Bitter Reckoning Read online

  The moon really didn’t help much. It seemed to cast a gray glow over the entire decaying spit of land that held the weed-laden cemetery with its chipped and broken everything.

  “Come on, where are you—asshole!” she said aloud, looking around for her driver.

  Irritated, she got out of the car. Surely, someone else had to be headed to the resort, someone who would have to pass by this road. She would hitch a ride.

  She waited. She watched the darkness seem to grow deeper still.

  She wasn’t afraid of cemeteries—dead people couldn’t hurt her—nor did the decaying statuary and weeds or the forlorn appearance of the place scare her.

  The problem was, the color of the night was annoying; the yellowish glow of the moon created a strange green-gray cast that seemed to cause bizarre shadows to sweep around tombs, tombstones, broken angels and more.

  The dead, she reminded herself, were the safest people on earth.

  It was the living ones who could be dangerous.

  As she stood there waiting—and waiting—she began to see faces in the shadows. She cursed at herself—she was not going to be frightened.

  There had been no more screams, but neither had her driver reappeared or anyone else for that matter.

  Someone…someone would come.

  Someone did.

  A beat-up old truck came sliding up alongside the sedan. She shielded her eyes from the headlamps. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw, to her great disappointment, the man at the wheel appeared to be…filthy. Cruddy, filthy—an old drunk, maybe! He had a thin wrinkled face, and a long graying beard that surely held crumbs from his last ten meals.

  Disgusting.

  He was the kind of person they made those bad reality shows about—he probably had no teeth.

  He leaned toward his open window. “Hey, girlie, you want a ride?” he shouted out.

  “No. I’m waiting,” she said flatly.

  “You sure you’re good here? Weird things happen in these parts,” he warned, shaking his head. “Some beau leave you just standing here while he went off exploring? It’s all right—I’ll give you a ride,” he said.

  She wasn’t particularly rude—most of the time. It didn’t make good business sense. But now she was anxious, impatient, and growing furious. She could admit it, she hadn’t really cared what her driver had found, until she realized he couldn’t have discovered anyone in real distress, because if he had, he’d have called for an ambulance or the police, and by now there would be someone…bathed...out here, asking if she needed a ride!

  “I’m fine!” she snapped, waving a hand in the air.

  He shrugged, but then she saw the truck moving forward and pulling off the road as well!

  She wasn’t afraid of danger; she was afraid of vomiting if the man touched her. So she did the only thing she could think of, she turned and headed into the cemetery, shouting for her driver.

  There was no answer; she hurried in. As she did so, she could hear the disgusting bearded man grumble. “Hey, lady, I was just trying to help!”

  Ally followed one of the overgrown trails and walked by several of the above ground single tombs or single sarcophagi—whatever they called those above ground enclosures—and to what she thought was the side of the trail, a place where a gnarled old oak was growing right through a tombstone.

  Suddenly, she saw the light.

  Light. That had to mean her driver.

  She couldn’t help herself; she started walking toward it, and now she was shaking with fury. “You son of a bitch, you lousy bastard, get your ass back out here…”

  Her voice trailed.

  She heard a sobbing sound, high pitched, almost like an animal wail in the night.

  The light did not belong to her driver. Rather, it flooded over a macabre spectacle, that of a scarecrow…a scarecrow with a bizarre skeletal face stuffed with straw and with straw arms wrapped around a woman, a once flesh and blood woman, who dangled now from those straw arms. The thing’s wire mouth dripped with blood.

  So did the woman.

  She lay, caught in that bizarre grip, white dress smeared with red, black hair falling around her, the way in which she was held reminding Ally of a ballet dancer in a bizarre pose.

  The woman looked like…her!

  Then Ally heard something, a dry cackling, rising into the air again like a sob that became a howl. The scarecrow started to laugh. It looked like the wire mouth moved.

  Then Ally felt it. The first touch of the blade.

