Fourth Victim E-Book

Jan Coffey

• Herausgeber: Book Duo Creative
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 460

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

USA Today Bestselling Author May McGoldrick writing as Jan Coffey   The Fourth Victim is a masterful blend of psychological horror and suspense, a tale that grips readers with its unsettling premise and refuses to let go. Set against the haunting legacy of a New Mexico cult, this story explores the inescapable ties of the past and the chilling cost of survival. Three survivors of a harrowing cult have already fallen victim to a relentless killer. Now, only one remains. Kelly Stone, the final survivor, has built a quiet life far from her traumatic beginnings. But as the ghosts of her past resurface, so does the danger, drawing her into a terrifying confrontation with a predator determined to finish what was started decades ago. With its atmospheric tension and relentless pacing, The Fourth Victim plunges readers into a world where fear is palpable and safety is an illusion. The claustrophobic dread of being hunted permeates every page, pulling readers into Kelly's desperate struggle to protect her daughter and herself. What sets this novel apart is its deep emotional core. Kelly's journey is not just one of survival but also of reckoning—with her past, her identity, and her determination to fight back against a fate that seems inevitable. Her character is richly drawn, her vulnerability making her triumphs all the more powerful, while the antagonist is a chilling embodiment of unrelenting evil. Perfect for fans of dark psychological horror with a human edge, The Fourth Victim delivers heart-pounding terror and poignant storytelling. It's not just a book—it's an unshakable experience, one that lingers long after the last page. This is a tale that will chill readers to their core and leave them hungry for more.  "WOW this book was so hard to out down. You had me guessing who was involved and how!! Terrific read, and the plot just kept getting thicker every page."  ★★★★★   

Leseprobe

FOURTH VICTIM

JAN COFFEY

withMAY MCGOLDRICK

Book Duo Creative

In the event that you enjoy Fourth Victim, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the authors. Thanks!

Fourth Victim. Copyright © 2014 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick

First Published by Mira books, 2004

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Book Duo Creative.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Edition Note

Author’s Note

Preview of FIVE IN A ROW

Also by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey & Nik James

About the Author

To Linda, Shannon, Arhonti, Karen, Dr. Hafti, and all the other wonderful people at the Hunter Radiation Therapy Center at Yale-New Haven Hospital. Thank you for your excellent care, for your compassion…and also for being such great fans of our books.

We dedicate this book to the women and men who are going through breast cancer treatment right now…and to the millions of survivors.

There is great hope. Keep on living.

PROLOGUE

April 1982

The bright desert moon illuminated miles of scrub pine and yucca on either side of the highway. Flares and a trooper funneled the late-night traffic on Interstate 10 into one lane, and three ambulances, three state police cars, a tow truck, and the local sheriff’s black-and-white blocked off the rest of the westbound lanes, putting on a light show that could be seen as far as Albuquerque.

A few passenger cars and a number of trucks crawled past as the drivers gaped at the wreckage of the station wagon that was lying with its wheels in the air beside a knocked-out section of guardrail. A hundred feet up the road, an eighteen-wheeler was sitting on the shoulder of the highway. The shaken driver sat on the cab’s running board, making statements to a trooper. News of the accident was already on the local station, advising travelers to take alternate routes.

The acrid smoke from the flares burned everyone’s eyes as they worked. Pebbles of glass covered the road, crunching beneath rescue workers’ shoes as they tried to extricate the passengers from the station wagon.

There was already one fatality that they knew of. A toddler thrown out of the car when the station wagon flipped over repeatedly before coming to a stop. No car seats. No seatbelts. The middle-aged woman who was driving had been unconscious when they took her out in an ambulance to Deming only moments earlier. The three other passengers in the back seat were all minors. A baby tucked between two young teenagers.

It was a few more minutes before the rescue workers successfully removed the seat that had trapped the children in the car. The state trooper who’d arrived first on the scene stood back as two EMTs removed the wailing infant and the teenage boy from the wreck. They put the boy carefully on a stretcher and strapped the baby into a special carrier. A few cuts and bruises. Neither seemed seriously hurt, only upset. The same trooper had pulled out the driver.

He crouched down and flashed his light into the vehicle. The last passenger was a young girl, maybe ten or eleven.

“Everything will be okay now,” he said calmly. “They’ll be back to take you out in a minute.”

With the car upside down, she was twisted on her side. But her green eyes were open. They glistened in the light. No cries, no moans, no complaints. No response at all to the blood streaming from the ugly gash in her forehead, soaking the short curly brown hair, and running down her pale face.

The trooper felt the tap on his shoulder as another EMT came for the girl. As he stood up, a cool breeze swept in off the desert, mingling the smell of pine with the scent of gasoline from the overturned vehicle.

“Head injury, concussion. She’s not responding,” the first man called out, crawling inside the vehicle. Two others bringing a stretcher arrived at the car.

The trooper touched the letters BDM stenciled beneath a gold crescent moon on the mangled driver’s door and went around the car. Flashing his light inside, he searched the glove compartment for any documents they might have missed. They had already found the car’s registration, but there was no purse or ID on the driver.

“Be careful now.” Two of the EMTs were handing the girl out. The officer hustled around to help the other worker bring the stretcher closer. The green eyes were still open, and as the workers placed her on it, the girl focused on him and said something under her breath.

He leaned closer. Her face was deathly white. She whispered it again.

“…me!”

“What did you say, hon?” he asked, crouching down on one knee as they strapped her in.

“Take me away. Please. Take me.”

