulling her down, down into a cold embrace.
Terrified, Ellie turned and ran from the nightmare figure until she was caught by strong familiar arms…
Ellie Fitzpatrick woke from the dream, her heart pounding in fear and yet with desire flooding hotly through her veins. Her dream rescuer had been Liam Reilly. Cursing demons she couldn’t vanquish, she climbed out of bed and pulled on a soft silk robe. Her face was pale in the bathroom mirror, dark shadows under her eyes testament to the early hour. But she knew she wouldn’t sleep now, not when the faces of all the dead women would drift through her dreams. She wondered if other police officers ever got accustomed to the sight of the murdered dead. She knew she never would.
This was her family’s cottage, perched on the cliffs near Whitby in Yorkshire. Childhood memories surrounded her, comfortable as a favorite sweater, but not strong enough to keep the bad dreams at bay. She pulled open the patio doors that led onto the paved stone terrace. Below the cottage, the restless murmuring of the sea gathering its strength for yet another tidal assault on the shore, echoed her mood. Ellie leaned against the narrow wooden rail that separated her terrace from the cliff edge and sucked in a deep breath of salt-tang air, closing her eyes as she basked in the magnificent silence of the pre-dawn world.
There he was again, behind her closed lids, as surely as if he’d materialized from her dream. Liam Reilly. His presence haunted her waking days as surely as the nightmares haunted her nights. They were inextricably linked. Opposite sides of the coin of her life.
Ellie’s lips curled in an ironic smile. Just last night, Brad Scott, the man she’d been seeing the past few months, had asked her to marry him. Brad had been there for her all through these difficult months, but she couldn’t marry him because the man who’d abandoned her still infected her blood like some incurable virus. She raised her head to the star sprinkled night and her treacherous body, reveling in memories of Reilly, insisted there was only one solution. In his arms she was safe; she was alive as she had never been since they had parted. But that chapter of her life, with its accompanying betrayal and humiliation, was over and should be put to rest.
In a tiny corner of her mind, fear unfurled and blossomed with memories that she thought had been shut away forever. Her old life had cost her dearly, but even though she called herself all kinds of a fool, she knew she must seize this one opportunity to reclaim it.
****
She dozed, wrapped in blankets on the white wicker chaise longue on her terrace, with the soothing sound of the calming ocean a lullaby. Three hours later, she woke with her feet tingling and numb. The scruffy white dog, a stray Ellie often fed, had found her and fallen asleep across her legs, cutting off the circulation.
“You had a restless night, too?” she asked the sleepy dog. Tuesday, named for the day of the week he’d entered her life, opened one raisin black eye as Ellie extricated her feet from under him. He stretched a little, yawned, and returned to his doggie dreams.
“Lazy beast,” Ellie muttered, stretching stiff limbs and yawning. “Coffee and a shower, that’s what I need.” The white dog opened one eye again. Ellie grinned. “Ridiculous, talking to an animal. It’s not as if you can understand me,” she told him, and he wagged his tail knowingly before curling into an even tighter ball and going back to sleep.
Tuesday had adopted Ellie a few months earlier and she enjoyed his quiet company. Still, the innocuous beast had been the cause of the first and only serious argument she’d ever had with Brad. He’d stopped by unexpectedly at the glowing end of an unusually warm winter day and Tuesday, surprised by the visitor while asleep in a patch of sunlit terrace, had growled menacingly. Brad responded with a hard kick to the stray’s skinny hindquarters. The dog paused only to flash Ellie a reproachful look before fleeing.
Shocked by Brad’s violent outburst, Ellie had rounded angrily on him and in the row that followed, he accused her of preferring the dog’s company over his because she was afraid to be with a ‘flesh and blood man.’
Furious at his accusations—especially since she suspected they contained a nugget of truth - Ellie had avoided Brad for a week. Then he’d arrived on her doorstep, a lopsided grin on his boyishly handsome face, holding out a bag of CrossRoads Café croissants as a peace offering. The incident had been almost forgotten. The dog had come back, too, seeming to need Ellie’s company as well as the scraps she left for him, but he still made sure to stay well out of the way when Brad was nearby.
