Fleet Street Felony (Piccadilly Ladies Club Mysteries Book 3)
Page 9
Her mind turned toward her other unresolved situation. Julia hadn’t seen Jacob since early Wednesday morning when Suzette was arrested and the truth came out about Fred and Harry. She was making peace with their relationship changing. Maybe he could still be in her life, only not in the way she’d pictured. He was an amazing person and detective, and she was lucky to call him friend. She was slightly, only slightly mind, ashamed of her juvenile attitude toward him during the Jones’ investigation. She’d since slipped the documents she’d stolen back onto his desk when he hadn’t been at work. She’d hope, however foolishly, that Jacob never noticed they had been missing.
She sat on the sofa in her parlor and sipped tea, with a touch of honey in honor of Meredith Watson, president of the Piccadilly Ladies Club, enjoying the quiet moments before the night took on a life of its own with her closest friends. Her friendships were the only thing giving Julia peace about the outcome of her relationship with Jacob.
The butler approached the parlor and spoke. “Miss Julia, you have a visitor. Inspector Gibbs. Shall I show him in?”
Her heart seemed to double in size in her chest and her stomach sprouted butterflies. You better be careful, Julia, she warned herself.
To the butler, she said, “Yes, please. Thank you.”
Moments later, Julia and Jacob were standing across the same room from each other.
“Julia,” Jacob began, “I have something to say, and I’d like to get all of it out before you respond. May I?”
“Of course.” She felt irrationally compassionate toward him. She wanted to stay angry with him, but he was such a kind human. It wasn’t his fault if he didn’t feel that magical spark that she did. She’d had a couple days to calm down and reflect, and she understood that sometimes things didn’t work out as one hoped, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t work in professional, and perhaps friendship, capacity
He cleared his throat and stepped toward her.
“Of course I feel the same for you as you do for me.”
She stared at him, startled, and barely managed to keep her word to not interrupt.
“I—I’m not good at this relationship business that other people seem to manage so well,” Jacob continued. “I feel as though I’m failing at it if I let you make all the first moves. Simultaneously, you mean so much to me that I don’t want to rush anything and scare you off. You must understand, I beg you, that I care for you deeply, and I would be devastated if you were no longer in my life.”
Tears spilled over Julia’s cheeks. He did love her. She stepped closer to him, closing the gap between them, but stopped short of touching him. She’d let him make a move this time, after she made it perfectly clear she wanted him too.
“Say something?” Jacob asked.
“You said not to interrupt.”
“I’m done. Please say something. Say you forgive me or that you hate me, something.”
“I do not hate you, Jacob Gibbs. I very much feel the same as you and I would like it if you would kiss me, but I’ll let you decide when. Just know that I’m ready when you are.”
Jacob leaned in, gently touching her cheek with the back of his hand as their lips met and fireworks exploded.
Julia could barely think, but one thought managed to penetrate her mind.
That was so worth the wait.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my editor. You complete me.
About the Author
Bettie Jane's story is one about the love between a young girl and her grandmother. When I was a young teen, my grandmother and I would sit in her living room and over a cuppa tea in the desert of northern Arizona, she'd tell me wild tales of her and my grandfather's families. I took copious notes about who immigrated from where and what the dynamics were like in different generations. From those many hours and days of those precious conversations, love for my own family history and my fascination with world history forever became part of my DNA.
I wanted to be an author since I was nine years old. I couldn't think of anything more worthy of aspiration than to write books. Like what happens with a lot of young girl dreams, it took nearly 30 years for me to realize the title of published author. Since 2012, I've published 27 different titles under three different pen names.
Writing cozy historical mysteries under Bettie Jane (an iteration of my beloved grandmother's name) is both the realization of my childhood dreams and a loving tribute to my grandmother who I said goodbye to in 2006.
I've felt the void from her absence since she passed on, and writing these books feels like I'm back in her living room with her. In the last conversation I had with her she said, "I'm just really sad". She knew she was dying and that her days were few.
Every time I create these stories, I send a silent wish that wherever she is, she finds just a bit of joy knowing that she lives on in my memory. She didn't live long enough to see me realize my dreams, but I hope she knows somehow.
Every time you read one of Bettie Jane's books, take a moment to think of a grandmother sharing stories with her granddaughter; stories that would sustain the latter long after the former bid her final farewell.
Among the pictures on this author profile is one from my wedding day with my grandma, the real Bette Jane.
Also by Bettie Jane
Piccadilly Ladies Club Mysteries
Hyde Park Heist
Suffragette Sabotage
Marble Arch Murder
Short Stories
New Year’s Madness
Valentine’s Madness
About Auburn Seal
If you enjoyed Bettie Jane’s cozy mysteries, you might also enjoy some titles from her alter-ego, Auburn Seal.