He placed his hand on her icy fingers. “They’re taking you to a hospital. You’ll be as good as new in no time.”

She began to shake and strained against the straps. “Don’t leave me here.”

“You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.” He tried to hold on to her, but the EMTs rushed her toward the ambulance.

He stared as the back doors closed. A moment later, the sirens began to wail, and the ambulance pulled away.

The station wagon had come from the compound of a religious group led by Reverend Michael Butler. The Butler Divinity Mission—made up mostly of women and children and a few retired folks—lived and worked on a two-hundred-acre ranch little more than a half hour south of here. Interrupting his thoughts, the barracks captain from Deming called to him from his cruiser.

“Dispatch says there’s no answer out at Reverend Butler’s place,” the captain said. “I want you to ride out there and let them know about the accident. See if you can get the Reverend or one of his deacons to come into the hospital in Deming. We’re going to need someone to ID the deceased boy, too. Take Mac with you.”

Ten years older, with nine years seniority, Mac was a veteran compared to the number of recent academy graduates working out of the newly built State Police barracks in Deming. Southwestern New Mexico was growing, and the force was growing with it.

They drove in silence for a while before Mac started in. “So, I hear you’re just back from your honeymoon.”

“Yeah. Today was the first day back on the job.”

“Where did you two lovebirds go?”

“Back East. That’s where Anne’s family is.”

“Big family?”

“She’s got enough aunts and uncles and cousins to pack a football stadium.” He smiled. “And I’m only talking about the ones that I met during the ten days we were there.”

“You wanna talk about big families? In my first year on the force it seemed like every goddamn car I pulled over was some cousin of mine, or a neighbor to a cousin, or a girlfriend to the cousin of a neighbor to a cousin.”

Mac had a story for everything, and he continued to ramble on as they took the exit off the highway.

The young trooper had already heard a lot of the officer’s stories, but he enjoyed hearing these about family. Everything he could put together from his own past wouldn’t fill a five-minute coffee-break. A father who ran off when he was too young to remember. A mother who was always working to make ends meet. No brothers or sisters, no aunts or uncles or cousins. Certainly, no family reunions. His mother never talked about her folks, and he’d never asked. Then one day she’d fallen asleep at the wheel coming home from a second shift job. She was dead by the time they got her to the hospital. It was too late to ask anything, then.

He’d been a loner until he’d fallen for Anne. She’d made him complete in more ways than he could say. After seeing what he’d been missing all of his life, having a big family was something that he was looking forward to immensely over the next sixty or seventy years of marriage.

“Your Anne must get a mite homesick with none of her folks around.”

“I don’t know. I keep her pretty busy.”

“Wash that damn newlywed grin off your face, or I’ll put in to have it surgically removed,” Mac threatened. “B’sides, you just wait a few years. All that will change. Believe you me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I was talking about when your sweet ass is at work, lover boy. What’s she do with herself?”

“Anne is keeping her job,” he replied.

Mac answered a call from the dispatcher and told her their destination before continuing with their conversation. “Shoot, and here I’ve been telling everyone how you robbed the cradle. That gal looks like she’s still in school.”

“She graduated this past May. Had a job waiting for her.”

“That a fact? Where?”

At a colorfully painted, oversized mailbox, the trooper turned off the state highway onto a dirt road.

“Department of Child and Family Services.”

“Both of you dipping into the New Mexico public trough. Way to go, fella.”

“Hey, she works hard.”

“I know,” Mac said seriously. He shook his head. “Family Services is tough. Juvenile delinquents, welfare cases, drunken fathers, abuse. You’ll work with them plenty. I don’t envy her none.”

“Actually, Anne got lucky. She works in this new program they’re trying out with a bunch of teenagers in test groups across the state. It’s kind of a...” He slowed the cruiser and turned his spotlight on the brush to the right of the road. He thought he saw something, or someone come out of the dark and then disappear again into the sparse brush.

“What was that?” Mac asked.

“You saw it, too?”

Mac looked at the open stretch of land to his right, where the figure had disappeared. There were no other cars on the road. No lights other than the cruiser’s as far as they could see. No houses. Nothing.

“I’ll tell you the truth. This area has spooked me since I was a kid. All them stories about ghosts haunting these hills. Indians and Spaniards and God knows what else.”

“Come on, Mac. That’s a bunch of crap.” The young officer turned off the spotlight and put his foot on the gas. “Those are just stories to give little kids nightmares.”

“And I s’pose you don’t believe in no ghosts.”

“I don’t think anyone sane over the age of five does.”

“That right?” Mac huffed. “Well, a few do. Anyway, that’s how this guy Butler was able to pick up that ranch and all this land for a song.”

“Well, however he got it, having somebody use it for a good cause is better than having it sit empty and rot.”

“That’s what I keep hearing.” Mac turned to him. “You know him?”

“Not personally.”

“Been out here before?”

“No, but some of Anne’s kids are staying at the Mission, so she’s been visiting them pretty regular. She can’t say enough nice things about the place and the Reverend. She calls him Father Mike.”

“Watch out there, fella. That’s how it starts.”

“What starts?”

“The chick magnet.” Mac grinned devilishly. “Word is, that Divinity Mission is packed with women. Young women. Pretty women.”

“And kids,” the younger man responded defensively. “Kids whose fathers have shit for brains. These women come out here because they have no place else to go. They’re running for their lives, some of them.”

“I know how that goes,” Mac admitted. “Did I tell you about this loser that my sister Adele is dating?”