  She screamed and screamed as she fell to the ground—her scream oddly echoing the scream she heard earlier, the scream that had taken the driver away, the scream she had thought to be part of a prank…

  No prank.

  Her pain was real. Her blood, spilling upon the ground…was real.

  The dead…

  It wasn’t so safe among the dead after all…

  As she watched the green/gray color of the night grow darker, she knew she was about to be…

  Among them.

  Chapter 1

  “I’m still confused. I mean, it’s nice—I mean, what’s not to like? But why exactly are we here?” Michael Quinn asked Danni Cafferty, closing his eyes to luxuriate in the feel of the sun.

  “Because Colleen is a friend of mine and she asked us to be here,” Danni replied.

  “But we didn’t meet on a dating site,” he reminded her. He glanced her way, a crooked smile on his lips. “As far as I know, as of yet, there are dating sites for those who want a cowboy or a farmer, dating sites for quick romances, those that figure out if you’re financially and socially compatible. But no sites for those who lead slightly different lives dealing with slightly bizarre and often deadly situations,” he pointed out.

  Danni looked away sighing, and Quinn allowed himself a smile.

  They had met after her father, an amazing old Scot, had died. After his death Danni discovered the “collectibles” her father kept in the basement—or destroyed at their shop on Royal Street in the French Quarter—had been cursed objects, creating havoc around them with often deadly results. She learned Angus Cafferty had been far more than just a nice guy—he’d been a really good man, quietly doing his best to help those in very peculiar trouble.

  Quinn had been a cop, but he hadn’t been anything good himself—other than a revered football hero. He had become too enamored of the lifestyle he’d been offered until he’d flatlined—had technically died in the ER—and been helped back to life by a mysterious presence.

  Something, someone other than a doctor, had intervened. He’d known that—known he’d been offered a second chance. He’d seized upon it, and he’d changed his ways. Being offered a second chance at life, he’d become a good guy, confused at first, and then discovering evil did exist in ways most people never imagined. This was the beginning of the end of his police work.

  Not that he hadn’t been a good cop—he really had been, even if he liked to think of himself as decently humble. It just became far too difficult to explain at times what had happened at a bizarre incident—or to make others understand there was more to a situation than met the eye—or for that matter, more that met any form of rational thought.

  So, Quinn left the police and got his private investigator’s license. Some of his cases were humdrum—a way to keep up appearances. And an income. Others were so much more.

  It was during this time he’d met Angus Cafferty, and after Angus’s death…

  Well, at first meeting, he’d thought Danni was a spoiled little princess. A beautiful princess with her deep auburn hair and brilliant blue eyes, but…

  And Danni had thought him to be an incredible jerk. But working together, they’d discovered an attraction, and attraction had bloomed and become much more.

  His days as a cop had been over by the time he’d met her. Quickly, she joined him in the work he’d once done with her father, and now Danni and he were always waist-deep in these jobs together.

  Also, now he knew th
at he was a lucky, lucky man.

  Not only did he have life itself, he had Danni.

  He smiled at her now, taking a moment to bask in their situation, just lying here by the pool, popping in and out of the water when they chose. She was especially appealing in her swim attire, and always more so because she was oblivious to her own appearance. Watching her, he almost forgot he’d asked a question.

  Until she answered him.

  “Colleen has been incredibly successful with her dating site, so successful she’s now created these resorts for people who have met through her site, or who want to meet others through the site but in the flesh, and for just any couples who wish to be here. It’s a nice concept—a place for people. This is opening week for this property, and she’s anxious, I believe, to see people are happy here. She believes we’ll be the perfect happy couple for other happy couples to see or become! Also, being we are in Louisiana, she wants some of my artwork for the place, and she wants suggestions regarding other local artists. It’s a great vacation, right? She also thinks we’ll dress up, and therefore her other guests will dress up and make her Harvest Festival Ball great.”