The doorbell interrupted her thoughts as she finished her shower. Resentful that her peaceful morning had been disturbed, she wrapped a towel around her dripping hair and quickly pulled on pants and a cotton sweater as the bell pealed again insistently. Her irritation evaporated once she opened the door to find Brad on her doorstep, a huge bunch of bright flowers cradled in one arm, a white cardboard bakery box in his other hand.
“Good morning,” he grinned, pleased to see her struggling to figure out what was going on. “You really can’t guess, can you?” he said, brushing past her into the small kitchen, shrinking it even more with his tall presence.
“Well, it’s not my birthday - and it’s not yours, because I remember we picnicked on the beach in the freezing cold last February to celebrate yours. It’s not a solstice, Christmas, or Easter - not Labor Day or American Thanksgiving ...Okay, I give up.”
“It’s the 12-hour anniversary of my proposal to you!” Brad declared triumphantly, presenting her with the bouquet while leaning over to pop the box down on the kitchen counter. He gathered Ellie into his arms, awkwardly because of the flowers in her arms and the floppy towel on her head, and captured her lips in a sizzling kiss. As his mouth became more demanding and harder on hers, Ellie backed off, holding the flowers in front of her and muttered about finding vases.
“It’s really sweet of you, Brad, but I’m still half-asleep...”
“Well, I could take you back to bed...”
“Get lost.”
“Not a morning person, are we?” he asked, smiling to take the edge off the words. If ever she fell in love with Brad, Ellie thought, it would be because of his engaging smile. But she wasn’t going to tell him about her nightmare, or how she had been dozing out on the terrace rather than in her own bed.
“Wherever did you find these beautiful flowers at this time in the morning?” Ellie asked.
Brad wriggled his eyebrows and leered at her comically. “I ‘ave my vays. Actually, there’s a 24 hour petrol station and convenience store south of Whitby…and the croissants were stolen from under the nose of a burly truck driver the minute Larry opened for business at the CrossRoads Café.” He paused, and then added, “By the way, I saw that filthy mutt again, hanging about by your terrace. When are you going to get rid of him?”
“What harm is he doing? I like his company, and he cleans up a few leftovers,” Ellie said, quelling a flash of temper.
“He’s a stray, and he’s taking you for a sucker, love. Before you know it, you’ll be landed with the mutt, a million fleas, and vet bills you know you can’t afford. He’ll move in on you and then you’ll find out all the nasty little habits that made his previous owner have the good sense to dump him.”
“Just leave it, Brad,” Ellie said tightly. Even though she recognized he was probably right, she couldn’t help feeling a flare of protectiveness toward the dog.
He shrugged and tapped the bakery box on the kitchen counter. “When are you going to join the 21st century and get a microwave, Ellie? You don’t even have an answering machine; your computer’s out of the Ark, and frankly, this cottage is like something out of the Dark Ages.”
“It suits me just fine,” Ellie retorted, stung at his criticism.
Geez, Ellie! A handsome man arrives on your doorstep, bearing flowers and the most heavenly croissants available in England, offers to sweep
you off your feet with passion, and what happens? You go into a fit of the deepest grouchies! It’s not every day a woman passing thirty can expect to have lovers hammering on her door...
Lovers. Her mind was filled with deeply sensual images of Liam Reilly. They were as sharp and clear as if they’d occurred that night, and her body tingled with remembered passion. She buried her face in the flowers, hoping that Brad hadn’t seen and misinterpreting the naked desire she was sure must be evident on her face.
At that instant, Brad was distracted by the shrilling of his cell phone. He answered it, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Darn it, Ellie - the boss is sending me a fax I need to look at right now. Can you warm up the croissants in the oven - I’ll be back in about 30 minutes?” Then he was gone, back to his own cottage next door along the cliff. Ellie glanced at the clock above the stove - twenty minutes past seven. What on earth was he thinking? She stretched, yawned, and enjoyed the feeling of well being that his visit had brought. But what are you going to do about his proposal? She clenched her teeth, the good feeling evaporating rapidly.
On impulse, she laid the small kitchen table for two with a clean yellow cloth, green and yellow place mats and green linen napkins, adding the delicate primrose yellow china crockery she’d brought with her from her other life. She finished by adding some white and yellow tulips from the bouquet Brad had brought, then stood back to admire her handiwork. It was the least she could do after Brad had gone to so much trouble.
She was getting restless when half an hour later Brad called to explain that he’d been further delayed, and it would likely be another hour before he could join her.
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