Mac launched into an involved tale about how his younger sister was blind to some guy’s faults and her plans of moving in with the creep. The young trooper lost interest in the story, when he drove over the crest of the hill above the Mission compound. The silvery landscape glowed beneath the full moon. In the valley below, a handful of buildings hunched together, giving the appearance of a toy village. There was a parking lot with a dozen cars on the south side of an adobe building with a cross on top. An old windmill, the tallest structure in the landscape, stood two fingertips away. With the exception of a few lights in the distance, the Mission lay in total darkness. A new range fence encircled the cluster of buildings, but the gate was wide open.

“It must be past curfew,” Mac commented, turning in his seat as they drove past a hand-painted wooden sign, welcoming them to the Divinity Mission, Rev. Michael Butler, Pastor. “You said your wife comes out here a lot?”

“Yeah. Almost every day. In fact, I think she was stopping by this afternoon.”

“This is the worst part of the job,” Mac said as they drove down the hill to the compound. “Bringing people bad news at all hours of the night.”

“No dogs,” the young trooper muttered as he pulled in next to the first building. “Anne said they kept a bunch of dogs out here for the kids.”

Another hand-painted sign encouraged the visitors to sign in at the Mission office.

They sat silently for a few seconds. No one was out and about. No lights had come on in any of the buildings. Even the radio in the cruiser was totally silent for the first time since they’d set out.

“What do you say we just do the job and get the hell out of here,” Mac said in an attempt at sounding cheerful.

They both got out and approached the office. Mac knocked as the young trooper looked behind them at the dark buildings. It was dead quiet. They waited for a few seconds, and this time Mac called out, identifying himself and knocking again. Still nothing.

There were no locks on the door, so he pushed it open. The door swung noisily on rusty hinges. The light switch was right beside the door, and Mac flipped it on. A single bulb came to life overhead. In the office, there were two cluttered desks and a four-drawer file cabinet near a window.

“Nice to have a nine-to-five job,” Mac commented.

“I think that’s the only phone in the place.” He picked it up. There was a dialtone. “Well, it’s working, anyway.”

Mac nodded and the two went out of the office. They walked along a gravel path, looking at the dark buildings. There was no sign of life. They exchanged a look.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the young trooper said. “Where should we start?”

There were three single-story buildings that looked like dormitories on either side of walkway. At the end of the path was a larger adobe building that looked to be the chapel.

“You take that door, and I’ll take this one. We knock until we get hold of a live one. Go ahead. I’ll watch your back.”

Not far off, the distinctive yip of a coyote cut sharply through the night and made the hair stand up on the trooper’s neck. He looked over his shoulder and found his partner already poised to knock on the first door. There was no answer at either building.

“You sure these folks ain’t on spring break or something?” Mac called across to him as they walked toward the next building.

“If I hadn’t seen those signs, I wouldn’t be sure we’re even in the right place. This is starting to look like a set from one of those Hollywood Westerns.”

“Yeah, a ghost town,” Mac chipped in.

“All we need is a saloon with a skeleton for a bartender.” He knocked on the next door and at hearing no answer, he pressed his face against the window. Total darkness was the only thing that greeted him inside.

“How about a lame dog?”

“I don’t remember that in any movies.” He looked over his shoulder at his partner.

Mac was approaching something. By the corner of the building, a black dog was growling at the trooper. Before Mac could reach it, the animal limped away into the dark, dragging a leg behind him.

He hurried over as Mac backed away. The two men peered into the darkness around them, their hands on their pistols.

“I don’t like this, kid. Go call for backup.”

The tone had changed. Before he could move a step, he saw the older officer focus and move toward another dark shape in the shadow of the church building.

Mac turned to him. “Tell them we’re going to need ambulances.”

The trooper made it to the cruiser in seconds. While radioing in the information, he saw Mac moving to the door of the chapel. Drawing his weapon, Mac pulled open the door.

He stood still for a moment, and then staggered backward.

The trooper drew his own weapon and rushed toward the building. He hadn’t heard a shot.

“Are you hurt?”

Even in the darkness of the night, he could tell Mac’s face had turned chalk white. The older man leaned against the building, and a strange growl escaped his throat. “Don’t go in there.”

The young trooper focused the flashlight on his partner. No stab wound. No blood. He turned the light on the door.

“No. You don’t want to see it.”

He was crying. Mac was crying. Unable to stop himself, the officer took a step toward the open door. Immediately, his gaze was drawn to the candles sputtering beside a pulpit at the far end of the building. Smoke from burning incense was rising from a small table beside the door. The smell was sickeningly sweet.

The beam of his light flashed into the church. Bodies. Right inside the door. Three bodies wearing red robes. They were lying on the floor. A woman’s legs stretched out along the threshold. Her eyes were open.

The trooper inched forward. There were more. White candles had been lit and blown out. They lay next to the bodies. He felt the blood drain from his head as he stared at the scores of lifeless bodies. The body of a man in a white robe lay on the altar behind the pulpit.

The smell of death hit him, paralyzing him. He heard himself saying that it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

He didn’t know that his vision had blurred until the images in front of him came sharply into focus. He flashed his light on the faces.

He stepped unsteadily into the church. He could barely breathe. Shining his light at the foot of the pulpit, he saw a baptismal font. Paper cups lay next to it on a table and filled a wastebasket beside it.

As he moved closer to the pulpit, it felt like the air was moving around him. Thoughts of spirits trapped inside the closed doors stopped him in his tracks. He could feel them around him, swirling in the amber colored air like wisps of smoke. A light touch on his shoulder caused him to turn, his flashlight cutting through the near darkness. Nothing. The caress of a small hand on his wrist. He looked down. Nothing.