  “It works for me,” Quinn said. “I’m happy.” He grinned and rolled over on his lounge chair, relaxing in the sun.

  The sun was coming through the giant glass roof of the resort’s indoor pool, but it still felt as if the real, unhindered rays were falling upon them.

  They might be in the Deep South but fall could be chilly, and the concept of a heated pool in a controlled environment had been a good one for them.

  He hated cold water. The pool in here was great. He knew he shouldn’t question things at all—it was pretty darned amazing to be here. Both of them off from work. This was a true rarity.

  Danni’s shop, “The Cheshire Cat,” would run fine with Billie McDougall watching over it. Billie had more experience with the shop than either of them really. Both managing the day-to-day running of their charming little boutique—and managing whatever strange object might arise causing havoc. A “Riff-Raff” lookalike from the “Rocky Horror Show”, Billie had been with Angus Cafferty years before his death and had handled many a strange—or deadly—collectible in his day.

  So, they were free to just be here at the Honeywell Lodge, Colleen Rankin’s newest establishment for those who were looking for love—or had perhaps just fallen in love, like, or lust—were gathering.

  It was a bit bizarre—watching the mating ritual in this venue had made him appreciate his relationship with Danni all the more. He’d now witnessed a lot of hesitant flirting, shy girls with no confidence, men who tripped over their words—and the confident and beautiful who just assumed they were going to be loved.

  Still, it was a great resort. They were on vacation. There was a great stable and he hadn’t been able to go riding in ages. They were now at the pool, he was feeling the sun. Well, they’d only had one night thus far, but their suite was beautiful; the whirlpool was big enough to allow for his height and size and another person—as in Danni, of course.

  And still…

  The sweet feel of luxury that had swept over him began to fade again—ridiculously.

  He was restless. Maybe he didn’t know how to relax. Not true. He knew down time was precious, they had embraced the lives that had fallen their way—but were still grateful to have found one another, and to steal free and special moments when they could. Things would happen—that made down time something to be enjoyed to the fullest. So why he couldn’t just lie there, loving the feel of the sun, thinking about the trail ride—and other activities—they’d enjoy later, he didn’t know.

  So, go with it! He told himself. Even if he was going a little crazy, he needed to do it in silence. Let Danni have this special time.

  She laughed suddenly, the sound soft and teasing, and very sexy.

  Maybe he would forget his unease, yet.

  “I tend to be the worrier,” she reminded him. “You’re the one always telling me there is no way to deal with what might be happening somewhere—that we live life!” she told him. She gave him a wonderful, ever-so-slightly wicked smile and settled back in her lounge chair as well. “We’re on vacation!” she repeated. “We haven’t had one in a while. Try to remember. Vacations are these nice events during which people don’t work. They enjoy dining and dancing and lying around in the sun.”

  “Got it!” Quinn twisted again to look at her.

  Not so hard to play this out, the shop, their home, and even Wolf—their incredible hybrid dog—were all in Billie’s capable hands, and he had help. Bo Ray Tompkins was working at the shop, and down the street, should they need more help for any reason, they would find Natasha LaRouche, a voodoo priestess, a true practitioner in the religion. And should she have trouble, they could call on Father Ryan, and from there…

  Vacation. He didn’t need to worry; he needed to relax and enjoy this time with Danni. Enjoying time with her wasn’t at all difficult. He was reminded of that every time he looked at her.

  He arched a brow and attempted to give himself an exceptionally deep and sensual voice, “We’re on vacation—where people are meeting people and getting romantic, right? Some come as couples. I mean, if I get this right, singles come to meet people they might have chatted with online already, right? But some have met, and they’re in relationships. They’re couples—and couples take the same room, and after a day at the pool, they may sink into their room’s whirlpool tub, and then fool around on the satin sheets, huh?” He slid onto her lounge chair, “Of course, all the new people do all the things those newly in love—or lust—do to one another. Like the couples, they have a chance to spend the day at the pool, sink into a whirlpool in someone’s room, and say the things people say. Like, ‘your hair is as silken as the sheets. Your skin as soft…your eyes are the color of the sky on the clearest day, beautiful and crystal blue, and your hair is pure fire and when it brushes my flesh…’”

  Danni looked around uneasily, frowning fiercely, and swatted him with the paper pool lunch menu she was holding. “Stop!”