Under this moniker, Auburn writes historical suspense, paranormal romance, psychological thrillers, paranormal cozies (with co-author Amanda A. Allen), and even a bit of science fiction.
Also by Auburn Seal
Historical Suspense
Roanoke Vanishing
Maya Vanishing
Paranormal Romance
The Immortals: A Vampire Fairytale
Goodbye Love: A Kendawyn Paranormal Regency
Psychological Thriller
The Scent of Death
The Strong One
Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Inept Witches Mysteries
Roanoke Vanishing
By Auburn Seal
Prologue
Elinor traveled silently through the night, watching from a distance as the large man shoved the thin girl against the concrete wall, his hands tight around her throat. Closer, she crept toward them. Closer.
Elinor looked on in disgust. The man quickly overpowered this fragile woman, her abdomen swollen with child.
His voice roared, shattering the otherwise silent night. “You are dead. Dead! This time you have gone too far.” His mouth foamed and his eyes were cold and bitter. This wasn’t the first time Elinor had seen angry men succumb to their rage.
“You are a freak. Did you have me followed?” Cristina’s response sounded fearless, but Elinor could see the terror in her eyes. She tried to wrestle free from his grasp but he only tightened his grip.
“You are a stupid, stupid woman. I told you to leave this alone. You wouldn’t listen. Now you will pay.”
Her bravado dissipated, panic creeping into her eyes, and the man continued his ruthless assault, shoving her up against the railing of the dam high above the waters of Lake Mead.
“But I did leave it alone. I left school. Why did you follow me to Vegas? I left. When I found out I was pregnant, I…I left.”
The man’s eyes remained unchanged—he had no compassion for this woman.
“Please, I’m begging you,” she gripped his hand, trying to pull it away from her neck. He squeezed her throat, her voice growing weaker as she pleaded with him.
“My baby. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Really, I will. Please…”
His furious ramblings pierced the cold desert night.
“You are just like all the rest, Cristina. My mother was the worst of them. Your child isn’t important. She didn’t care about me, and you don’t care about this child. I’m doing both of you a favor.”
Elinor’s ghostly dress made no sound as she made her way toward the woman. She was close enough now to see the spray of his saliva landing on Cristina’s face.
If only I could stop him, she thought wistfully.
The young girl gasped for air as the man in the shadows squeezed the life out of her. She tried to breathe, calling for help in a last effort.
Elinor stood behind the man, looking into the terrified woman’s eyes, willing her to see, hoping to provide at least a measure of comfort in her final moments.
Elinor reached out a useless hand, knowing it would not matter, but she couldn’t help herself from making the gesture. Maybe this one time she could help, intervene. Her hand moved right through their bodies. She bowed her head in resignation and despair. How long must she wait here in this world, so aware of pain and suffering yet so unable to stop it?
The dying woman’s eyes looked right through Elinor, unseeing. An extra curse, she supposed, to see and never be seen.
Cristina stopped struggling, her eyes glazing over in a final sleep as her body slumped onto her killer. Elinor had seen many die over the years at the hands of others, and the brutality—the wickedness—was never easy to observe, especially with her helpless to change the outcome.
Elinor squeezed her eyes shut, fighting centuries of memories—memories she didn’t want to recall—that came flooding back as the spark of life vanished from the woman. She pushed back the memory of her mother’s last breath and the feel of her husband’s blood, warm and sticky on her hands. She couldn’t let herself remember this again.
Too late now, Cristina could see Elinor. She stood over her own body and spoke to Elinor.
“What happened to me? Am I…Am I dead?”
“Yes. You are passed from this life. Do not be afraid. You are safe here.”
Cristina’s eyes brimmed over with tears. “My baby?” She groped her still-pregnant abdomen. “What’s to become of my baby?”
Elinor shook her head. “I do not know. I believe you will see your child again, but I cannot say for sure.”
In an instant, the terrible grief turned to fury, and Cristina’s eyes glinted with rage. “He is a monster. Someone has to stop him.”
“There is one who can stop him, but she does not yet know her destiny.”
“Who?”
“Avery Lane. She alone can stop him.”
“You will help her, won’t you?”
The fear in Cristina’s voice was different now, and it was clear she was no longer scared for herself, but for her friend. She put her hands to her throat. “He is so strong. How will she stop him?”
Elinor spoke softly.
“That is why I am here, to help her when the time is right.”
Cristina smiled at Elinor. “Thank you.” She started to turn away and then stopped. “Will I see you again?”
Elinor replied, “Only time will tell, my dear. Go now, find your child.”
With a nod, the spirit of the dead girl vanished into the dark night.
Elinor turned and walked away, unable to watch the disheveled man as he struggled to toss Cristina’s still-warm body into the frigid desert lake.
Click her to read more from Roanoke Vanishing.