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. Pressure on his chest, like some huge, gloved hand, was squeezing the air out of him. He pulled at the collar of his shirt as he gasped.

How could this all be real? Denial took hold of him. This was a lie. It had to be. They were staging this. They couldn’t all be dead. Then, he felt the bile rising into his throat. He had to get out. He turned toward the door, but he couldn’t see it. The flashlight rotated wildly in every direction. Along the walls, the floor was covered with bodies in red robes. There were more of them around the pulpit.

A hand took hold of his elbow. He could not turn to look. He had to get out. He could feel each finger pressing into the flesh through his shirt. The hand was pulling at him, forcing him back toward the pulpit, back toward the baptismal font. Panic washed through him, and he tried to yank his arm free. The fingers felt like steel pincers, cutting into his flesh.

Still, he could not turn. Images of the dead were rising up in front of him, dancing like macabre specters in some horrible dream. The walls were beginning to pulse in and out as if they were made of rubber. There was no air anywhere.

He had to get out. He had to get to the door. But his legs felt as if sacks of sand had been bound to each ankle. He inched along, seeming to make no progress. The pincers biting into his arm were ready to cut through the bone. The pain was so intense that he was afraid he would lose consciousness. Finally, he whirled and looked at his captor.

Nothing.

He tried to move again toward the door. His boot touched a hand and he stopped, shining his light on the dead woman.

Anne.

CHAPTERONE

June 2004

Twenty-two years later

The hundred or so cheering onlookers were sweating profusely on the aluminum grandstand seats that stretched along the faded white tile of the indoor pool. Parents, grandparents, and family friends took turns calling out encouragement as cameras flashed and video cameras tried to capture each stroke of the dozen and a half three and four-year-olds splashing noisily across the width of the pool. Graduation day at the duckling-level swimming class had brought all the families out.

The health club on the state road between Errol and Colebrook was a popular place every spring, drawing not just people from northern New Hampshire, but families from Vermont, Maine, and even Quebec Province for the swimming lessons. The managers knew how to take advantage of having the only indoor pool in the area.

For the past two and half months, three times a week, Kelly Stone had been driving her daughter Jade here for one purpose—socializing. The little girl was a competent swimmer already, thanks to being raised on a lake by a nervous mother. Kelly had made sure Jade learned to swim at the same time that she was taking her first steps. The lessons were unimportant. Mingling with other kids, making friends, knowing how to act and talk and play like a child—that was their reason for coming. Although she was little more than three and a half years old, Jade wasn’t too strong on being a kid. Never had been. But what could one expect when the little girl was constantly surrounded by adults?

Kelly owned and lived in a renovated inn tucked away in the New Hampshire woods. The clientele was for the most part young couples, antique dealers, and an occasional pair or trio of upscale hunters. Certainly, the small group of people who worked at Tranquility Inn didn’t have any experience dealing with children, so Jade wasn’t really treated like one. Their closest neighbors were the clusters of cabins on the far side of the lake. Empty for most of the year, they were occupied only during the month of July and August by one youth camp or another. The closest village was Independence, five miles away. The closest child Jade’s age? Kelly looked at the young swimmers lined up at the side of the pool. This was where she’d hoped to find them.

Her plan should have worked. A budding friendship. A giggle here and there. But nothing. Even Kelly’s direct attempt at initiating something—an invitation for a few of the girls and boys to come to the inn for a little luncheon—had failed. The parents had been polite but reserved. Their children treated Jade with the same awkwardness that she treated them.

Standing at thirty-two inches tall and weighing just under forty pounds, she was smaller than any of them, but she talked and acted like Miss Manners.

The little hand rising out of the water and waving in Kelly’s direction brought the whole pool area into sharp focus for the young mother. She waved back proudly at Jade, who was holding on to the edge of the pool and preparing for the final task of swimming to the other end. Kelly turned on the video camera as the three-year-old tucked a tendril of wet hair behind her ear and twisted the belt holding the white plastic floater around her thin middle. Jade undid the clasp and tossed the floater up onto the tile. She’d hated the nuisance from day one but had agreed to wear it, so she wouldn’t be pushed into the older age group. This was the last day, and Jade had told Kelly on their drive in that next year she would just as soon take the class with the teenagers. At least they thought she was cute.

“Look at that little one.”

“What a good swimmer she is.”

“She’s amazing.”

Kelly swelled with pride as the whispers of praise rippled through the parents and grandparents. She bit her lip to fight her emotions and brought the camera to her eye and started taping. Jade reached the end of the pool at the same time that took the other little ones to cover half the distance.

There were a few in the audience who actually cheered for Jade, as if it were a race. Kelly knew that Greg would have been cheering the loudest if he were still alive. He would have been not only a proud father, but a loud one, too. He would have been telling everyone on the stands which one of those children was his and how young but accomplished she was, and a hundred other things. He’d been ready for fatherhood from the first moment she’d given him the news. Kelly would never forget how he’d announced at dinner to everyone on that Caribbean cruise ship that he and his wife were pregnant.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t lived long enough even to see his daughter born. The video camera continued to tape, but Kelly’s vision blurred.

A moment later, she realized the parents were moving off the aluminum seats. A group was forming a circle in the area where the instructors were handing out certificates to the children. She shut off the camera and put it in the bag, before rummaging around in her purse for a tissue to wipe her eyes.

“I want a Band-Aid, too.”