  “Hey—I was being romantic! That’s what people do here, right?” he protested. “I was trying for romantic. Let’s face it, I can promise you a lot of guys here are trying for sex—it’s part of a romantic relationship, right—a true match? And we are in a relationship, deep, and sweet, and wonderful, and of course, hot, and…”

  Danni arched a brow to him, grimacing, looking around at the others who were enjoying the indoor pool that day, some just chatting in lounge chairs, others laughing and hopping in and out of the pool.

  He chuckled as he moved back to his lounge. He loved her with his whole heart; she was incredible, a sensual and passionate lover, and capable of both tremendous fun and seriousness when necessary. But she was a private person, and while they were at a romantic destination—with people showing displays of affection all around them—he knew she preferred demonstrative displays of affection to be saved for moments when they were alone. So did he.

  He couldn’t imagine his life without her now—even though, by the nature of their work, he spent far too much time worried about her. She was smart, street savvy, and so many other things. He knew he couldn’t change her—anymore than she could change him.

  That made their time here a surprise to him—but a damned nice one. A vacation. A true romantic getaway.

  So why the hell can’t I just sit back and enjoy it?

  She laughed suddenly, leaning in a bit closer and lowering her head toward his. “Tease me in public, will you? Two can play at this. So…let’s see…stretched out on the lounge, halfway turned toward me as you are, you look like the perfect poster boy for a ‘young professional singles’ dating site—ah, yes! Let’s see…you’re long, lean-muscled, and your bronze flesh is glistening from your last dip in the pool. Your rich, dark, damp hair is so sexy, haphazardly cast over your forehead.”

  She leaned even a bit closer, her eyes bright with mischief.

  “Oh, yes, yum
. You look like a cover model, boy,” she told him.

  “Hey!” he protested. “I was being perfectly honest. I love your hair and eyes and flesh…yeah, well, you know, silky bare flesh, and all.”

  She grinned. “And what I was saying was a compliment. You could be the model for Colleen’s site!”

  “You used the term ‘boy,’” he said, shaking his head with a sigh. “Military, college, the academy, over ten years with the FBI—and you called me a boy!”

  “All men are boys,” she assured him.

  He sighed, lying back. “Ah, such is romance! What do you think about pool-boy-man over there—tall, muscled, good-looking, about thirty or maybe thirty-plus—think I’ve seen him with a blond, a brunette, and a redhead so far at last night’s mixer. He’s covering all the bases.”

  “That’s Albert Bennett—he’s more or less a host this weekend. He works for Colleen in her security department, doing checks on people. It must be hard—her site is open to the public—but it is a dating site. She has to be careful she’s not allowing kids, pedophiles, or what have you on. I guess Albert’s position is computer security.”

  “Looks like he could be a poster boy. When did you meet him?”

  “Jealous?” she teased.

  “You know me better.”

  She nodded, still somewhat smiling. “I met him when I went to Colleen’s offices on Canal Street the other day—after she called and asked us to come out this weekend. I also met Tracy Willard, Colleen’s office manager. Perfect green-eyed redhead—I think she and Albert like each other, but they can’t show it this weekend. Then again, she was chatting with others last night, too. Oh! And over there, on the far lounge—the kind-of-skinny-slightly-lost-looking fellow over there, the one wearing the trunks and rash-guard—that’s Larry Blythe. He’s involved with the business development. He helps Colleen make decisions about the site and now with her locations, and also about where and when she invests again. Colleen did something a bit different with each site—creating these places for people to meet—and he’s her main man on that kind of thing.”