by Lena Gregory
ETERNAL SLUMBER
Cass’s mind was about ready to shut down. She couldn’t take any more tonight. With any luck, which seemed sort of doubtful the way the weekend was progressing so far, the electricity would be restored by morning. In the meantime . . . “Let’s just get some sleep. About ten more guests signed up for individual readings before they went to bed, so I’m going to have to start earlier than planned.” Hmmm . . . Maybe Stephanie was right. Maybe stories of the bungled séance would bring more business.
She snuggled down into the pillow, tucking the blankets beneath her chin. Beast’s soft snores soothed her. Not that a dog was any defense against a ghost. But Beast was a really big dog, and he could be really scary when necessary. He was usually so easygoing, though. The only person he’d ever growled at had been Jay Callahan, when he’d threatened Cass. Until tonight. Why had Beast taken such an instant dislike to Conrad Wellington? Maybe because Bee disliked him. Weren’t dogs sensitive to stuff like that?
Her eyes fell closed, exhaustion weighing heavily.
Bee’s rhythmic breathing told her he’d already nodded off.
Blizzard force winds howled.
A scream jerked her from the brink of sleep. Real? Or imagined? The wind, maybe? It came again, accompanied by the pounding of footsteps in the hallway.
Ah . . . jeez. What now?
Titles by Lena Gregory
DEATH AT FIRST SIGHT
OCCULT AND BATTERY
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2017 by Denise Pysarchuk
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Ebook ISBN: 9780698406476
First Edition: April 2017
Cover art by Griesbach & Martucci
Cover design by Adam Auerbach
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.
Version_1
To my brother, Chris, who fought harder than anyone I know but lost his battle way too soon. You will live forever in my heart!
Contents
Titles by Lena Gregory
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not have been possible without the support and encouragement of my husband, Greg. We’ve built a wonderful life together, and I can’t wait to see where our journey will lead next. I’d like to say a big thank-you to my children, Elaina, Nicky, and Logan, and to my son-in-law, Steve, for their understanding and help while I spent long nights at the computer. My husband and children are truly the loves of my life.
I also have to thank my best friend, Renee, for all of her support, long conversations, and reading many rough drafts. I still wouldn’t know how to use Word without her help. I’d like to thank my sister, Debby, and my dad, Tony, who are probably my biggest fans and have read every word I’ve ever written. To my agent, Dawn Dowdle, thank you for believing in me and for being there in the middle of the night every time I have a question. Words cannot express my gratitude to Julie Mianecki for giving me this opportunity and for her wonderful advice and assistance in polishing this manuscript. And a huge thank-you to Bethany Blair for taking things over in the middle and making sure everything went perfectly!
1
“Stop the car!”
Bee Maxwell slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop on the sand-covered shoulder. Without loosening his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, he turned a glare on Cass. “Are you crazy? What’s the matter?”
Cass released her hold on the dashboard and shot him a grin. “We’re here.”
A hand the size of a baseball mitt fluttered to Bee’s chest, with all the drama of a true diva. “You nearly gave me a heart attack because we’ve arrived at our secret destination?” Gritting his teeth, he shifted gently into park. No way would he jam the shifter into gear, even though she could tell he badly wanted to. The black Trans Am was his baby, always to be treated tenderly. Cass, on the other hand, was a different story. Bee looked about ready to throttle her. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just tell me where we were going?”
Stephanie Lawrence poked her head between the seats to stare at Cass. “Not that I want to agree with Bee, but really, Cass, you could have just told him where to go. Then maybe this maniac wouldn’t have nearly put us through the windshield.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think he’d agree to take me if I told him where we were going.”
Bee waved a hand in dismissal and glanced out the window, as if realizing for the first time where they were.
The old, supposedly haunted Madison Estate perched in the center of the highest ground on the island, amid dried-up beach grass, trees long since devoid of leaves, and garbage from whatever kids were brave—or stupid—enough to ignore their parents’ warnings. Thick, grey clouds gathered overhead, lending credence to the haunted stories Cass had heard since childhood.
A dainty shiver ran through Bee’s bulky frame. “Well, if your destination has anything to do with that house, you can just count me out.”
“But it’s perfect.” She opened the door and shot him a quick grin over her shoulder.
“Hey. Where are you going?”
Ignoring Bee’s protests, Cass climbed from the car. She closed the door behind her, effectively cutting off any further arguments. Bee happened to be deathly afraid of ghosts. Not that he believed in them.