Kelly looked up in surprise to find her daughter standing before her. The oversized towel she’d wrapped around her was dragging on the wet tile floor. A certificate, spotted with wet fingerprints, was being held out to her. Kelly came off the grandstand and took the child—paper still in her hand—in a tight embrace.

“I am so proud of you. You were incredible.”

The three-year-old shrugged. “I want a Band-Aid.”

Kelly put the certificate in the bag and sat down on the aluminum bench, pulling her daughter onto her lap. A Band-Aid was their cure for everything, and not just cuts and bruises. On the first day of swimming classes, Jade had put four Band-Aids on her stomach to take care of the nervousness.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I’m not a baby.” A little pout formed on her lips. There was a slight tremble in her chin.

“No, you’re not.” Kelly wrapped the towel tighter around the child’s shoulders and gave her a growling bear hug. “You’re a big girl. A talented one. And a very strong one. In fact, you’re one tough cookie.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Me, too.” Glad for the distraction, Kelly put Jade down and held her hand as they headed for the changing room. The circle of families around the swimmers had not broken up yet. Parents were thanking the instructors. She didn’t miss the wounded glance her daughter directed at the circle as they passed it. Even at her age, Jade understood the difference in her life from the other swimmers. Kelly knew she felt a little jealous that she didn’t have a big family to adore her and admire her every accomplishment. Today was just another day designed to make her realize how tiny her fan club really was.

“Let’s do something fun for lunch,” Kelly suggested as she ushered Jade inside the shower room.

“Let’s get cookies and soda.”

“Cookies and soda?” She tickled her daughter, helping her rinse off. “How about a pound of sugar?”

“How about a billion M&Ms on an ice-cream cone?” Jade gave a belly laugh and went on to ask for all of her favorite candies and cookies and every other outrageous thing that her young mind could think of.

Kelly was relieved to see her daughter’s mood improve, and she hurried to get the child out of the locker room before the rest of the children came in. Jade cooperated every step of the way. It was like her to be so attuned to her mother’s moods.

They made a compromise by stopping at the new ice-cream shop near Errol and ordering a Belgian waffle with ice cream and all kinds of toppings. An hour later, as they turned onto the gravel road leading to Tranquility Inn, Kelly looked in the rearview mirror and smiled at her sleeping child.

She was planning to send Jade to a preschool south of Independence two days a week starting this fall, even though she knew it would mean many tears and moods and emergency calls for Band-Aids. There would be Father’s Days, Grandparents’ Days, school plays, sporting events, parent-teacher conferences. She and Jade would have to go through them all on their own. Kelly yanked the wheel to go around a large pothole in the road. She’d have to start buying Band-Aids in economy size packages.

Enough for both of them.

* * *

Ian Campbell looked from the small tray of business cards to the plate of chocolate chip cookies on the corner of the reception desk, then at the face of the old lady studying the page of the reservation book. Thinning cotton-white hair, cut very short and styled. Pink-rimmed glasses matched the color of the woman’s jogging suit. He didn’t miss the cane leaning against the wall near her chair.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Campbell. But we have no reservation in your name.”

He checked the nameplate on the desk again. “Miss Maitland, isn’t it?”

“Mrs. Maitland. But please call me Janice,” she said, flustered. “Perhaps your secretary or whoever made the reservation, gave you the wrong⁠—”

“I called myself. And I spoke to a young man named Dan. Dan Davies. Do you have an employee by that name?”

“Well, yes.”

“Would you be kind enough, Janice, to check through your reservations again?”

A deep blush crept into the wrinkled cheeks. Ian leaned back in the chair as she ran a thin finger down the scribbled list of names on the open page of the reservation log. Yellow sticky noted jutted out every which way from a book that looked more like a ledger than any kind of calendar.

A door to the left of the reservation desk was open, and Ian could see into a small, cluttered office. Right next to it, a long hallway led to an exterior door that was also open, letting fresh air in through a screen door. The voices and dramatic music of a soap opera drifted down from the end of the hall, mixing with the chopping sound of a knife going to town on a cutting board. He leaned over and helped himself to one of the cookies as he glanced through open double doors into a large, bright, enclosed porch with half a dozen tables. A door led out onto a deck overlooking the lake.

Footsteps behind him had Ian turn in his chair. He smiled at a round-faced young woman carrying an armful of linens through the lobby. With a brisk nod of her head, she went around the reception desk and down the hall.

“Great cookies. Mind if I have another?”

“Absolutely. Please help yourself.” Janice pushed the plate toward him as she turned a page of the reservation book.

Ian took another cookie and shifted in his seat. The large, open parlor and sitting room extended behind him. The walls were white, giving the room an airy feeling that was tempered only somewhat by a large stone fireplace that dominated one wall. Over the mantle, a moose head stared into space, its huge span of antlers stretching for four feet on either side. An ancient Winchester hunting rifle had been mounted beneath the moose, with crossed snowshoes and a variety of Native American artifacts completing the décor on that wall. There was a collection of painted and decorated gourds on the mantle that looked southwestern. The windows in the room were open, letting in the fresh New Hampshire air. Comfortable sofas and chairs sat in inviting clusters around the parlor.

Janice’s fingers paused on a line after flipping two more pages. The deepening of the furrow in her forehead told Ian that she didn’t care for what she’d found.

Ian tried to recall what he’d read about Tranquility Inn in a guidebook of New England inns. The northern New Hampshire inn was owned and managed by Kelly Stone. Overlooking Lake Tranquility, the book said the Inn was sure to live up to its name, offering pleasantly simple accommodations, a country experience and excellent food. Though the inn lacked televisions, Internet, and phones in its guest rooms, the hotel guests were welcome to use the office phone or fax in case of emergencies.

“Any luck?”

“Yes, I did find your reservation, Mr. Campbell. Unfortunately, a grave error was made by the person who took down your information.”

“Dan Davies.”

“Yes. You see, he’s our summer help. And the day you called, I believe might have been his first day on the job. It appears he had the reservation book open to the wrong page. We weren’t expecting you until the last Friday in June.”

“I specified the dates I was interested in staying here,” Ian responded, putting a sharp edge in his tone.

“I’m sure you did, sir. I’m positive the mistake was Dan’s and not yours. In fact, I’ve found another reservation for that same day, taken by Dan, and I’m afraid that couple may be arriving today, as well.” She slid a flyer toward him. “If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll make a call to this place for you. The Peacock Inn is owned by a good friend of ours. I’m sure we can place you there. It’s a lovely inn and less than a half-hour’s ride from here. You’ll find their accommodations outstanding. In fact, we’ll be happy to⁠—”

“I am not moving to another inn, Mrs. Maitland.”

“I was going to say that your stay there will be at our expense, because of the inconvenience,” she said, totally flustered. “You’ll absolutely love⁠—”

“It seems we’re having a hard time understanding each other. I made a reservation, and I agreed to have you charge the first night of my stay to my credit card in advance. That confirms my reservation,” Ian said in a low voice. “I expect to have a room here, in this Inn, on this lake. Do I make myself clear?”

Janice’s face looked as if she’d gotten a third-degree burn. Ian noticed the woman’s hand trembling as she shuffled paperwork aimlessly. “I should get my husband. Perhaps he can better explain the problem we’re facing. There are only four guest rooms available for this coming week. We have a reservation for every one of them.”

“Have the other guests arrived?”

“No, but we are expecting them anytime now.”

“I believe the applicable term then is, first come, first served. I’m here, Janice. You can make some other arrangement for one of the other guests.”

This complication was obviously beyond her. The sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside indicated another arrival. In a huff, Janice snatched up the flyer she’d pushed toward him and stuffed it back in her manila folder.

A woman carrying a sleeping child over her shoulder came in through the screen door at the end of the hall. All Ian could see of her was curly brown hair pulled into a ponytail and a quick glimpse of her profile. Glancing over her shoulder, Janice saw the woman and child. The young mother didn’t pause or say anything and disappeared at the first turn.

“If you’ll wait here, Mr. Campbell, I’ll get someone else to try to explain our predicament to you better and make other arrangements.”

Ian thought about Janice’s threat to get her husband. He had an image of an eighty-year-old holding a shotgun to his head before escorting him to his car.

“I’ll only speak to Ms. Stone.”

“Pardon me?”

“Ms. Stone. She is the owner and manager of the Inn, isn’t she?”

“How do you know Mrs. Stone?”

“I know her from her card. This one, right here,” he said, taking one of the business cards from the desk and pushing it toward the woman.

“Mrs. Stone has just arrived. It might take a few minutes before she’ll be available to speak to you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll look around while I wait.” Ian rose to his feet. Pausing, he gestured toward the cookies. “May I?”

“Of course. That’s what they’re here for.”

To the older woman’s obvious dismay, he took the entire plate and walked to the porch dining area. Behind him, Ian heard Janice push the chair back and go into the office, complaining loudly to someone. He guessed she was calling upstairs to Ms. Stone.

He pushed through the door to the deck overlooking the lake.

Turning around, he gazed up at the Inn. He could see there were three floors. Several additions had been made to the original house. Pale yellow clapboard and black shutters were the color scheme for the building. Turning his attention back to the deck and the grounds around it, he saw a small garage or carriage house separate from the main building. With window boxes overflowing with flowers and a couple of deck chairs on the front lawn, the place was obviously being used as a residence.

Beyond the carriage house, there were two small, somewhat dilapidated cottages by the edge of the water. Ian wondered if either of them might be available. Straight down from the Inn, a small sand beach extended to a large boathouse with a removable dock. A swimming float was anchored not far from the dock.

A young man, perhaps a college kid, was working on a sign near some small boats and canoes. Ian wondered if that was Dan Davies.

Still holding the plate of cookies he’d taken from the inn’s lobby, Ian started down the steps, hoping to make an ally out of the kid and get him to show him the rest of the grounds.

Ian’s attention was drawn to the bottom step. Three medium-sized boxes were stacked on top of each other, ready to be brought in. They all had the same markings. The top one was open. He looked in. There were dozens of white candles stacked neatly inside.

* * *

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Kelly said good-naturedly as she scanned the large ledger book Janice had pushed in front of her face. They were sitting in the little office behind the reception area. She had no sooner tucked Jade in her bed then the intercom had buzzed her from downstairs. “Think how much better this is than last summer. You remember how we were struggling to fill the rooms? This is a good problem, Janice.”

“You clearly don’t realize the enormity of the situation.” Without getting up from her chair, the old woman reached out with her cane and pushed the office door closed. “I’m telling you that we’re not going to have an easy time sending him anywhere. The man is as stubborn as a mule. He would not listen to reason. Also, he eats like a horse. He took the entire plate of cookies I keep on the reservation desk.”

“A fresh supply is coming. When I came down, I saw Wilson taking two more sheets of cookies out of the oven.” Kelly took out a clean piece of paper and wrote down the numbers of the rooms before looking down at the registration book again. She couldn’t blame Dan for making a mistake. The system was all Janice’s, and no one else seemed to be able to understand it. On this particular page, the scribbling was barely legible, and with all the added notations and scratch outs and sticky notes, it was a miracle that Janice herself could make any sense of it.