As she stared up at the abandoned mansion, ideas chased each other around her head.
During the summer months, tourists flocked to the small island that sat nestled between Long Island’s north and south forks. They rented cottages, swarmed the beaches, hung out until all hours in the beach bars, climbed to the top of the lighthouses, and swamped Mystical Musings—her small psychic shop on the boardwalk.
But with winter in full force, Bay Island was less than thriving. The murky waters of Gardiner’s Bay were rough and choppy, the piercing wind a bitter enemy, making the ferry ride to the island less than comfortable. As much as Cass loved living on the tiny island, if she couldn’t drive business into Mystical Musings during the harsh winter months,
she wouldn’t be able to stay. She’d have to go back to New York City and her once-thriving psychiatric practice.
An icy gust of wind tore through Cass, chasing the thoughts away. Something touched her shoulder, and she almost jumped out of her skin.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Stephanie laughed.
“Jeez, you could at least say something before you grab me.”
Bee glared at them from inside the car.
“What are we doing here?” Stephanie zipped up her thick down coat, tucked her wild mane of frizzy brown hair inside it, and tried to pull the collar farther up around her ears.
“Come on. I’ll show you.” Cass shoved open the rusty wrought iron gate.
Screeeeeech!
Bee’s muffled protests followed her through the gate and up the cracked cobblestone walkway.
She smiled.
Bee was one of her best friends, but he was also the biggest drama queen she’d ever met.
It was a house. Nothing more. Nothing less. At one time, people lived in it . . . and died in it. She swallowed hard.
A seagull shrieked as it dove toward the dark, churning waters of the bay behind the house.
A shiver raced through her, and she pulled her long coat tighter around her, failing to ward off a chill that had little to do with the near-freezing temperatures. Although Cass didn’t consider herself psychic in any traditional sense—despite the fact she made her living reading people and “talking” to the dead—she had to admit the house gave her the creeps. Perfect!
The stone had long since weathered and cracked. Many of the shingles, which might have once been brown, were now a dull grey and hung precariously, if they weren’t missing altogether. The front porch sagged, but the steps looked sturdy enough. She tested each one before putting her full weight on it. They creaked but held. She tiptoed across the porch, her heart hammering erratically, and cupped her hands around her eyes to peek into the large front window. Nothing. Dirt, grime, and salt made it impossible to see the dark interior. A chill crept up her spine.
This is ridiculous. No one has lived in this house for longer than I can remember. Using a crumpled tissue from her coat pocket, she rubbed a circle of dirt away and leaned closer.
“Cass Donovan!”
She jumped, whacked the back of her head against Stephanie’s chin, and spun around, startled by Bee’s booming voice from behind her. “Ouch.” She rubbed the back of her head. “What’s the matter with you?”
He stood just outside the gate, his gaze darting around frantically. “You get back in that car right this minute, missy, or I’m leaving you here. You and your sidekick.” He gestured toward Stephanie, who was moving her jaw from side to side and rubbing her chin.
Cass pressed a hand to her chest, hoping to keep her heart from jumping out, and laughed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
At better than six feet tall—even without his platform shoes—Bee could have been an imposing figure. If not for the hand resting on his cocked hip. And the look of sheer terror marring his pale face. “Try me, sugar.”
She started back toward the gate. A flicker of something, movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she stopped short and turned. What the . . . ? A reflection? She squinted. But the sun was hidden behind the thick cloud cover. Her imagination?
“Oh, come on.” Bee’s whine followed her as she started around the side of the house.
The screech of the gate opening told her Bee had given up his threat to abandon them and decided to join them, or at least come closer to argue his point. He muttered to himself as he stalked toward Stephanie, likely figuring she was the more reasonable of the two. He was probably right.
Cass glanced up at the huge house. She’d never been inside, but from the number of wings and windows, she guessed it had a lot of rooms. Her gaze caught on the huge stone chimney running up between two quarter round windows, giving the impression of a face staring back at her. A flicker of movement grabbed her attention as a curtain rippled in the rounded cupola that sat slightly off-center on the roof.
Her heart stuttered, and she tore her gaze from the house and jogged back to the porch, where Bee and Stephanie stood arguing.
Ignoring them, she headed for the front door.
“What are you doing now?” The fear in Bee’s voice made her pause, but only for a moment.