She looked at Dan’s note. Two reservations. Perhaps they could do something with them. The first was for a single guest, Ian Campbell—a San Diego address and no preferences as far as the room or private bathroom or anything else. The other was for a couple, made under the name of Victor Desposito. From Philadelphia. Their request specified a private bath, preferably with a claw-foot tub. A queen or king size, no feather quilts or pillows. Non-smoking room. Lake view. She shook her head as she read through the half dozen other requirements that included a list of food allergies and ended with “no use of blue-dyed sheets.”

“I think dealing with Mr. Campbell should be a piece of cake compared to what we’ve got coming with the Desposito couple.”

“Maybe the boy smartened up and registered that couple for the right date,” Janice said, still exasperated. “I swear, Kelly, we don’t need that smart aleck. He makes one mistake after another.”

“You know why he’s here. Besides, Bill is getting too old to do all the heavy work.”

“We’ve always gotten along fine before. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Right.” Kelly looked down at the notes again. “Let’s see. Desposito.”

Dan had taken the reservations back-to-back. And he’d written today’s date on the top corner of the block.

“No, my guess is they’re coming this afternoon.” She flipped the page back to Janice’s notes. “Don’t worry. We can work it out. There is always room five.”

“Aquarius is only half-painted. It’s a mess, Kelly.”

“A minor detail. We can clean it up and, so long as we apologize profusely and put the right person in there, it’ll be a go. There’s also the extra room on the third floor.”

“We haven’t rented that out since you and Jade moved in up there. That’s your floor. And you always said you wouldn’t have any privacy if we put someone in there.”

“Well, at a hundred twenty dollars a night, plus whatever the person spends on drinks, it’s worth it to me right now.”

“Kelly, that room is way too small. The eaves are so low. There is barely any furniture in there. It has no bathroom.”

“There is a bed and a dresser. We can spruce it up in no time. And the guest can use the bathroom on the second floor.” Kelly watched Janice struggling to make the adjustments in her head.

In her efforts to get over Greg’s accident—which had come so soon after her father’s death and just before her mother passed away—Kelly had tried to spend as much time as she could with her daughter. In doing that, however, she had let Janice and Bill take on the lion’s share of work in running the Inn. More and more, she realized that they were not up to handling even small complications like this.

“Okay, Janice, let’s not worry about what’s wrong with those two rooms. Tell me who else we have arriving today.”

Janice grudgingly pulled the book onto her lap. Kelly wasn’t about to be critical, but she was glad that Mr. Campbell had not let them move him to a different inn at their expense. That would have been a ridiculously unnecessary expenditure. Janice and Bill might have been involved with running Tranquility Inn forever, but during this past year Kelly had come to realize there was a direct connection between the lack of concern the couple had about the business and the inn’s income.

Kelly was trying to make a success of it, but the business was difficult. She’d stayed open during the mud season for the first time ever this spring, but it was a rare occasion to have even fifty-percent occupancy during the weekends for those two months. And though trails around the seven-acre lake were perfect, she realized that they hadn’t been doing enough to bring in the cross-country skiing types in the winter. The bottom line was that the bills were mounting, and this overbooking was a gift. Kelly knew she had to squeeze the guests into the rooms they had, even if it meant inconveniencing herself and Jade with a guest on the top floor.

Janice adjusted the pink glasses on her nose and looked at her notes. “Incidentally, I never charged the first night’s stay against Mr. Campbell’s credit card, since I didn’t even know he was coming. So technically…”

“Give it up, Janice. I’ll warn him about not stealing your plate of cookies again,” she said brightly, and then decided to take the lead. “How many parties of guests are arriving tonight?”

“Four. That’s not counting the Deposit…or Depo…or whoever this other couple’s name is.”

“Desposito,” Kelly corrected. “Who do you have staying in number one?”

“The Sagittarius Room.” She checked the book. “That would be Burke. Ken Burke. You remember him, and his girlfriend. She goes by the name Ash and models in all those racy lingerie catalogues. They were here over the Columbus Day weekend last fall. He called to make the reservation and insisted on the same room.”

There was no way anyone would forget Ash. Tall, brunette, and very beautiful, she was hard to miss. Kelly also remembered Ken Burke. The photographer. There was something oddly familiar about him. She couldn’t place it. She wondered if they’d run into each other in New York during her days of working for the newspaper or at one of the events other photographers showed up to cover.

Sagittarius. Kelly wrote down the names on her tab of paper. She picked up an index card she always kept on a corner of her desk. It was a cross-listing of the numbers of the rooms with the Zodiac signs Janice always insisted on using in referring to the rooms. Just another case of the old habits never dying. The Maitlands had been associated with Tranquility Inn for at least twenty years. When Frank and Rose Wilton, Kelly’s parents, bought it nine years ago, the couple had stayed on to help after the sale.

The decision had been a good one for everyone at the time. And even now, despite their occasional disagreements, Kelly treasured Janice and Bill and everything they’d done for her. They were very special people. She gave a nod of encouragement to her old friend to continue.

“I have a pair of newlyweds by the name of Marisa and Dave Meadows staying in the Pisces Room. This is their first time with us.”

“That’s room two—the smaller bedroom with double bed.”

“And the claw-foot tub.” Janice moved her fingers down the list. “I have the Sterns and their two sons returning, as well. They’ll be in the Libra Suite.”