She’d been planning this for over a month and had already gotten permission and cooperation from the owners. Her idea might be nuts, but she was pretty sure it would be a big hit. If she could convince her two best friends to help her out. She forced a smile, waggled her eyebrows, and held the front door key up between them. A puff of condensation enveloped the shiny new key each time she exhaled.
“Are you crazy?” Bee’s voice only hit that high note when he was completely shocked or extremely upset. In this case, it was probably a little of both.
“Look, Bee. I have to find a way to generate income during the winter.”
He offered a quick look of sympathy. Before his designer dress shop, Dreamweaver Designs, had gotten so big, he used to have the same problem. Now that his designs were becoming more popular, and big names in the fashion industry had started attending his annual fashion shows, he had a steady stream of orders pretty much year-round.
Good, maybe he’d help her.
“You know how we do the group readings in the shop?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Yeah.”
Although Bee didn’t believe in psychic powers or talking to the dead, he stayed as far away from anything to do with it as possible, just in case. Cass had cajoled him into helping with the group readings since there were no dead people involved. She’d also convinced him it was all done very scientifically.
She shrugged, hoping to appear casual. “Well, I want to do a group reading.”
He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and rocked back and forth. The thought of him falling through the old boards of the rotting porch ran fleetingly through her mind. “In addition to the once-a-month readings you usually do?”
“Sort of?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and peered at him from beneath her lashes.
It only took a moment for him to figure it out. “No. Oh, no. Not happening, sugar.”
“But—”
“Not on your life, sweetie. There is no way I’m going into that house while you . . .” He shook his head and waved his hand wildly. “Do whatever it is you do.”
“It’s just a reading, Bee. I’ll do it the same way I do in the shop.” Knowing she was perilously close to whining, she rushed on. “I need your help. You have a background in theater, plus you put on the best fashion shows.” No need to remind him how much Cass had helped with those shows. All right, now I’m getting catty. She sucked in a deep breath of the frigid air, freezing her lungs. “How about if you just help with the setup? You don’t have to stay for the reading.”
Bee sighed.
Yes!
“I don’t know.” He glanced toward the front door, shaking his head. “We’ll see. Okay?”
“Bu—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “Be happy with it, honey, it’s the best you’re going to get.”
“I’m telling you, it’ll work. A group reading at a haunted house? Are you kidding me? People will line up for that.” Cass pushed the mansion’s front door open and held it for Stephanie, who followed her into the foyer.
Bee caught the door, holding it open and lodging himself firmly between the door and the jamb without actually crossing the threshold.
“I rented the space fairly cheap, and I’ll charge more for the tickets than a regular reading. If I’ve figured it right, I should be able to make a decent profit.” She moved through the foyer and peeked into the large living room, weaving between several ladders, drop cloths, cans of paint, and paint tra
ys with remnants of several different colors splattered in them. The inside of the house was in considerably better condition than the outside.
Bee swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably. “How did you manage to rent it cheap?”
She shrugged. “It’s owned by Wellington, Wellington, and Wellington.” The same investment company her ex-husband and ex–best friend both worked for. She tamped down the flare of anger that always accompanied thoughts of her exes.
She’d met Priscilla Wellington at a few holiday parties, when staff were invited to bring their spouses. Though they’d never shared more than a few words, Priscilla had always seemed warm and approachable. “I called Priscilla Wellington last month and she loved the idea. They’ve been having work done on the house anyway, to turn it into a bed and breakfast–style hotel, so they’ve decided to allow me to do the reading next Friday, a few weeks before their official grand opening is scheduled. They’re hoping the guests will stay the weekend.”
Bee lifted a skeptical brow. “Why would they open a hotel on Bay Island in the dead of winter?” A cold gust of wind blasted through the open door, hammering home Bee’s point.
Cass couldn’t help the frown. She’d wondered the same thing but shrugged off any misgivings. She needed this to work. Whatever ulterior motives the Wellingtons might have were of no concern to her. “Who knows? Some people love stuff like this, Bee.”
He scowled and remained in the doorway while she and Stephanie moved farther into the room. It had obviously not been cleaned yet. Cobwebs marred the corners, as she’d expected, and dust floated in the dim light filtering in from the front door. It could definitely use a few coats of paint. Priscilla had said the guest rooms were already finished, so apparently, this was next up on the agenda. She shuddered at the cracks running down several of the walls, hoping they were only cosmetic. Having the house tumble down around them was the last thing she needed.
Car doors slamming pulled her from her reverie, and she and Stephanie moved back toward the front door.