“I don’t think I remember the Sterns.”

“A very nice family. They used to come and stay with us every year when your parents were still alive, and their sons were young. Those two boys must be strapping teenagers now.”

Kelly was certain that Mr. Campbell must be getting impatient. “And room four?”

“Taurus. The antique dealer who comes in twice a year. Shawn Hobart.”

“He has to use the bathroom down the hall. Twin bed.”

“Yes.”

“He is kind of short. Isn’t he?” Kelly tapped the pen against the table.

“Don’t even think of moving him. He’s a creature of habit and a steady customer. And he’s very particular about that room. I think he likes the price. That’s why he always comes back here. It’s far more important to keep someone like him happy than these one-time guests. Also, you have one-week reservations for all of these guests, and the way I read it, both of these new people are only staying for the weekend. I really think we should just find them another inn.”

There was no point in arguing with Janice. The older woman had decided where the customers she’d booked were staying. Ian Campbell and the Despositos could obviously go bunk in with Dan in the crappy little cottage by the lake.

“I’d like you to get Rita to spruce up both of those rooms. Room five, Aquarius. And the one on the third floor. Maybe she could get Bill to help her hang some of the pictures back up in Aquarius. And leave the windows open,” Kelly suggested. “I’ll talk to Mr. Campbell and explain that the only thing we can do for him would be the room on the third floor. I hope he’s not too tall.”

“Six feet. Maybe six three. I really don’t think he’ll be comfortable.”

“Well, that’s the best we’ll be able to do for him. And please let me know when Mr. and Mrs. Desposito arrive. We can discount their room big time and offer them a complimentary lunch or something.” She rose to her feet. “Oh, and please don’t forget to tell Wilson in the kitchen about the extra guests, too.”

“He won’t be happy,” Janice grumbled.

“Wilson is never happy, so this shouldn’t make any difference.” She opened the office door. Kelly didn’t know exactly when everyone at the inn had become so cranky. There was too much gloom and doom. Maybe Tranquility Inn and most of the people who worked here had been around too long.

Well, summer was almost here. Kelly pasted a smile on her lips and stepped out just as Rita was coming back from the kitchen.

“Oh, good timing! We’ve had a mix-up and there are going to be a couple of extra guests. Janice will tell you what needs to be done.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Rita complained, huffing off before Kelly had a chance to offer any help.

Kelly didn’t let the sourness ruin her mood. She went out through the porch onto the deck, where she’d been told Mr. Campbell had headed. Taking care of a new guest would actually be quite pleasant right now.

CHAPTERTWO

Ian walked down the slight embankment across an area of uncut grass toward the lake. The ground was soft beneath his feet, the grass wet and slick. As he neared the water’s edge, he looked out into the distance, surprised by the curtain of white fog that was descended over the view.

He glanced up. The sky was still clear above the inn, the sun shining high in the sky.

“Storm coming?” he asked as he drew near the boathouse.

The college-aged kid didn’t look up right away. He was wearing a navy T-shirt with the arms cut off and a well-worn pair of jeans. He had two hoops in each ear and a Celtic knot tattooed on one muscled bicep. His hair appeared short, though Ian couldn’t be sure with the baseball hat worn backward. The young man glanced up, scrutinizing him.

“Nope,” he said. “Gets this way every afternoon.”

“You must be Dan.”

The young man nodded. “And you are?”

“Ian Campbell. You took my reservation.”

He stood up and stretched his back. They were about the same height. “It’s a miracle. I did something right.”

“Actually, right now they’re scrambling to find me a room that they supposedly don’t have. The old lady behind the desk told me she wasn’t expecting me for another two weeks.”

Dan cursed under his breath and shook his head. “You’d have to be a frigging Einstein to figure out that reservation system of hers. I was damn lucky that Kelly moved me away from it after the first day behind that desk.” He motioned with his head toward the plate in Ian’s hand. “So, was that a peace offering for not finding you a room?”

“No, they’ll find me a room,” Ian said, stretching the plate toward Dan. “I took these hostage to make sure they do.” He took it immediately back though when the younger man helped himself to three of the cookies.

“So, what brings you to Siberia?” Dan asked, stuffing the cookies into his mouth and bending over the sign he was attaching to a post.

“You must get an occasional tourist up here,” Ian answered. “You a native?”

The kid scoffed. “Half a dozen moose and a guy who carves animals with a chain saw are about the only natives I know. Traveling with the wife and kids?”

Ian sat on the hull of an overturned sailboat. “Yeah, I have them locked in the trunk of my car.”

“It must be damn crowded in there.” Dan motioned with his head toward Ian’s rental car, visible in the parking area next to the inn.

“They don’t complain much.” He bit on another cookie. “Janice told me you’re pretty new at the job. So, do you live in town?”

“Nope. Right there.” Dan pointed at one of the two ramshackle cottages beyond the boathouse. “But I’m not giving up my room, if that’s what you’re getting at. I know I took the reservation, but I forget how long you said you’re staying.”

Ian looked out at the lake. The fog was spreading across the water toward the inn. “The place is much more attractive than I thought it’d be. I might just stay a couple of weeks.”

“Don’t you have a job?”

“I’ve got good vacation benefits.”

“There’s not much going on around here. Unless you like country music and ice cream. Or watching a guy with a chainsaw carve animals.”

“Maybe I’ll take up fishing.” Ian heard the squeak of a window opening behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The same woman he’d seen pass through the lobby pushed open a window on the third floor. “Do the rest of the people who work at the inn live here, too?”